Lillian pressed herself closer to the wall of the hall closet, breathing shallowly to avoid discovery, trying desperately to process what she knew, the stale air stifling her.

She had seen the girl first: the one from the hospital, the candy striper. She was padding around the house in her bare feet, stringy blond hair hanging limp, eyes vacant. She had a baby bottle in her hand and was shaking it absently, leaving spots of formula down her baggy muslin dress.

Lillian had come in through the back door, intent on investigating the goings-on in her sister’s house. She had house-sat for Dev and Shannon when they went on their last trip to Tahiti, about six months before Beatrice was born. That had left her with a key to the back door of their St. Louis brick home and she had kept it in case of an emergency, which this was. Shannon had never gone so long without calling.

The last time they talked, they had, as they always did, discussed the rumors at the hospital. St. Louis State Hospital was a mental institution and stories about the wacky patients abounded, but, like most hospitals, nothing turned quite as efficiently as the rumor mill. Lillian was a registered nurse at the hospital. Shannon was married to one of its most famous psychiatrists, Milton “Dev” Devon, Jr.

The latest gossip had been that one of the candy-stripers was pregnant and was blabbing all around the hospital that the father of her baby was a doctor. The girl was barely eighteen, her long blond hair always pulled neatly back into a thick braid. She had braces and a lisp because of them. She was young and acted like it in all the ways that counted. But, as Lillian told Shannon, her little pink and white outfit was beginning to look rather ridiculous with her bulging belly. It was obvious that she was, indeed, pregnant.

They had talked about other things in the cafeteria during that lunch hour. Like Lillian’s favorite patient, Hugh Q., who kept propositioning her, naked, when she entered his padded room to give him his daily meds.

They talked about Beatrice, who was cute as a button and growing like a weed. She had been starting to walk, intermittently, and getting into everything. Shannon talked about her postpartum depression, which she was finally starting to work past. Dev made sure she was properly medicated. She worked on getting fit again and spending a few precious hours every week away from her active baby girl, with the help of a part-time nanny. Shannon seemed happier, back on track, better than she had been in months, in Lillian’s experienced opinion.

But that had been three months ago. She and her younger sister had never gone three months without talking. She was worried about Shannon. Dev had been vague when Lillian inquired about her. Lillian had never trusted him, but he did seem to love her sister. When he wouldn’t give her a straight answer, Lillian decided that, on her day off, she would investigate on her own.

Lillian followed candy-striper girl quietly. She struggled to remember her name, but before she could, the girl took a quick right into Dev’s office. Lillian went past the door and then hid herself around the door jam as she peered inside. The inside of the dark-paneled office looked amazingly different. There were blue curtains on the windows, an eyelet-lined crib and changing table in front of the massive desk. Most amazing of all was the squall that came from the hungry infant in the bowels of the crib.

Before she could wonder any longer, the girl rushed out of the office, still looking and acting like an automaton. She didn’t even see Lillian pressed against the wall outside the doorway. Lillian went quickly inside the office and peeked at the infant, whose bottle had been propped on a pillow next to him. He was sucking his breakfast greedily, his eyes open, his arms raised, fists gripping and ungripping as he tried to soothe his hungry tummy.

The girl, whatever her name was, wasn’t a very good mommy leaving this poor guy here to drink his bottle all by himself. Lillian quietly closed the door of the office and scooped up the baby boy and his bottle and held him in Dev’s office chair while he consumed it. It gave her a chance to study him.

He was bald, but tiny baby hairs were starting at the crown of his head. It was clear that he could be quite blond. His eyes, though, were startlingly dark. They still had a tinge of baby blue, but they were changing toward a more muddy color. Lillian had not seen a whole lot of babies at this age, so it could have been her limited experience, but she thought this guy looked an awful lot like her niece, Beatrice. His face was a little rounder, but through the eyes, they looked surprisingly similar.

