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distress, an animal sound. Cornered prey.
    “Sweetheart, it’s Mommy. How’s my Kieran boy?” She moved slowly toward him. She knew better than to ask him to quickly give up his solitary world. Not so long ago the family had teased about Kieran’s “sensitivity.” He would be an artist, a poet, a musician, their Kieran. He was a visionary, this youngest Donaghue. He saw the world differently, experienced it at a level more visceral, more elemental, than most children.
    In those happy days, before the diagnosis of autism arrived with the crocuses and early daffodils and turned a Cleveland spring into Peggy’s personal nightmare.
    “Kieran,” she crooned. “Kie—ran.”
    He turned to her at last. His angelic little face registered dismay. He had a rose-petal complexion and soft auburn curls. His pale blue eyes were as bright as stars, but whatever dwelled behind them was Kieran’s own secret.
    “Mommy’s here,” she crooned. “Mommy loves you, and she’s here. Mommy’s not going anywhere, sweetheart. Kieran. Love.”
    He didn’t lift his arms. He didn’t smile. His body, which had been soft with sleep, stiffened into steel. Then he turned away, turned toward the open window and the waving curtain, and began to hum.

chapter 4
    S o far, Megan had survived. Rooney’s appearance at her side had been a gift. She had never expected to walk down the aisle on her father’s arm, and that small miracle had gotten her to the front, where the man she loved waited to hold her up. Niccolo’s smile and Father Brady’s patient prompting got her through the service.
    Now, hopefully, champagne and Guinness would get her through the rest of the reception.
    “My car’s missing,” Niccolo shouted in her ear.
    For a moment she didn’t understand. The Civic was nearly new. If the engine was missing, that was a bad omen.
    “I think somebody took it to decorate it,” he elaborated.
    She felt herself turning shades of mottled pink, the curse of a redhead. After the reception, she and Niccolo were leaving for a relative’s cottage on Michigan’s Drummond Island. She had envisioned anonymity and absolute peace on the drive.
    “We’re stopping at the first car wash,” she warned.
    He grinned. She couldn’t recall ever seeing Niccolo look happier. She wondered what she had done to deserve him, this man who had stood by her through all her doubts, fears and general neuroses.
    “I’d like to outrun this storm,” Niccolo said, “but I think we’ll be driving right into it.”
    “It’s raining again? Maybe we won’t need a car wash.”
    “Pouring. I’m used to odd weather, but this takes the cake.”
    Casey pushed through the crowd with a full plate of food and handed it to Megan. “You haven’t eaten a bite. This is fabulous. Both the Andreanis and the Donaghues outdid themselves.”
    Megan realized she was starving. “Nick?” But she needn’t have worried. She saw that Jon was hauling him to the bar to fill his own plate. Niccolo’s brother Marco was helping.
    “Having fun?” Casey said.
    Megan dug into the best manicotti she’d ever tasted. She wondered if Mrs. Andreani would share the recipe. It was probably too soon in their relationship to ask, considering that until just hours ago Niccolo’s mother hadn’t wanted to acknowledge her existence.
    “Is this supposed to be fun?” Megan said.
    “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
    A cousin with a full tray of Guinness stopped, and Megan took a pint, suffering a hug while she was at it. “How do I eat and hold this?”
    “I’ll hold it.” Casey took the Guinness.
    “I’m doing okay,” Megan admitted.
    “Everyone’s so happy you married Nick.”
    Megan had never realized the Donaghue clan had such remarkable taste. “Nick tells me his car is missing?” She watched her sister’s face. “Casey? I don’t think I like your expression.”
    “What did Nick say, exactly?”
    “That somebody had probably taken it away to decorate