Читать книгу Always Dakota - Debbie Macomber - Страница 9

Rachel Fischer sat in a corner of her restaurant kitchen, where she kept her computer and desk. Writing out a check for the final payment of her loan from the Buffalo County Bank, she signed her name with a flair—and a deep sense of satisfaction. She ripped the check from the book, then stared at it, absorbing the significance of the moment. From this point forward, she was out of debt and free to pursue a relationship with Heath Quantrill, the bank president.

With the last of her bills paid for the month, she put on her hat and coat and headed for the bank. She walked briskly, facing the wind. Normally, the cold cut straight through her, but not today. She hadn’t seen Heath in a few weeks and looked forward to personally handing him the check.

He served as the senior loan officer and manager and worked at the Buffalo Valley branch three days a week, spending the other two at the bank’s headquarters in Grand Forks.

Rachel and Heath had an on-again/off-again relationship that she’d wasted copious hours analyzing. But over the summer their romance had grown serious and they saw one another exclusively. Since Rachel was a widow, much of her time went into supporting herself and her son. Heath wanted her to go out with him more often, but that was impossible and often a source of conflict. He’d suggested that if she invested as much time in their relationship as she did in her business, she need never worry about working again. The memory of that conversation infuriated her whenever she thought about it.

This past year had been difficult for them. She’d expanded both the hours and the menu of her weekend pizza delivery service—to reasonably consistent success. After paying off her original loan—for the pizza oven—she’d borrowed from the bank again to purchase tables and chairs and had turned her restaurant into a sit-down place serving dinner five days a week.

Her parents owned the building, so her rent was low. They’d operated the Morningside Café for many years, until the diner simply couldn’t survive in such a difficult economic climate. It’d broken her mother’s heart to leave Buffalo Valley and she’d pleaded with Rachel to join them in Arizona.

A recent widow at the time, Rachel had debated long and hard about uprooting her young son, and eventually decided against it. Mark had endured enough upheaval in his life after the loss of his father. Besides, every book she’d read on widowhood suggested she delay making a major decision for at least twelve months.

In order to support herself, Rachel drove the school bus and worked as a part-time bookkeeper for Knight’s Pharmacy. She was barely scraping by when she came up with the idea of starting her own pizza parlor. Actually, it was her son who’d made the suggestion, claiming her homemade pizza was better than the pizza he’d eaten in a fast-food restaurant at a friend’s birthday party in Grand Forks.

That was when she’d first met Heath Quantrill. Business plan in hand, she’d gone to the bank to apply for a loan. Heath had read over her application, and then, with barely a pause, refused her. True, she had nothing for collateral, although she’d offered her wedding band. She realized that on paper her business venture didn’t look promising, but she was young, healthy, ambitious and determined. In addition, she’d been around the restaurant business her entire life. Heath had taken none of that into account.

The next few days had been bleak ones for Rachel. Then, to her amazement, Heath had phoned and announced he’d changed his mind. He’d never actually told her why, but she had her suspicions. Hassie Knight was good friends with Lily Quantrill, Heath’s grandmother, and Rachel strongly suspected that Hassie had mentioned the loan to Lily, who had persuaded Heath to relent. Knowing Lily, she didn’t think the persuasion had been of the gentle variety.

The bank was busy when Rachel walked in. Both tellers had lineups. Joanie Wyatt was there with her toddler son, and Steve Baylor, a local farmer, stood behind her. Even before she’d opened her restaurant, Rachel knew everyone in town. That wasn’t saying much, though, since almost everyone knew everyone else. It was one of the advantages of living in a small town. And one of the disadvantages—when tongues wagged and other people got involved in her personal business. But for the most part she considered it a blessing.

Heath, who was in his private office, was chatting with Carl Hooper, the manager of the JCPenney catalogue store. His door was half-open, and he glanced up when she came into the bank. He smiled, clearly pleased to see her.

Content to wait, Rachel took a chair. The bank was the only brick building in town, and one of the nicest, inside and out. Heath’s grandparents had founded Buffalo County Bank shortly after World War II and over the years had expanded to ten branches across the state. Their only son and his wife had died within a short time of each other, leaving two sons, Max and Heath. The elder, Max, was the one who’d revealed an interest in the business and Lily, by now a widow, was grooming him to take over as president. Then Max had been killed in a car crash, and Heath, the playboy adventurer, had returned from Europe to take his brother’s place. It hadn’t been easy to step into Max’s shoes, and Heath had struggled with finding his own path these past few years.

Carl Hooper left five minutes later and Rachel sprang from her seat, then walked into Heath’s office, approaching his desk.