It dawned on Lillian all at once the reason why this baby boy would be in Dev’s office. Beatrice didn’t look anything like Shannon. She looked just like her dad. And so did this baby boy.

Lillian’s calm burst into flames when she realized that the doctor that fathered the candy-striper’s baby was Dr. Dev Devon himself. How could he have slept with such a young girl in the first place? What in the world were the mother and baby doing in this house anyway? Wouldn’t you think that he would try to hide them somewhere else? Now Lillian was doubly worried about the welfare of her sister.

The baby fell asleep while drinking his bottle, so Lillian place him gently back into his crib and slipped quietly back into the hallway.

She heard voices from the downstair’s guest bedroom.

“Did you feed Benjamin this morning, Diana?”

“Oh, yeah, ‘Diana’ was her name, Lillian thought silently.

“You must hold him while he’s eating, Diana. It’s much better for his development and that way he can’t choke.”

“I know. You told me that, but I’m tired this morning,” she started to whine. “He was up all night, asking to be fed. He’s your son too. Why don’t you feed him once in a while?”

“But you are his mother. I have other things to take care of. Don’t you forget, sweetheart, what your situation is here.”

“I expect you to take care of Benjamin, Diana. The nanny will continue to see to Beatrice. I will keep a roof over all of your heads. Now, you be a good girl while I go give my son a kiss.”

“Very well,” Dev sighed. Lillian concealed herself in the darkened hall bathroom as he strode toward the nursery office.

She did, however, hear Dev close his office door and head for the stairs. She ran quickly to Beatrice’s nursery across the hall. The shade was pulled and it was dark, so she was able to observe her sister’s room through the crack of the door. Dev entered the silent bedroom.

Then Lillian heard her sister’s plea. “Don’t leave me again, Dev. I need to see her. Please. I’m begging you.” Then she had heard a pitiful, helpless moan, followed by eery silence. Was he killing her? Oh, God. What was happening to her sister inside that room?

She was pretty sure that Dev didn’t see her or hear her barely audible gasp when she watched him leave her sister’s room and lock the door with a shiny key ring.

She had run for the downstairs hall closet while Dev returned to his suite, presumably to get ready for work. She would wait until he left and get to the bottom of this.

Why did it have to be so muggy this time of year? And why did she have to wind up in the only place in the house that didn’t have a fan?

Her honey-colored hair was plastered to her head and she was miserably sweaty, anxious to breathe real air as soon as possible. She heard the front door open and close. Assuming that Dev had left, Lillian waited ten unbearable minutes then stole away from her hiding place and back up the stairs. The baby was squalling again.

Lillian knocked gently at her sister’s door. “Shan, it’s me. Are you still there?” She pleaded, hoping against hope that her sister would be able to hear her.

Shannon’s voice was garbled, muffled by the locked door. Lillian could barely make out what she was saying. One word was clear, though. “Beatrice.”

“No help me,” her sister mumbled. It sounded like she was now just behind the door, near the floor, like she had drug herself there.

Lillian had a ton of experience extracting information from sedated patients. She put on her most authoritative nurse’s voice. “Shannon. Be sharp. You must tell me what you want for Beatrice.”

Shannon and Lillian often took Beatrice for walks to Forest Park. It was their favorite place in the city because of the magnificent centuries old trees, the serene ponds, and the zoo animals. She hoped this was the park Shannon was referring to.

“Away from him. Never come back, Lilly,” Shannon was sounding progressively clearer. Lillian knew what she had to do. Dr. Dev Devon had crossed nearly every line and he was getting away with it. Her sister wanted her to take Beatrice, his precious daughter, away from him. She would do it. For Shannon, she would do just about anything. Her little sister was the only family she had left.

“I love you, Shan.” Lillian’s tears flowed freely as she knew she was saying goodbye to her little sister forever. But she also knew that she needed to get out of this house before she was discovered. “I want to help you, desperately. Are you sure this is the only way?”

