It hadn’t been easy staying quiet about all this, but Charlotte feared that once the story became public, long-lost relatives would be popping out of the woodwork, all eager to claim their inheritance.

“How long will it take?” Charlotte asked. Now that she’d officially hired Roy, she was ready for results.

“I can’t promise you a definite time line,” Roy told her. “If you’d like to make an appointment for two weeks from now, I’ll give you a progress report.”

“Can’t you just look it up on the computer?” she asked, waving her hand in the direction of his monitor.

“I’ll start there.”

Charlotte had taken a basic computer class last summer. Using Olivia’s old computer, she’d typed up her columns for Jack—because he’d insisted on it. But the best part about a computer was playing games such as solitaire, although the contraption made it impossible to cheat. What fun was that?

She planned to buy a new computer soon, with the money she’d earned from her contributions to the Seniors’ Page. She had all kinds of ideas for future columns; once this was all settled, she might even write about meeting Tom….

“Two weeks, then?” Roy asked.

“I’ll look forward to it,” she told him.

As Charlotte walked out, she felt as though a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

Cathy laughed at Cecilia’s caricature of a ditzy hairdresser. Cecilia was going to help her add do-it-yourself highlights to her hair on this rainy Wednesday afternoon. Since that first video-and-popcorn evening they’d found reasons to get together often. Neither one could afford much, so they took turns having each other over for various kinds of low-budget fun—like movies or dinner. Gradually Cathy had drawn Cecilia into a circle of other Navy wives. On the night of her wedding anniversary, the whole group had shown up at The Captain’s Galley. Last weekend, Cecilia had met Carol Greendale, another Navy wife who’d had a baby girl the same month as Allison. She’d found it hard—more than hard—to see Carol with her daughter. She’d made excuses to leave, but despite her vague protests and paper-thin excuses, Cathy had patiently convinced her to stay. In the end, Cecilia was glad she had.

Cathy headed for the bathroom to wash her hair while Cecilia read through the package directions. “Did you bring a crochet hook?” she asked when Cathy reappeared with a bathroom towel wrapped around her head.

“No. Do we need one?”

Cecilia wasn’t sure the small plastic hook included in the kit would work as well. “Never mind, we’ll manage with this.”

“Should I make a run over to K mart? I could pick up another package to do your hair, too.”

“Not this time, okay?” Cecilia shook her head. “Look—I have to draw strands of hair through the holes in this plastic cap….” She frowned as she studied the paraphernalia that had come with the kit.

“Have you heard from Ian lately?”

Cecilia shook her head. It’d been almost three weeks since their anniversary, and she hadn’t thanked him for the flowers, hadn’t even acknowledged getting them. She hadn’t contacted him in any way. Ian hadn’t written her, either. Apparently her message had been received and understood.

“Andrew says they’re putting into port soon.”

“Australia?”

Cathy gave an exaggerated sigh and propped her chin on one knee. “I’ve always wanted to visit the South Pacific.”

“Me, too.”

“In his last letter, Andrew wrote about the night sky,” Cathy said in a soft voice.

Cecilia stopped rereading the directions to listen. Ian loved the stars and was actually quite knowledgeable about the planets and constellations. She remembered the clear summer night he’d pointed out Cassiopeia and recounted the ancient Greek legend about its formation. Cecilia had been enthralled—and she’d learned something new about her husband.

“Andrew said there are a billion stars out at night,” Cathy was saying. “At first he was disappointed because there seemed to be a thin cloud cover that obscured his view.” She paused and laughed softly. “Then Ian told him the cloud cover he was complaining about was actually the Milky Way.”

“Wow.”

She nodded. “Andrew said he’d never seen anything like it.”

Cecilia looked at her friend and was surprised to find tears in her eyes. “You miss him, don’t you?”

Cathy bit her lip and nodded. “Cecilia,” she whispered and reached for her hand, gripping it hard. “I’m pregnant again.”

The again was what threw Cecilia. Andrew and Cathy didn’t have children.

“I miscarried the first two pregnancies,” Cathy explained in a voice that trembled with emotion. “I…don’t know if I can go through that agony a third time.”

Cecilia glanced toward her bedroom and the single photograph she had of Allison. It was a dreadful photo taken shortly after her daughter’s birth. Allison had been so small, her skin so pallid. The hospital had stuck a tiny pink bow in her hair and someone had snapped the shot. It proved to be the only one she would ever have, and Cecilia treasured it.

Looking embarrassed, Cathy wiped her eyes and said, “I knew you’d understand.”

“Oh, I do.”

Impulsively they hugged. The damp towel slipped to the floor, and Cathy buried her face in Cecilia’s shoulder.

“I figure it happened when the George Washington returned for repairs.”

Cecilia was fortunate not to be in the same predicament herself. “You aren’t going to tell Andrew?”

