At the restaurant, two old men dressed in worn brown suits and open-necked white shirts were sipping espresso at a table on the piazza and debating the fortunes of a local football team. Another man, covered in dust-a laborer, a mason perhaps-was eating a sandwich and reading a newspaper. Jerry sat apart from them at a small table that was shaded by an umbrella. He angled his chair so he was completely in its shadow. Ashley saw him check his watch. After a minute he took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. Ashley left the church.

The trek from the lot had made Jerry thirsty but there was no waiter in sight. He craned his neck toward the door of the restaurant. When he turned back, a woman with short, jet-black hair was sitting down at his table. She was dressed in a powder-blue shirt and tan slacks. Sunglasses hid her eyes. Jerry’s face split into a grin.

“I didn’t recognize you for a moment,” he said. “You look great. The dark hair suits you.”

Ashley touched her hair self-consciously. “Blond stands out like neon here.”

As she spoke, Ashley checked for signs of danger.

“I’m pretty sure I wasn’t followed,” Jerry said to allay her fears. “When we hung up I phoned for tickets and I left for the airport two hours later. No one would even know that I was meeting you. I drove straight here as soon as I landed in Florence.”

A waiter appeared in the doorway of the café.

“How well do you know this place?” Jerry asked.

“Why?” Ashley asked, quickly looking over her shoulder.

Jerry laughed. “Will you relax? I asked because I’m famished. I’ve been traveling for twenty hours and all I’ve eaten is the crap food on the plane. What’s good here? This is Italy. They must serve pasta.”

The tension drained out of Ashley’s shoulders and she laughed, too.

“Sorry. It’s just…”

“You don’t have to explain. You just have to get me something to eat and drink.”

Ashley smiled. “This place is decent if you’ll settle for something simple.”

“I’ll settle for anything that’s food.”

Ashley waved over the waiter and chatted with him in Italian.

“You sound like a native,” Jerry said as soon as the waiter left.

Ashley shrugged. “If you know Spanish, Italian isn’t that tough to pick up.”

Jerry sat back and studied her. He could not get over how much Ashley had changed. It wasn’t just the new hair color. It was the new maturity he saw in her body and face. It suddenly dawned on him that the last time he’d seen Ashley she was a teenage girl. The Ashley sitting opposite him was a woman.

“I’ve really worried about you,” Jerry said. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay. I love Italy. I love the quiet.” She shrugged again. “I feel safe.”

Jerry sighed. He sat back. “You have to come home.”

Ashley looked frightened. “I can’t.”

“You have to. Something’s happened. Something that changes everything.”

“What?”

“Henry Van Meter is dead. He passed away a week ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashley said. She looked sad. “I liked him. He was very kind. But what does his death have to do with me?”

“He’s the one who hired me to come here and explain everything.”

“Explain what?”

Jerry paused, trying to find the right words.

“Casey is still in a coma.”

Ashley nodded. She wished that Jerry would stop dancing around the reason for his visit.

“While Henry was alive, he and Miles argued about what to do with Casey. Henry wanted to keep her alive and hope for a miracle. Miles wants to take her off life support. Henry was afraid that Miles would be appointed Casey’s guardian when he died, and he’s trying to do just that. Miles has filed papers with the court asking to be appointed Casey’s guardian. The hearing is set for next week.”

Ashley looked confused. “What does this have to do with me?”

“Everything.” Jerry paused. He looked very uncomfortable. “When you hear what I have to say you’ll understand why I felt you needed to be with someone when you learned why I’m here.”

“Jerry, please. What is going on?”

Philips reached across the table and took Ashley’s hands in his. He looked her in the eye.

“You have to come back to Portland and ask the court to make you Casey’s guardian.”

“Why would I want to do that? Why would the court even consider me?”

He tightened his grip on her hands. “Casey is your mother.”

Ashley’s mouth gaped open but she couldn’t speak. She pulled her hands away and stared at Jerry as if he was insane.

“I know that this is hard for you to take…”

“My mother?” Ashley laughed harshly. “My mother is dead, Jerry. Joshua Maxfield killed her.”

“No, your mother is not dead. Casey Van Meter is your biological mother. I’ve seen the proof.”

Ashley shook her head stubbornly. “Terri Spencer is my mother. I hardly knew Casey Van Meter.”

Jerry let out a puff of air. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy. Let me explain everything, okay? Then you can make up your mind. Remember I told you that my father died shortly before your father was killed?”

Ashley nodded.

“What I didn’t tell you is that he was murdered.”

“Oh, Jerry.”

“A burglar broke into his house in Boulder Creek and… He beat him to death. Now do you understand why I’ve tried so hard to help you? Both our fathers died horrible deaths within weeks of each other. I knew exactly what you were going through.”

Ashley didn’t know what to say.

“The burglar set a fire to cover up his crime. The fire destroyed all of the files that my father took to Boulder Creek with him. I thought that your father’s files burned up. That’s why I didn’t know what was in them when I started representing you.

“A few weeks ago, Henry Van Meter asked me to come to his house. He showed me documents relating to your birth and adoption that he kept in his safe. They prove that Norman Spencer adopted you when you were born.”

“Are you saying that Norman wasn’t my real father?”

“No, he’s your biological father.” Jerry paused. “Look, it’s complicated. It took Henry a while to explain everything to me.”

“How do you know that he didn’t lie to you?”

“I know that he was telling the truth because I found your father’s files. Dad must have brought them back to Portland when he met with your mother. They were in a filing cabinet but they’d been misfiled.”

“I still don’t believe this. It can’t be true.”

She sounded lost. Jerry reached out and touched her hand again.

“It is true, Ashley. You’ll believe me when I explain everything I know. Let me tell you what happened from the beginning.”

Norman Spencer’s father had worked in a lumber mill until a back injury put him on disability. His mother was a checkout clerk in a supermarket. Norman wanted to quit high school to help out, but his parents knew that education was the only way out of hard times for their only child. School was never easy, but Norm struggled to a B-plus average. Sports were easier, and earned him a wrestling scholarship to the state university, where he continued to struggle with the books and found that there were a lot of boys who were better than he was on the mats. Still, by his sophomore year, he was getting A’s and B’s and was an unspectacular, but sound, member of the varsity.

During the season Norm kept his hair short, because the coach insisted his team wear crewcuts. As soon as the wrestling season ended in his sophomore year, Norm decided to let his hair grow long. Norm’s hair was down to his shoulders by the time school ended and he started back to work at Vernon Hock’s Texaco in Portland. Even with financial aid and a scholarship for wrestling, his family could not afford to send Norm to school, so he was always working. He’d pumped gas at Uncle Vernon’s gas station for the past two summers.