“Go, Lilly. Only way. So tired……Can’t.” Shannon was fading again. Lillian tore herself wretchedly away and left quickly out the back door to find her niece.

The sun was shining and the glistening water of the Columbia River beckoned. BreeAnn White and Nonnie Pakootas were about to brave their first late spring dip into its frigid waters. They had both worn swimsuits in anticipation of an unseasonably warm day—it was supposed to be as much as 90 degrees by mid-afternoon.

Neither of them had any illusions about this first swim. They had been doing this since they were ten. Bree and Nonnie knew by now that it would take about ten minutes treading water off the docks of the waterfront before their skinny bodies would start to stiffen and their lips would turn blue. They needed something warm and dry to fend off the cold when they dragged themselves out of the water.

Their mothers failed to understand why the two of them insisted on this annual ritual, but they had left the bakery to supervise the adventure for eight straight years now. The understanding was that the weather had to reach 90 degrees before the girls were allowed to Popsicle-ize themselves. And if both moms hadn’t been decked out in flour-stained aprons and matching hair covers, they might have been tempted to join their daughters.

The River Run Bakery was across the street from the waterfront park in an old grocery store. Lilly White had moved it there nine years earlier after the bakery’s success had necessitated a larger space and easier access for distribution of their delicious baked goods. Merchants and customers flocked from all over Okanogan County to get a load of the oozing sticky buns and goody-packed cookies and loaves of “Mile-High Honey Wheat Bread.”

Lilly attributed a good portion of the bakery’s success to her faithful assistant, Penny Pakootas. With Lilly’s swift business sense and lofty quality standards and Penny’s uncanny ability to make yeast and flour do her bidding, the bakery was easily the largest in the county. They were a great team. It also helped that their daughters were inseparable.

Lilly, formerly Lillian Waters, rarely thought of the tumultuous beginning of her sojourn in Pateros. She had been on the run with Beatrice. They had settled so thoroughly into their lives here that she hardly thought of the exhausted fugitive and travel-weary baby that had arrived sixteen years before.

It seemed like nowadays, Lilly and Penny were spending a lot of their spare time reminiscing, getting misty-eyed as they recalled the mischief and fun the girls had cultivated over the years. The girls were about to graduate and neither mom was ready.

But the girls were more than ready. Bree was busily working on her valedictorian address. She had just two more weeks to prepare and, true to form, she was going to be perfect. It was her last chance, after all, to address the fifteen other seniors with whom she’d shared an idyllic childhood in the tiny town of Pateros, Washington.

She was going to miss them, but at the same time her pulse thrummed every time she thought of the adventures awaiting her at the University of Washington and its Journalism department.

Bree couldn’t wait to take on Seattle. She’d always been such a big fish in this little pond. She wanted to see what it was like to be a small fish in a large pond for once. She didn’t want so much to be anonymous, just individual—acting like herself instead of like the overachiever her classmates and her mom had always expected her to be.

Nonnie was anxious for graduation also, but not for the same reasons as Bree. Nonnie couldn’t wait to be done with school. She had always struggled academically. She wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot. People always commented that Nonnie was Bree’s common sense. Bree was book-smart. Nonnie was street-smart.

Unfortunately, though, she had dyslexia, so reading was a struggle and it always would be. She was looking forward to leaving the books behind for a while.

Now and again, Nonnie got a little wistful about graduating simply because her summer vacations were about to disappear. She had inherited her mother’s talent for baking and she was going to a culinary school in California in the fall that would last for just three months. After that, Nonnie would be working full-time. This was her last chance to be carefree for the summer and she was going to make it count.

Bree giggled and hurried to shed her tennis shoes, knowing Nonnie had a decent head start, “First one in is a sticky, icky, river-gunk-covered icicle!”

By now, Bree was in hysterics. The darn shoelaces wouldn’t come undone and she couldn’t for the life of her get them to just slip off her heels. Why did she double-knot those suckers?

Before she knew it, Nonnie was shrieking at the sudden iciness of the river. “Wait up, Nonnie! I can’t get off my friggin’ shoes!”

