Hana considered driving up to Culver’s Cottage for peace and privacy. Her dreams floated away into the winter sky as Logan’s phone rang and he answered it with his usual curt reply. “Yeah?” Her heart sank further when he handed the phone to her. “You should take this,” he said.
Hana held the phone to her ear and her breath caught. She knew who it was without asking. Logan shifted Phoenix, laying her over his thighs and patting her back as she grumbled with colic. Robert McIntyre’s lilting Scots accent wavered from the speaker. “Hello hen,” he began, using the familiar expression. “I’m sorry to keep pestering your husband but we’ve come so far, hen. We need to talk to you, Elaine and I. To explain.”
Hana imagined the pressure of not seeing one of her daughters for twenty-six years and the