Cathy frowned. “He’ll just worry. He’s half a world away, and there isn’t a thing he can do.”

“You want children?”

Cathy nodded, but the admission seemed to cause her pain. “More than anything. Andrew, too. When I miscarried the first time, we were upset, but when I lost the second pregnancy, it devastated us both. I can’t imagine what’ll happen if I miscarry this time….”

“What do the doctors say?”

“That everything looks normal and healthy, but we were told the same thing before.”

“Was there a medical reason for the miscarriages?”

“No. That’s what makes it so frustrating. They couldn’t find anything wrong.”

“Oh, Cathy…” Cecilia didn’t know what to say that would ease her friend’s fears.

“No one can figure it out. Twice now, and I can’t seem to stay pregnant for more than three months.” She gnawed on her lower lip. “I’m about nine weeks along and I’m so scared.” As if she were suddenly cold, Cathy folded her arms tightly. “I know this sounds crazy, but when I first found out, I actually considered terminating the pregnancy.”

Cecilia said nothing. Cathy needed to confide in her, and this was not the time to be judgmental or to argue with her friend.

“I kept thinking I’d rather lose the baby early than build my hopes up. Now I realize how ludicrous that kind of thinking is.” She drew in a deep breath. “No one else knows I’m pregnant, not even my parents. I didn’t want to say anything until I’m in my fourth month…if I make it that far.”

Cecilia could understand the fear and the doubt. It wasn’t only her own hopes Cathy didn’t want to dash. She was considering those of her husband and her family, as well. Cecilia knew what a difficult burden that was. And she knew that such a burden only grew heavier if you couldn’t share it.

“I can’t promise you that this pregnancy is going to be different from the first two,” she said solemnly, holding Cathy’s gaze. “No one knows what the future will bring. But I can promise that whatever happens, I’ll be there for you.”

“Oh, Cecilia, you don’t know how much that means to me.” Cathy wiped her cheeks with her fingers. “I’m so emotional when I’m pregnant.”

Cecilia’s laugh was poignant. “You and me both.” The first few months she was pregnant with Allison, she’d wept at the flimsiest excuses. A sentimental television commercial could reduce her to a sniveling, tissue-packing blob. The bouts sometimes lasted for hours.

Cathy touched Cecilia’s arm. “Are you afraid to have another baby, too?”

The mere thought resulted in stark terror. “I…won’t. Ian knows how I feel.” Cecilia stopped just short of confessing that this was one of the reasons she felt compelled to follow through with the divorce.

“Give it time,” Cathy advised, and they hugged once more. “Good grief,” she said, forcing a laugh. “My hair’s dry already.”

Grabbing the plastic hook, Cecilia held it up. “I’m ready to torture you.”

“Just remember I get my turn later.”

The afternoon passed in a whirl of giggles, chatter and popcorn, and by the time Cathy left, Cecilia was tired but exhilarated. The blond streaks were a success. But far more important, their friendship had become stronger and deeper because of what Cathy had shared. Cecilia understood why she’d confided in her. Cathy knew that, of all the women in their small group, Cecilia was the only one who could identify with the trauma and the recriminations that followed the loss of a child. It didn’t matter that Cathy was only a few months pregnant when she miscarried. Her unborn children had laid claim to her heart.

As she readied for bed that evening, Cecilia stared at the one picture she had of Allison. The dried bouquet from her wedding had been fashioned into a heart-shaped frame.

“They’re from your daddy,” she whispered to her daughter.

Then, because she was weak and because her heart ached, Cecilia reached for a pad and pen.

May 16th

Dear Ian,

I wasn’t going to write you again. I probably shouldn’t now. Nothing has changed. Nothing will. Still, I find that you’re on my mind and I hope we can at least be friendly toward each other.

I spent the day with Cathy Lackey. Don’t tell Andrew, but his wife is partially blond now, thanks to me. While she was here, Cathy mentioned that the George Washington would be docking in Sydney Harbour this week. You always said you’d see the Southern Cross. Is it as incredible as you hoped? I imagine it is.

I was going to drop out of school. Really, I couldn’t see the point of sticking it out. At the rate of two classes a quarter, it’ll take me a hundred years to get a degree, but then I decided that it didn’t matter if I ever got one. I like school, and as Mr. Cavanaugh said, knowledge is never wasted. I really like Mr. Cavanaugh. He’s the kind of person I wish my father was, although I have to admit Bobby tries. He does. When the flowers arrived for our anniversary and I started to cry, he patted my back—and then walked away. Oh, well…But later he confessed that every year on the anniversary of his divorce, he gets drunk. I think that was supposed to comfort me. In some odd way, it did.

This isn’t a very long letter and I’m not even sure I’ll mail it. Basically, I wanted to thank you for the flowers and tell you Happy Anniversary, too.