“Hello,” he said, standing to greet her. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too.” Oddly, she felt almost shy now that she actually faced him. They stared at each other a moment before Rachel explained the purpose of her visit. “I have two things for you,” she announced, pulling out the chair recently vacated by Carl Hooper.

“Two?” Heath raised his brows and sat down himself.

“First of all,” she said, opening her purse, “this, as far as I’m aware, is the final payment on my second loan.” She handed him the check, stretching her arm across his desk.

“And as far as I’m aware, you’re right,” Heath said as he took her check. He looked expectantly back at her.

“Also,” she said, feeling flustered and excited, “I have an answer for you.”

“Really.” His voice became suspiciously unemotional. They’d talked about marriage a number of times, but Rachel had always managed to put him off. It didn’t seem right to accept an engagement ring while she owed him money. Now the loan was paid off, she felt free to change that.

“I love you, Heath,” she whispered, wishing she’d chosen the time and place more carefully. In her excitement, she’d rushed to the bank without careful thought. This was a public place, after all—not to mention that Heath’s office door was still half-open.

“And?” he prodded.

“Aren’t you going to tell me you love me, too?” she asked, thinking it was within his power to make this easier.

“No. If you don’t know my feelings by now, then my telling you isn’t going to make a damn bit of difference.”

She could tell he was enjoying himself. He’d leaned back against his leather chair, playing the role of bank president to the hilt.

“If that’s the case, I just might change my mind.”

“Before you do, tell me what’s on your mind,” he cajoled.

Rachel figured he was entitled to that much. “Being your wife.”

A smile exploded across his face, and he released a long, deep sigh. “At last.”

Rachel agreed; it had been a long time coming, but now she was sure this was what she wanted, what was right for Heath, and for her and Mark.

“What took you so long?” he asked, coming around to her side of the desk.

He didn’t know? Hadn’t figured it out himself? “I made the last payment,” she said, standing to meet him. “I couldn’t agree to become your wife while I owed you money.”

“Sure, you could have,” he argued and then, right there in front of anyone who cared to look, he kissed her.

Rachel quickly became absorbed in the kiss, twining her arms around his neck, but not so absorbed that she didn’t notice how quiet the bank had become. When Heath broke off the kiss, he gently disengaged her and hurried to his door. Flinging it wide-open, he called out, “We’re engaged!”

His announcement was instantly followed by a chorus of congratulations and applause from staff and customers alike. Just as quickly the questions came.

“When’s the wedding?”

“Does Lily know?”

“You aren’t closing down The Pizza Parlor, are you?”

“You’re going to live in Buffalo Valley, right?”

Rachel and Heath glanced at each other, but they didn’t seem to have any ready answers. At least Rachel didn’t.

“The wedding’s soon. Very soon,” Heath insisted, his arm around Rachel’s slim waist. “Right?”

Rachel blushed and nodded.

“We’ll tell Lily this evening,” Heath continued, and once more looked to her for confirmation.

“I won’t be closing the restaurant,” she added. This had been the subject of repeated arguments between her and Heath. He didn’t want her to work, but the restaurant was hers and she wasn’t willing to give it up simply because she was marrying a wealthy man, although she did plan on hiring extra help.

“You won’t?” Heath sounded surprised.

“No,” she returned and elbowed him in the ribs.

“They aren’t even married yet,” Steve Baylor cried, “and they’re already arguing.”

“Every couple has issues they need to settle,” Joanie Wyatt said calmly. Joanie should know; she’d recently reconciled with her husband after a yearlong separation. She and her husband, Brandon, were a good example of a couple who’d worked through the problems in their marriage.

“Rachel wants to stay right here in Buffalo Valley,” Heath told everyone.

“I do,” she concurred. She hadn’t said anything to Heath yet, but she could see several needs arising in the community, prime business opportunities. With the success of her restaurant and Sarah’s quilting company, Buffalo Valley was badly in need of a day-care center. Now that she had five full-time employees sewing for her, Sarah was expecting more women to come into town—some to buy quilts and some, eventually, to work for her. All of this meant the bank’s, and therefore Heath’s, increasing involvement with the town.

“You gonna kiss her again?” Steve asked.

Heath laughed. “I plan to do a lot more than kiss her. Come on,” he said to Rachel, reaching for her hand. “If there was ever a time for a celebration lunch, this is it.”

Rachel couldn’t agree more.

Matt Eilers had kissed her. Even a week later, Margaret could hardly believe it had actually happened. In bed at night, she closed her eyes and relived the kiss. Nothing in the world could be more wonderful than Matt’s wanting her.

