Prologue

Seventeen Years Ago...

Why wouldn't everyone leave?

Hugh Shaughnessy stood in the corner of his living room, glaring at the masses. They came. They saw. They said their condolences. Wasn't that enough?

Everywhere he looked, there were people. He glanced at his watch and shook his head with disgust. Four thirty. Didn't anyone realize someone needed to start preparing dinner at five? Every night the family sat down for dinner at exactly six fifteen, but if someone didn't start moving these people toward the door, it wasn't going to happen.

Schedules.

It was all about the schedules.

There was no room for spontaneity-no room for straying from the norm. He'd learned that the hard way. And there were at least a hundred people milling about to witness the lesson he'd been forced to learn.

Turning his back on everyone, he thought of the conversation he'd had only days before with his mother.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Lillian Shaughnessy asked her second oldest son as soon as he'd walked through the front door.

Hugh took off his letterman jacket, hung it on his designated peg on the wall, and shrugged. "I don't know. Nine?"

His mother's eyes narrowed as she looked at him. "It's after ten. Where were you that you couldn't call to say you were going to be late?"

Not really in the mood for a lecture or an argument, Hugh walked toward the kitchen to get something to eat. He made it all of three steps before his mother-who was almost a foot shorter than him-grabbed him by the arm and forced him to look at her. "What?" he snapped. "I went out with a couple of friends after school. I lost track of time. It's not a big deal. I'm almost eighteen. Don't you think it's time I stopped having a curfew? I mean...really. Can't a guy go out once in a while without it turning into a big deal?"

But it was a big deal. Lillian Shaughnessy ran a tight ship in her home. With six kids, she had no choice. There were chores to do, meals to cook, homework to be checked, and without a routine-a schedule-things could easily fall apart and break down into chaos.

"You know the rules, Hugh. You had chores to do this afternoon-chores Quinn had to take on because you weren't here."

"So? I'll do his chores tomorrow."

Lillian looked up at her son, her expression firm. "That's not the point and you know it. You broke the rules. Again. You didn't come home on time and you didn't call. Again. This is the third time this week." She held out her hand. "Give me your keys."

"What?" Hugh cried. "But...that's not fair!"

She shook her head. "No driving for a week. You'll have to take the bus to and from school. If one of your friends drives you, you'll still need to be home on time. No extra stops, no excuses."

Hugh wanted to argue, but he knew it was pointless. Without a word, he put the keys in his mother's hand and turned to go to his room.

"Your dinner is in the microwave," she said, still standing where he'd left her.

"I'm not hungry," he mumbled and went to his room.

For the next two days he was the model son-he came home on time, did his chores and his homework all without saying a word of complaint. On the third day, he came home miserable. It was storming and the walk from the bus stop had left him soaked to the skin.

"You'd better get changed before you catch a cold," his mother warned, but she looked distracted.

"What's going on?" Hugh asked.

"Darcy has an ear infection. I've got to pick up a prescription for her." She looked out the window and frowned. "I had hoped the rain would let up by now. I can't wait any longer."

It was on the tip of his tongue to offer to go for her, but he remembered his punishment. And for a moment, he wanted to be mean-to show her how her stupid punishment affected her too. "Well, if I was allowed to drive, I'd go. But since it's so important for me to learn my lesson..." He let his words die off.

Lillian merely gave him a tight smile. "You can be mad at me all you want. You broke curfew...for what? To go joyriding for an afternoon? Was it worth it?" She reached for her coat and slipped it on, her eyes still on Hugh.

Her expression softened. She reached out and cupped his cheek. "Sweetheart, there's nothing wrong with wanting to have some fun once in a while. It's just...well, you didn't call. You had no consideration for your family and our rules. I don't think your father and I are strict, we don't ask too much..."

"I know, Mom. But-"

"But," she interrupted, "maybe next time you'll think twice before being so impulsive."

Hugh wasn't so sure, but he kept it to himself.

"I'll be back in a little while," Lillian said. "Darcy's finally sleeping so I want to get to the pharmacy and back before she wakes up. Quinn is staying after school and Riley and Owen will be home soon."

Yeah, yeah...Hugh knew the drill. The schedule. No surprises.

Lillian walked out the door into the storm.

And never came home.

That wasn't on the schedule, Hugh kept telling himself. It wasn't something any of them were prepared for.

And it certainly wasn't what any of them wanted.

For all the times he'd mocked the schedules and the routine and the flat-out boringness of their lives, right now Hugh would give everything he had to have it all back.

To have her back.

At five o'clock, he moved into the kitchen. Luckily no one was in there. Their guests had finally started to leave, and it was remarkably the one quiet room in the house.

"Hugh?" his father asked as he came into the room a few minutes later. "What are you doing?"

"Making dinner. It's spaghetti night."

Ian Shaughnessy stood with tears in his eyes as he watched his son get out the ingredients to make dinner. "Hugh," he began, "there's enough food out in the dining room to feed a small army. I don't think we have to make dinner tonight."

Hugh stopped and looked at him. "But...it's Thursday. We always have spaghetti on Thursday." He turned and pointed to the chalkboard his mother kept in the kitchen. "See? Thursday. Spaghetti." Then he went back to getting out the large pot his mother used to cook pasta in.

He filled it and put it on the stove and when he turned back around, his father was right there in front of him. "Hugh..." he said gruffly, right before he wrapped his son in his arms.

Something inside of Hugh broke. "She always..."

"I know," Ian said.

"She would want..."

"I know that too. But for tonight, we'll let the menu slide." He pulled back and smiled sadly. "Tomorrow will be soon enough to get back on track with dinners. Although I think we have about twenty casseroles overflowing from the freezer just in case."

Hugh wiped away the tears streaming down his cheeks. "I just want..." He swallowed hard.

Ian stopped him. "I know, Hugh. I want it too."

They stood there in silence for a long time, and Hugh decided then and there that he would honor his mother by doing things the way she wanted-he'd follow the rules. Never again would he act impulsively or without conscious thought.

He couldn't afford to.

Not ever again.