TJ was learning to walk. Maura hadn't spent much time with him; Tommy and Lydia didn't always make it to Sunday dinner, and when they did, the Rizzolis played a kind of tug-of-war with the infant. None of them could seem to get enough of him, even when his diaper needed to be changed. Maura didn't feel right trying to steal him from his grandmother's arms, or anyone else's, for that matter, and so she hung back. But now that TJ was walking, he'd squirm from someone's embrace and they'd set him down on the floor, free to run around the room on his tiptoes—why did children do that, Maura wondered?—and explore.

He probably only wanted to see what was going on above his head, at the counter. But when Maura felt a tiny hand on the back of her knee and looked down to see TJ's arms raised in the universal gesture for 'pick me up,' her breath caught. Children didn't gravitate toward Maura. She didn't have much experience at all with them, even when she was young. She could read all the child psychology books in the world, but nothing would prepare her for motherhood like experience.

There was that baby she'd delivered at the spa. He was a newborn and even though he didn't do much besides eat and sleep, the way he had felt in Maura's arms made her understand. It made her want to be a mother, to feel that way all the time. To feel needed and to know that she was able to give comfort with a simple embrace.

She wasn't TJ's mother, and he just wanted a better vantage point, Maura reminded herself. She wiped her hands on a tea towel, picked him up, and settled him on her hip, marveling at the way he almost held himself there. His little muscles were accustomed to this position. He was comfortable in her arms. Trusting. So trusting, in fact, that he risked throwing his weight forward to reach for the knife she had been using to cut vegetables for the salad.

"Oh, no, honey," Maura rotated just in time to keep it out of his reach. In an attempt to distract him, she cut a tiny piece of tomato and offered it to him. Is tomato a common allergen? Has he tried tomatoes before? Do I have an EpiPen ready in case he's allergic? Maura made a mental note to read up on baby allergies as soon as possible. And toe-walking, while she was at it. Luckily, TJ turned his face away from the offered tomato, thus negating the potential for any danger.

"Ok, no veggies for you," Maura cooed, as she put down the tomato and wiped her hand again. "You're just like your Auntie Jane." TJ looked back at Maura when she spoke, and said something. It wasn't English, but it used the same phonemes. Her necklace caught his eye, and he pulled on it.

This was much different from holding that newborn, Maura discerned. TJ was making eye contact, holding on to her sleeve, interacting, and engaging. She wanted to witness his every discovery and the glee evoked by something as simple as light reflecting off a sapphire. His tiny hand held tight and he leaned forward, toward her neck, trying to put the jewel in his mouth. She let him. He inserted his whole fist, along with the pendant, into his mouth and drooled a little bit. It was adorable. Maura smiled at him, and in response, he threw his arm out to the side, still holding her pendant, and squealed happily. Not noticing the chain digging into her neck, Maura observed that his four central incisors (two on the maxilla and two on the mandible) had already come in, and his two lower lateral incisors were just emerging. That would explain the drooling.

TJ continued to pull on the sapphire, while Maura was entranced by his joy, until Jane sidled up and took him away, forcing him to let go of the pendant. As if trying to diminish the void left in Maura's arms, Jane murmured, "Careful, Maur, babies are contagious."

Jane swayed with the baby on her hip, almost bumping up against Maura at one end of her trajectory. Maura saw the smirk on her face but didn't understand the joke. "He doesn't appear ill. Do you think he has a cold?"

Jane's smile grew as she let out a small laugh. "No, Maur, it's a saying. It means if you spend time with a baby, soon you're going to have one of your own." TJ had begun tugging on Jane's hair, but she paid no attention.

Maura blinked. "But Jane, we are having a baby."

Jane leaned closer to whisper into Maura's ear, "Yeah, that's why it's funny." She gave Maura a peck and then went to put TJ in his high chair.

After they'd eaten and TJ was released, he surveyed the room and then tottered right back over to Maura. She set him on her lap at the table and let him play with her necklace while the others cleared and cleaned up. He soon tired of the necklace, moved on to her hair (also putting that in his mouth), and then started reaching for things on the table. He went from content to squirmy, and then to fussy in less than five minutes.

Maura didn't know what to do. She offered to let him down, but he just wanted up again. She started bouncing her knees like she'd seen Jane do to entertain him before. He just kind of jostled and made more noise. She tried reasoning with him. "I don't know what's upsetting you, TJ, but I would like to help fix it. Maybe you could point to the problem?" He scrunched up his face. Sniffing, Maura didn't detect the need for a diaper change, but she peeked in the back, just to confirm it. No evidence of poop. She picked up her necklace and showed it to him again, with no success at distracting him.