Sure, she’d been kissed before. Well … once. By a ranch hand employed by her father. Briefly employed. She’d been sixteen, physically underdeveloped, and as naive as they come. She was an adult now and eager to have Matt introduce her to adult experience. To show her what being a woman really meant.

For seven days she’d kept the kissing incident to herself, afraid that if she shared it with anyone else, something would be lost. But when she didn’t hear from Matt again, Margaret knew she needed help in sorting out the significance of what had happened. Since Matt had kissed her once, surely that meant he’d be interested in doing it again—didn’t it? But she hadn’t seen her neighbor since. The only person she could ask about such things was Maddy Washburn McKenna.

Taking the truck, Margaret drove over to Maddy and Jeb’s, hoping to catch Maddy when she wasn’t busy with the baby. Margaret had been present when Julianne Marjorie McKenna was born, and she still considered it one of the most exciting days of her life. Over the years she’d helped a lot of calves into this world, but she’d never witnessed a human birth. Julianne’s was exhilarating, a truly spectacular event in Margaret’s existence.

She knew labor and delivery weren’t easy on a woman; she’d been there to see Maddy’s struggles. But after holding that precious baby in her arms, Margaret had understood why a woman would willingly undergo such pain.

As she rolled into the McKennas’ yard and parked, Maddy waved to her from the kitchen window.

Margaret waved back. She hurried out of the cold and wind and onto the back porch, automatically slipping off her coat, hat and gloves.

“Margaret!” Maddy said, opening the back door for her. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Maddy had a way of making everyone feel welcome and … special, and Margaret wasn’t immune to her enthusiasm.

“This is a wonderful surprise,” Maddy went on.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Margaret was careful to avoid making a pest of herself. Jeb and Maddy hadn’t been married long and there was the baby, too. Maddy was her closest friend, and she didn’t want anything to disrupt their bond.

“This is perfect timing. Jeb’s out with the herd and the baby’s napping. How about a pot of tea? The water’s already on.”

“Sure.” She didn’t really want tea, but it was one of the rituals of their friendship.

A few minutes later, Maddy carried a steeping pot of tea into the living room and Margaret dutifully followed.

“How have you been?” Maddy asked. They’d spoken on the phone at least once a week, and Maddy always asked that question.

Margaret knew it wasn’t her health Maddy was referring to, but her life now that her father was gone. She shrugged, saying what she usually did. “All right, I guess.” After a moment’s reflection, she continued, “A dozen times a day I find myself thinking I need to talk to Dad about this or that. When I realize I can’t ever ask him anything again, this … this feeling of emptiness comes over me.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “Some days don’t seem as bad as others, but there are days I don’t think I can go on.”

“It takes time.”

Margaret knew that. “I’m doing what you suggested the day of the funeral and that’s to remember how fortunate I was to have him as long as I did. His life was a blessing to a lot of people.”

“I said that?”

Margaret nodded. “Maybe not in those exact words.”

Maddy poured the tea and smiled in amusement. “Sometimes I sound so wise, I astonish myself.”

“You are wise—you understand about people. Actually that’s the reason I came over,” Margaret said, sitting back on the sofa and cradling her mug with both hands. She paused, hesitant to proceed.

Maddy said nothing, her expression quizzical.

“Matt Eilers stopped by last week to offer his condolences.”

Maddy added a spoonful of sugar to her tea. “He’s a little late, don’t you think?”

“He apologized for that,” Margaret said, quick to defend him. She took a deep breath. “When he was ready to leave, I walked him out to his truck….”

“And?” Maddy seemed to sense something important had happened because she gazed steadily at Margaret as she waited for her to go on.

“Well, before he left—” she paused a second time “—now, I don’t want you to misjudge him … I realize Matt isn’t one of your favorite people.”

“I don’t dislike him,” Maddy assured her.

“But you don’t trust him.”

Maddy stirred her tea with no comment, then said, “I can be fair. You’d better tell me.”

Margaret was dying to do so. “Oh, Maddy, he kissed me and it was just as wonderful as I dreamed it would be. At first, I didn’t know what to think, since it was such a surprise and all. He started to open his truck door, then turned back, took me by the shoulders and out of the blue, he kissed me!”

“He kissed you,” Maddy repeated in a low voice.

“Yes, and Maddy, oh Maddy, it was wonderful!”

“I’m sure it was….”