“No way, Chickadee,” piped in Lilly, calling Bree her favorite nickname, “Penny and I had a bet as to who would stay in the longest. I’m not rolling out the sticky buns in the morning. My muscles couldn’t take it. Now get in there and freeze that skinny little rump, missy.”

Bree was finally getting the knots of her shoelaces undone and rushing to discard her sweats and shirt. “I got it handled, Mom. Don’t you worry about those muscles.”

“B-b-b-ig M-m-m-istake, L-l-l-illy,” Nonnie stuttered, “Y-y-you kn-know m-my Ind-ian f-f-fat insulates m-me.”

To Lilly she said, “Like that girl’s got any fat. Now me,” she said as she measured her ample waist, “I could do some serious spring swimming with all the insulation I have.”

They watched as the girls gritted their teeth and treaded water. Soon it was Bree who had to drag herself out first as her limbs threatened to stop moving entirely. Lilly was ready with the towel. Nonnie was right behind her and Penny swallowed her into a towel and a large bear hug.

“All I know is that spring will never be the same if we don’t arrange to do this again next year,” Bree lamented.

All four of the women got momentarily choked up as they thought of the changes coming. If they could freeze time as easily as their young bodies, Bree and Nonnie would.

Take today for instance. After their traditional swim, their mothers had given the girls consent to go on their first independent shopping trip to Wenatchee. It was just an hour’s drive to the South, but it was going to be dark before they returned, so this really was a first—neither mom would be going with them.

The girls needed dresses and accessories to go under their graduation gowns. They were giddy as they changed from their wet clothes at Nonnie’s house. Nonnie was going to drive her car. They were going to see an afternoon movie and have lunch at Applebaum’s and then they were going to shop, leaving no stone unturned until they were fully decked out.

Nonnie’s car was an old compact, shiny red, and it ran like a champ. Her brother, Asher, was drying the hood when the girls bounded out of the house. His short, wavy raven hair was gleaming wet with the warm day and the effort he had put in washing the car. Bree watched his muscles spring and flex around his loose tank top, his bronze skin browning further in the late spring sunshine.

“I can’t believe you bet Nonnie that she couldn’t eat a whole boysenberry pie,” Bree jabbed Asher in the ribs.

“She’s been known to put away an entire tray of chocolate macadamia nut cookies, you know. Anybody that could eat so much rich stuff could eat a pie too, Doofus.”

“You need to get your facts straight, Bree. I bet her that she couldn’t eat a whole boysenberry pie a la mode.

There’s a difference. What I still don’t get is how it is physically possible to fit that much food into that 5 foot nothing, 90 pound body.”

Asher grabbed his sister around the neck and knuckled the top of her head as if to rub the hair off. She gave him a fake punch to the gut, though it didn’t come close to harming his six-foot, broad, muscled frame.

Then he became serious. “I did more than wash the car, little sis. I checked all of the fluids and the tire pressures. Dad changed the oil the last time we were over at his place. You two be careful, okay? Look out for hosers. They’ll try to run you off the road.”

“I will. Thanks, Asher.” Nonnie gave him a quick squeeze and hopped in the driver’s seat. Bree threw her bag in the back and took her position as navigator. They were on their way!

Sometimes it would just be nice to have someone besides my mom looking out for me. You’ve got your dad and your brother. They would never let anything bad happen to you. You’re just lucky, Non, that’s all.”

“Yep, I’m lucky. You do need to remember, though, that even though it’s just you and your mom, she is just about the coolest mom you could ask for.”

Highway 97 meandered South paralleling the Columbia River. They watched the sagebrush and rock-dotted mountains blur by as Nonnie expertly maneuvered past Wells Dam and the turn-off to Lake Chelan. They were just past the tiny town of Orondo, just fifteen miles from  heir destination when an enormous white-tailed deer leaped as if on springs out of an apple orchard directly into their lane.