Maura was out of ideas and starting to panic. Everyone else was busy in the kitchen, talking and making so much noise with the dishes, they didn't seem to notice TJ's whines until they turned into a wail. Maura felt herself flush. She should know how to entertain a toddler for at least a few minutes, shouldn't she? She should know what was wrong. She wanted to hide under a rock.

Lydia waved a dish towel at her as if it was nothing unusual and said, "Oh, he's just tired. He'll fall asleep in the car on the way home." Then she went back to drying the dishes.

Tommy came over and spoke quietly. "It's ok, Maura, he just gets fussy when he's tired." He pulled out the chair next to her and sat, but didn't reach to take TJ from her. He just put his finger out for TJ to grab onto, and that calmed the child some. "And it's hard for him to fall asleep with all these people around; he doesn't want to miss anything."

Maura examined Tommy as he spoke. When did he become a father? When she met him, he was this bumbling little boy, unable to see the consequences of his actions. But this man sitting with her was gentle and proud, relaxed and caring. He put his son first.

"One time," Tommy leaned forward conspiratorially, "I was making a bottle and I turned around for, like, two seconds, and TJ started cryin'." Tommy rolled his eyes much like Jane did when she was annoyed. "I couldn't figgure out what was wrong! I checked his diaper, he had food right in front a him, he'd just had a nap, I dunno, sometimes he just cries for no reason at all!" Tommy looked over his shoulder to be sure the others weren't listening in. "Turned out he'd stuffed a cheerio up 'is nose. Way up there," he pointed up his own nose. "He finally sneezed it out. Snot everywhere. Was gross."

Maura decided that Tommy was still Tommy. She laughed quietly and looked down at TJ, aiming to check up his nose for any morsel of food, but then noticed the child had fallen asleep against her chest. All was peaceful and Maura had the best excuse to relax until the last possible moment before Tommy and Lydia had to leave.

It was just after three am. Maura had tried snuggling up to Jane, listening to her breathe, holding her, holding Echo, recalling as many kisses as she could, even counting backward from one hundred. It was no use. She could not sleep. Her brain was on overdrive.

Her mind kept wandering back to her interactions with TJ and Tommy the night before. Since she had held that orphaned newborn in the hospital, Maura knew she wanted to be a mother, but perhaps she hadn't thought it through sufficiently. Perhaps Maura didn't have the right instincts for motherhood. Could she even hope to be as wonderful a mother as Angela was? Angela wasn't perfect, Jane would argue, but she was warm, affectionate, and nurturing, none of which Maura could count among her virtues. Were those traits innate or learned, Maura wondered? In her case, it probably didn't matter: neither Hope, nor Paddy, nor either Isles were particularly affectionate or nurturing. And even if Angela agreed to tutor Maura in motherhood, the sheer volume of knowledge seemed insurmountable in just three months, even given Maura's proclivity for learning. Maura breathed deep and wiped at the moisture in her eyes.

And yet Tommy seemed to have taken to fatherhood like waterfowl, so they said. He had the benefit of Angela's upbringing, surely that prepared him somewhat, but Maura remembered worrying about his abilities when TJ was initially placed in his care. Somehow since then, he had grown into his role as a parent. Perhaps there was some hope for Maura after all.

All these doubts led Maura to think about her own mother, Constance. Maura loved her mother, but she had certainly not been the doting, affectionate mother Angela was. Had she not wanted to be, or had she tried and failed? Was there something Constance could have done differently? Or was Maura simply oblivious, unable to read the physical and emotional cues that communicate love?

Maura suddenly had the urge to speak with her mother, to hear her voice, to listen for something she had been missing. She quietly got up, brought her phone to the living room, and dialed Paris.

"Good morning," Maura's father answered.

"Hello, Father, this is Maura." She tried not to sound too formal, but she worried that he wouldn't recognize her voice.

"Maura, it's wonderful to hear from you. Your mother tells me you are planning to adopt a child."

Maura didn't hear a question in his voice, but answered anyway. "Yes..." She supposed that was one way to see her situation. She was about to explain further, but the moment vanished when her father continued.

"Good, good. Congratulations. You've always been one to put others first." His tone made it clear he meant this as a compliment, but Maura heard his underlying assumption, that adoption was an act of charity, not love. His unspoken commentary on her own adoption rendered Maura speechless, and her father went on. "And everything else is going well, I hope?"

Maura managed to sputter out, "Yes, everything is good." She tried to think of some detail she could relate, which he might be interested to hear. She dismissed a few items as unimportant to him—the wonder she felt at Jane's last ultrasound, that she'd found the precise place on Jane's neck to kiss in order to completely relax her, that they were calling the baby Echo until they settled on a more permanent name—and landed on an old standby, "I helped solve two murders last week."