“I realize every other woman in the entire universe has more experience with men than I do.” If it wasn’t for Matt, she probably wouldn’t care to this day. Being a woman, all that feminine stuff, was something she’d never had any interest in. She’d considered it trivial and, more than that, irrelevant. Most people blamed her father for not seeing to the proper upbringing of a little girl. But that was unfair. Few understood that she’d loved him so much she was determined to fulfill his every wish. Bernard Clemens had wanted a son, so Margaret had spent her entire life trying to be one.

The first time she’d felt a woman’s emotions had been a shock. Matt Eilers was the reason for that revelation. One day she saw him and it felt as if she’d been hit over the head with a frying pan. He was the most gorgeous creature she’d ever laid eyes on and she wanted him in the worst way. Wanted him the way a woman wants a man.

“Now all I think about is Matt’s kiss … except when I’m feeling depressed about my dad.”

“Oh, Margaret …”

“No, listen, I’m happy he did it. Really happy—but I don’t know what it means.”

Maddy didn’t appear to have an immediate answer herself. She kept stirring her tea until any sugar had long dissolved. “I don’t know what to suggest,” she said finally.

“The problem is, I haven’t seen him since,” Margaret murmured, unable to hide how discouraged this made her feel. “Do you think he didn’t like the kiss—that I might have done it wrong?”

“No.” At least Maddy sounded confident about that.

“What should I do?” she asked next. Her friend usually had answers.

“Do?” Maddy echoed, seemingly lost in thought. She set her cup aside and leaned forward, taking Margaret’s hand between both of hers. “Listen carefully. I know how you feel about Matt.”

“I love him,” she stated simply.

“But I want you to promise me you’ll be careful about starting any kind of relationship with him.”

So Maddy was afraid Matt would take advantage of her. Margaret understood why her friend might react that way, but deep down, Margaret knew otherwise. She’d seen his surprised look after he’d kissed her. He hadn’t come to seduce her; she would have bet the ranch on that. Nor was she as naive as others, including Matt, assumed. Inexperienced, yes. Naive, no.

They sat and visited for another thirty minutes before the baby cried and Margaret decided it was time to go. Maddy collected the still-sleepy infant and walked Margaret to the door, promising to call in a few days.

As she drove back to the Triple C, Margaret remembered something her father had often told her. If you have a question or a doubt, go straight to the source. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of that earlier. If she had any questions about Matt’s kiss or his motives, all she needed to do was ask him.

With renewed purpose, she drove past her own ranch and headed toward his, pulling into the large yard. The Stockerts had been neighbors and friends of her father’s for years, but had moved when beef prices plummeted dramatically. The house had sat vacant until Matt arrived, leasing the property from the retired couple. He’d started out small, which was smart, building his herd each year. The house needed plenty of repairs and a coat of paint. But why should he paint a house that wasn’t his? Matt put everything he earned back into his herd.

Margaret parked the truck, then got out and glanced around. It appeared that Matt wasn’t there. She was about to leave when she saw him walk out of the barn. Once again she was struck by his stunning good looks—stunning at least to her.

Suddenly Margaret felt insecure and self-conscious, and she experienced those emotions as a physical sensation. She didn’t like the uncomfortable feeling that settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Margaret.” He touched the brim of his hat in welcome.

“Matt.” She touched her own.

They stood three feet apart with the cold drifting in around them. She supposed other people would gradually lead into the purpose of a visit, but she was beyond pretense.

“Why did you kiss me?” she asked, surprised by how cool and even her voice remained. The question had plagued her for days, had practically consumed her, yet she’d made it sound as if she was asking about the price of feed.

His eyes met and held hers. Then, looking discomfited, he shrugged. “I can’t rightly say.”

“You plan on doing it again?”

His gaze shifted away from hers. “What makes you ask?”

Wait a minute. She was the one asking the questions here. “Don’t answer my question with one of your own. That’s unfair.”

“There are rules to this conversation?”

“You just did it again,” she cried, exasperated.

At that, Matt burst out laughing.

Despite the seriousness of her concerns, Margaret laughed, too.

“You’re fortunate you caught me. I was out on the range earlier, looking for stray cattle.”

“We’ve had a lot of rain lately.” They both knew what that meant. The wet weather could bring about symptoms of bloat in the calves; they required careful watching.

As it happened, Matt had brought a sick calf into the barn and before long, Margaret was down on her knees, checking him over.

“What do you think?” he asked.

If Margaret knew anything, it was cattle. “I’d get the vet out here if you hope to save him.”

Matt nodded gravely. “I already put in a call to Doc Lenz in Devils Lake, but he said there’s not much he could do that I haven’t already done.”

