DEAN WAS WORRIED about Claire—it wasn’t like her to go somewhere without telling him. And why had she taken the letters? As he sat in the den, his mind went back to that first night she’d left home.

      March 16, 1983

      DEAN PICKED UP CLAIRE right before midnight on the corner of her street. They didn’t talk much. Neither knew if they were doing the right thing.

      They made it to Bunny’s before she got home from work. Her shift ended at twelve. When he told his mother what had happened, she exploded, just as he knew she would.

      “We’re planning on getting married,” he told her.

      “And that’s supposed to solve everything.” In her black-and-white uniform, a pencil behind one ear, Bunny glared at him, her hands on her hips. “I thought I raised you better than this. Protection! I’ve drilled that into your head since you were fourteen years old.”

      “We used protection, but it didn’t work. I love Claire and she loves me. I’m getting a marriage license tomorrow. We just need a place to stay.”

      Bunny threw up her hands. “Champ, do you think it’s that easy? The Thorntons will be knocking down my door as soon as they discover Claire’s gone.”

      “I’m not going back,” Claire said. “They want me to have an abortion.”

      “What?” Bunny’s face turned almost as red as her hair.

      “We can’t let that happen, Mom. Please help us.”

      She rubbed the balls of her hands into her eyes. “Champ, that’s why I have to dye my hair. You’ve turned it almost completely white.”

      “Then you’ll let us stay here?”

      “Yes.” She pointed a red-tipped finger at Claire. “But you’re sleeping on the sofa.”

      “She can have my bed.”

      “Then you’re sleeping on the sofa.”

      “Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?”

      “Those are the rules, champ. And you had better prepare yourself for fireworks in the morning.”

      Dean didn’t argue with Bunny. He was glad he and Claire could be together, or at least in the same place. He sat with her for a while and left her reading. Her suitcase was full of books, some of her favorites—Shakespeare, Dickens, Brontë, Austen, Alcott and many more.

      Tossing and turning, he couldn’t get comfortable. It wasn’t the lumpy sofa, though. Facing the Thorntons weighed heavily on his mind.

      Early the next morning the pounding on the door woke them. “Police, open up.”

      Bunny came out of her room, her hair sticking out in all directions. “What the hell?”

      Claire hurried out, still in her clothes. She hadn’t undressed and neither had Dean. The beat of his heart sounded like a cymbal in his ears. He reached for her hand and she trembled.

      Bunny opened the door.

      “Good morning, ma’am,” a police officer said. “I’m looking for Claire Thornton. Is she here?”

      “Yes. I’m here,” Claire answered.

      Bunny stepped aside. The officer, followed by the Thorntons, entered the house.

      “Let’s go, Claire,” Robert said.

      Claire shook her head. “No. I’m not going with you.”

      “Yes, you are. The officer is here to see that you do.”

      “I’m eighteen and I can make my own decisions.”

      “Young lady,” the policeman said. “Just get your things and let’s go.”

      “I can’t. They want me to have an abortion and I can’t do that.”

      The officer looked at Robert.

      “Do your damn job,” he snapped.

      “I can’t force her. She’s eighteen.”

      “I know the police chief.”

      “Well, then, you better call him. I was under the impression the young lady was here against her will.”

      “She is,” Gwen said. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

      “She seems fine to me.”

      “Claire, come home. Please,” her mother pleaded. “If you insist on having the baby, we’ll send you up north. It can be adopted by a nice couple.”

      Claire’s nails dug into Dean’s palm. “I’m keeping my baby.”

      “I’m getting tired of this defiance, Claire,” Robert said, his face turning beet-red. “If you insist on this insanity, I wash my hands of you. Do you want your mother and me completely out of your life?”

      Claire swallowed. “I know I’ve disappointed you. I’m sorry, but I can’t change the way I feel. I’m having the baby.”

      “That’s it,” Robert said in anger. “If you’re choosing him—” he flung a hand toward Dean “—over us, then you’re on your own. Don’t call us for money or anything. You’re no daughter of mine.”

      “Robert.” Gwen grabbed his arm. “No.”

      “I said that’s it. Let’s go.”

      Gwen followed her husband and the officer out of the room. Claire whimpered deep in her throat. Dean held her tight as heartbroken sobs convulsed through her body. The sound tore at his gut like jagged glass. At that moment he grew up. He was eighteen years old and he was too young for fatherhood. He was too young for this kind of heartache. But he would shoulder it like a man.