"That's wonderful, Maura. Let me go get your mother." She heard a clink as he put down the phone.

A moment later, Constance was on the line. "Maura, darling, how have you been?"

"I'm well, Mother. And yourself?"

"Oh, business as usual, my dear. Your father is planning an expedition to Kenya this fall; I'm afraid he won't make it out to Boston to meet the baby."

"Oh." Maura wasn't sure if she was disappointed or relieved. Both, probably. "Will you be going with him?" She tried to sound nonchalant about the canceled visit, but her voice cracked and betrayed her emotions. Suddenly the idea of not having her mother nearby to help her navigate the first few weeks of motherhood terrified her.

Constance didn't seem to notice. "No, dear, I'm still planning to come. In fact, I've already booked my flight. I thought I might stay in your guest house with Angela to be nearby, but if you think that's too much of an imposition, I could reserve a room at The Beacon."

"That won't be necessary, Mother." She felt as if she should say something more, about the relief she felt or simply that she was nervous about taking on the challenge of motherhood. Instead, she said, "How is your work?"

"Oh, splendid, darling! I've been inspired by the hoi polloi at Monmartre; I'm working on a piece that attempts to forge meaning from discarded memories." Constance's voice lilted when she spoke of her work. "How fortunate you caught me before I retreated to my studio." There was a silent moment in which Constance must have checked the time. "Darling, it's not even ten here! It must be the middle of the night in Boston. What has you awake at this hour?"

Maura rubbed her eye and pulled her legs up underneath her. "I couldn't sleep. I thought it would be a good time to call."

Constance's voice was softer and deeper when she asked, "Is it Jane, darling? Did you tell her how you feel? Did she not respond positively?"

"No—I mean, yes, I told her—or, perhaps she guessed, but, well, it's a long story and..." Maura took a deep breath and summed up her answer, "She's wonderful, Mother." Maura felt ambushed by the questions, and despite the bliss she'd been experiencing with Jane the past few weeks, she didn't want to relay the details to Constance. It felt too private to share. Maura tried to change the subject. "And the baby is doing well. We're about to begin the third trimester."

"That must be exciting!" Maura couldn't tell if the excitement she heard in Constance's voice was sincere. "Are you prepared? I saw your photos of the baby furniture; lovely choices. What about clothing and diapers? Have you those?"

"Some. Angela is planning a baby shower." Maura was silent. She wished her mother would say something, would somehow know what Maura was thinking, like the last time they had spoken. Perhaps that was a fluke.

The words echoed in Maura's head a few times before she realized she'd said them aloud. "What was it like for you?"

"What—when you were a baby?" Constance didn't seem to understand the connection between Maura's question and their previous topics of conversation. "Well, I didn't have months to prepare, like you do." Maura didn't say anything, so she continued, "I remember being overwhelmed initially. I was not prepared to take care of a baby in any way. The first few days were especially difficult, as I didn't have any of the basic supplies and neither I nor your father knew the first thing about how to care for a newborn."

"What did you do?"

"We learned, I suppose. We quickly fell into a routine, learned what you liked and didn't like. You were very vocal about your dislikes," Constance laughed. "I remember sometimes it seemed as though the only way to assuage you was to lay you down on my chest, so you could hear my heartbeat." Constance sounded almost wistful.

"Your father insisted on going to the authorities, but I convinced him to wait a few days, to give Patrick time to reconsider, if he so chose. And by that time I had become so attached to you that I didn't want to turn you over. I persuaded your father to do whatever was necessary to keep you in our care."

This was all new information to Maura. She had grown up knowing she was adopted, of course, but had only recently learned the circumstances of her abandonment, that Doyle had told everyone that both she and Hope had died in childbirth, then left Maura with Constance. From this, Maura had concluded that she had become an Isles by default, that her parents had kept her out of pity or some sort of recompense toward Doyle. But this, the idea that Constance made a concerted effort to keep her, when it would have been easier to give her away... "You wanted me?"

Constance was taken aback. "Of course we wanted you, darling. You're our daughter." She sighed. "I probably should have done more to show you that. I'm sorry, Maura. You grew up so quickly. You practically raised yourself. I admit I was intimidated by you. So smart, so beautiful."

"Mom," Maura choked on the upswell of tears, "I wish—" She sniffled and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "I wish I had known." Maura wished a lot of things at that moment, most of all that Constance were there to hug her.

"May I give you some advice, Maura? Now that you're going to be a mother?"

"Please."

"Don't be afraid to love your daughter. She deserves everything you have to give her. No less."

"Mom," Maura was crying again.

"Now dry your eyes, darling, and tell me about your Jane. Tell me how wonderful she is."