“Sure, but that’s different.”

Her son, the sexist, she thought, faintly annoyed. Apparently there needed to be more conversations about equality and tolerance. Perhaps Ethan should be the one doing the explaining. Then he could be more than the fun parent.

While she appreciated that Ethan and Tyler got along so well, she knew they were a long way from being father and son. Right now Ethan was entertaining and new. He’d yet to have to make any hard decisions, to stand up to Tyler or punish him.

“How is it different?” she asked.

“Guys don’t care about how they look and girls don’t care about computer games. Melissa takes forever in the bathroom.”

“Abby plays with you.”

“But there are more girls like Melissa than there are like Abby.”

“You know this how? Did you take a survey?”

He frowned. “You’re mad. Why?”

She checked on the cooking waffles. “Because you’re making statements about people that may or may not be true. You’re assuming a lot. It’s easy to say a group of people always acts a certain way, but it’s not accurate.”

“But why does it matter?”

“Because people are a lot more alike than they are different. The biggest problems we have in this world are because of what we assume about each other. People make decisions based on appearance or gender or race, without getting to know anyone in that group. Or they have a very limited sample. Then they say things and other people hear them and start to believe them. Pretty soon we have a cultural bias that affects all kinds of decisions.”

Tyler stared at her blankly.

Liz shook her head. “Let me try it another way. When Melissa and Abby move to San Francisco with us, Abby will be in your school, right?”

He nodded.

“She’s from a small town. Let’s say a few students and teachers think that people from small towns are stupid. So they find out about Abby transferring and they tell everyone at the school that Abby is stupid. Is that right or fair?”

Tyler’s eyes widened. “Abby’s not stupid. She’s really smart and nice and fun. She’s my friend.”

“I understand that, but so what? You said it didn’t matter if you said something about someone that wasn’t true.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “They’ll hurt Abby’s feelings and I’ll get mad. And if I act out because I’m mad, I could get into trouble. And all my friends will help me and they’ll get in trouble.”

“That’s a big mess,” Liz said as she used a fork to pop the waffle onto a plate. “All because someone believed something that wasn’t true.”

“I guess it does matter what we say, huh?”

“Yeah. And a little word can have a big impact. The difference between all and some. ‘All girls don’t care about computer games’ is really different than ‘Some girls don’t care about computer games.’”

“Okay. So when I said girls don’t have goals, I was wrong. Some boys don’t have goals.”

“Exactly.” She passed him the waffle.

He grinned at her. “You’re really smart.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re probably the smartest mom in the whole world.”

She laughed. “That’s very possibly true.”

LIZ HAD LIVED THROUGH CABINETS being torn out, carpet being ripped up, drywall installation and insistent banging of hardwood floors being laid. But the noise that finally drove her out of the house was the high-pitched scream of a tile saw.

She took her laptop and a blanket to the far end of the yard and stretched out in the shade of a tree. The sound was still intense, but not so distracting.

She glanced up at the house. Even from here, she could see the changes. What had once been poured foundation and a few attempts at framing had become a real room attached to the house. The master suite was nearly complete. When it was, she might think about moving off the sofa.

Inside, the kitchen gleamed, the fresh paint added a brightness and the carpet was plush. The house had come a long way since she’d first arrived in town. It was practically new.

But no matter how many changes occurred, she couldn’t seem to shake the sense of doom and defeat when she walked inside. Maybe the memories were just too strong. Whatever the cause, this house would never be her home. Staying or leaving, she would move out as soon as possible.

She returned her attention to her computer. After loading her word processing program, she started to read the pages she’d finished the previous day.

It only took a few minutes to get back into the story. She glanced at her plotting notes, then began to type. The serial killer in this book targeted teenaged boys. The scene took place at a high school basketball game and she closed her eyes to imagine what it would sound like and feel like to be in that gym during an important game.

Two hours later, she leaned against the tree. The scene was nearly finished, her back ached from the uncomfortable position and the tile saw had grown mercifully silent. All in all, a pretty decent morning’s work.

The back door of her house opened and Ethan stepped onto the patio. He had a bottle of water in each hand.

God, he looked good, she thought as she took in the faded jeans, the long legs and narrow hips. He moved with an easy masculine grace—a man comfortable in his own skin.

“Couldn’t stand the noise?” he guessed.

“They defeated me with the tile saw.”

“And here I thought you were indestructible.” He offered her a bottle, then settled across from her on the blanket.

“Not all the time.” She glanced at the house. “They’re doing great work. Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome. I have a good team.” He pointed at her computer. “How’s the book going?”

“Good. I’m finally into it enough to make the writing easier. The beginning is always a nightmare. Figuring out who everyone is, why they’re doing what they do. That sort of thing.”

“You make it sound like work,” he teased.

She mock glared at him. “Don’t make me hurt you. We both know I could.”

“I’m trembling in fear.”

They smiled at each other and she felt a quiver low in her belly.

“Are you going to keep killing me?” he asked.

“I wasn’t, but I’ve changed my mind.”

“What did I do?” he inquired, looking all innocent.

“What didn’t you do? You’re raising my son to be sexist and judgmental when it comes to women.”

Ethan stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Girls don’t have goals? Since when? I know he got that from you.”

Ethan groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that. We were talking about how important it is to set goals. To figure out what you want and just go for it.”

“And?”

