Страница 80 из 80
He heard the soft crunch of the gravel, and then Sharon's car nosed into the driveway. She pulled in to the right, parked the car, and got out. She was wearing a black ankle-length wool coat, black boots, and a tomato-red scarf wrapped around her throat. Aching to see her long legs, he leaned forward until his nose made an imprint on the glass and his breath turned to fog.
She stood for a moment, as if uncertain which way to go. Jack held his next breath, wondering if she was contemplating getting back in her car and driving off. That would be just like her-or at least just like the woman he had known.
Low, cool sunlight came through the branches, speckling her face. It shone off her hair, made the color of her eyes clear and rich. She looked young, very much as she had when he'd first met her. From this distance, the lines of worry and grief weren't visible, as if time itself had been obliterated.
Jack saw her gazing at the house, taking in its shape and dimensions. She took a step toward him, then another. As she moved, she seemed to gain momentum, as if her intent had focused down. She looked like someone who had made up her mind, who knew what she wanted.
Jack understood that completely, and his heart swelled. His love for her was palpable, as if he'd never loved her before, or even knew what love was. Perhaps he never had. It was all too likely that the consequences of pain and loss had driven love from his heart. But not, it seemed, from him altogether. This was Emma's gift to him. She had taught him not only to recognize love but to seize it as well.
Sharon mounted the steps. He left the window and never again thought the view through it was bleak.
He felt Emma all around him, like the collective shimmer of stars on a moonless night.
There are many paths to redemption, he thought. This is mine.
He heard the knock on the door, and opened it.