He shrugged. “I might have said something about girls not being interested in anything but fashion and talking on the phone.”

“If I didn’t need my laptop, I’d throw it at you.”

“I’m sorry. It was just one of those things guys say to each other.”

“Tyler isn’t a guy. He’s a kid and he adores you. As far as he’s concerned, everything you said to him is ultimate truth.”

Ethan looked both pleased and chagrined. “Okay. You’re right. I need to think before I speak.”

She opened her mouth to say more, then closed it. “Excuse me?”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. In fact there’s a lot of things I regret. Like the injunction. I should have talked to you first. I was upset. That’s not the best time to make an important decision.”

“Well, damn. If you’re going to take responsibility and express regret, how can I keep yelling at you?”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “You’ll find a reason. Then you can kill me off in your book again.”

She smirked, raising her eyebrows. “Maybe I already did.”

He laughed, then took a drink of water. “You’re good, you know. Those books. They’re extraordinary.”

His compliment warmed her. “Thank you.”

“You have a detective you talk to?”

She nodded. “I met her at Tyler’s preschool. She was picking up her daughter and we started talking. She reads my manuscripts and tells me where I get it wrong.”

“She’s a mother?”

Liz put aside her laptop, stretched out her arm and slapped him on the shoulder. “What is it with you? Nevada is female and she’s an engineer. Why is that okay but you’re a pig about other women?”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the blanket next to him, then rolled her onto her back.

“I don’t have a problem with women,” he said leaning over her. “I said mother not woman. I never thought of a detective as having a family.”

“You wouldn’t. They usually don’t show the home life on TV.”

“Are you saying I’m shallow?” he asked with a grin. “You’re awfully arrogant for someone completely in my power.”

“You only think I’m in your power.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

They stared at each other. His mouth hovered inches from hers. She did her best not to react to the feel of his body against hers.

“What are the odds of one of my crew watching out the window?” he theorized.

“Better than fifty percent.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Damn.” He rolled off her. “Change of subject. Has being here made you late with your book?”

“I’m not too behind.”

“This summer can’t have helped with your deadline.”

“That’s true, but I tend to plan ahead. Usually I have less time to write in the summer because Tyler’s home, so I’m still okay.”

He shifted so he faced her and brushed the hair from her face. “What were you doing before you were a writer?” he asked.

“I waited on tables. Same as here. That’s what I did when I first moved to San Francisco. When I got big enough that I walked slow, I was a cashier, where I could sit during my shift. After Tyler was born, I got work at a nicer restaurant where the tips were better.”

“Don’t take this wrong,” he suggested slowly, “but I would have helped.”

“If you’d known.”

He nodded.

She considered the words. He was right—he would have helped.

She thought about the long, lonely evenings after she’d brought Tyler home from the hospital. Her terror at being alone with a newborn. She had checked out a few books from the library, but had no real working knowledge of what to do. She’d never really been around babies and there was no one to ask. Help would have been nice.

Loss made her throat tighten. Everything could have been different, she thought. Looking back, she wasn’t sure if it would have been better, if they would have lasted as a couple. She wasn’t sure she would have ever started writing. After all, her first short stories had all been about killing Ethan in an assortment of creative ways.

Regardless, she was sure, given the choice, he would want the chance to know his son from birth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Me, too.”

She rolled toward him. He leaned in and lightly kissed her mouth, then they stared at each other for a long time.

She read a world of ache in his eyes. Saw the place where the past should have been. In that moment, she knew she had never stopped loving Ethan, never stopped missing him, had never moved on. And if she stayed here too long, she was in danger of him discovering that particular truth.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE BANQUET ROOM AT THE HOTEL had a view of the mountain that filled the window. Concentrating on the lush colors of the plant-life seemed much easier than making small-talk with people she didn’t know at a luncheon she didn’t want to attend. But here she was.

The purpose—to award scholarship recipients—made perfect sense. But knowing these women were getting scholarships in her name made her feel as if she was having an out-of-body experience.

Betty Higgins, the clerk from the community college, waved from another table. Liz waved back. There were about fifteen tables in all—and nearly one hundred people at the event. Lunch had been pleasant—a delicious salad and warm sourdough bread. But after the hot fudge brownie had been delivered, Dana Marton, the president of the college, stood to address everyone.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Dana, an attractive, slender woman said with a smile. She’d introduced several members of the faculty, a few significant donors, then had shifted to Liz.

“Everyone here has been brought together by a single person of extraordinary talent. Liz Sutton left Fool’s Gold only a few months after graduating high school. She went away, had a baby, supported herself and her child, then started writing a detective novel. That first book, published nearly six years ago, made it to the top of the bestseller lists. Not only are her characters real and smart and sympathetic, they remind us of people we know. And for me, that’s writing at its best.”

Dana glanced down at her notes, then back at the people listening. “But the significance of Liz’s story lies elsewhere. Yes, she managed to overcome tremendous odds and adversity. But the most amazing part of her journey is that it had to happen somewhere else. Not here, in the town we love so much.”

Dana drew in a breath. “In a town that prides itself on caring, Liz slipped through the cracks. While we all noticed she was neglected at home, no one acted. Maybe it’s because she was so mature for her age. Her grades never suffered, she was always on time to school. Maybe it was because we weren’t as sensitized to disenfranchised children years ago. But when we, as a community, could have helped, there was silence.”