Talking softly to the sick calf, Margaret stroked his sleek neck. Hardened rancher or not, she hated to see anything suffer. She comforted the calf as it lay dying, tears springing to her eyes. She continued to stroke the calf’s face long after it was gone. When she realized Matt was watching her, she got abruptly to her feet and glanced at her watch. “I’d better go home.”

He stood, too. “I’ll walk you out.”

They strolled silently back to her truck, and she wondered if he was as reluctant to let her go as she was to leave. “You never did answer my question,” she reminded him.

He grinned and shook his head. “You’re right, I didn’t.”

“It isn’t the proper thing for a woman to ask, is it?”

He buried his hands deep in his coat pockets. “I don’t see why not. If you’d kissed me, I’d want to know why.”

Really. Then perhaps she should do exactly that. Catching him by surprise, she reached for his collar, gripping it with both hands. Then, raising herself on her toes, she slanted her mouth over his, hungry to discover if a second kiss could possibly compare with the first.

Quick as anything, Matt’s arms were around her waist, pulling her against him. He did it with such force that it drove the breath from her lungs. For one wild second, her eyes flew open. Matt quickly took charge of the kiss, seducing her with his lips, introducing her to his tongue and creating an ache in her that reached low into her belly. This was the kind of kiss that would make a woman want to lock the door.

When he released her, it was all Margaret could do to breathe again.

“I shocked you, didn’t I?” he said, brushing the hair from her face.

Still breathless, she couldn’t answer him.

“I figure you haven’t had much experience at this.”

His comment irritated her. He seemed to be saying her lack of sexual finesse was obvious.

“I … I should leave now,” she murmured, doing her best to sound mature and unaffected, even though her knees were shaking.

“Feel free to stop by any time,” he said, opening the truck door.

“By the same token,” she said, climbing inside, “feel free to shock me any time.”

He was still laughing when he closed the door and she started the engine and drove off. He was laughing and Margaret was smiling. This could be the start of something good, a voice inside her seemed to whisper.

The frantic hum of sewing machines filled the workshop at Sarah Urlacher’s quilt company. Three machines were in use nearly eight hours every day. Two girls cut pattern pieces while Sarah was busy with the phones. Orders continued to arrive and she was having trouble keeping up. Many nights she stayed late, dying the muslin, soaking the cloth in tea water and other natural concoctions made with lichen and berries and plants. She put in long hours, but she loved it with an intensity that was hard to explain. Quilting was her passion, and her love for it went into every quilt she sold.

No one was more amazed by the almost overnight success of her business than Sarah herself. It’d started out mainly as a hobby, something to occupy her time and employ her talents. Then she’d won first prize at the state fair and sold the quilt for an astonishing five hundred dollars. Soon other sales trickled in. Enough that she’d eventually realized she needed to expand, to move her business out of her father’s house. That was when she created Buffalo Valley Quilts.

Although it was a risk, a leap of faith, she’d rented space in one of the abandoned stores on Buffalo Valley’s main street. Having her own location with her business name painted on the window had brought her immense satisfaction—and pride. For the first time, she was doing something for herself. The success or failure of this venture rested squarely on her own shoulders. Everything else in her life had been controlled by circumstances, but this company was of her own making. And so was its success.

To be fair, she credited Lindsay Sinclair with those initial sales. Two years earlier, Lindsay had moved to Buffalo Valley and accepted a teaching job. With her, Lindsay had brought hope and vision to the community.

When Sarah started her company, Lindsay had contacted her uncle in Savannah about displaying the distinctive quilts in his upscale furniture store. The first had sold immediately, and everything since had been eagerly snapped up. Soon other retail outlets had approached her.

Already she had a handful of full-time employees and she could use more. But luring women into town to work for her was complicated. Farm wives were often needed at home, and with no day care available in town. A temporary solution was to hire them to do piecework out of their homes, but Sarah didn’t feel that gave her the same quality control.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the jangling of the bell above the door. Hassie Knight walked in. The pharmacist visited often, usually without a specific reason; Sarah guessed she just liked seeing all the activity.

“It does my heart good,” Hassie had told her once. “This town is coming back to life and it’s starting right here in this shop.” And then the older woman said something that brought a rush of pride to Sarah every time she thought about it. “I couldn’t be prouder of you if you were my own daughter.”

“Afternoon, Hassie,” Sarah greeted her.

“I brought you a chocolate soda,” the older woman said, handing her a tall metal container filled to the brim with ice cream and soda. “I’m betting you didn’t eat lunch again today.”

Sarah hadn’t; she’d been too busy.

“We can’t have you getting weak and fainting on us, now can we?”

There was little likelihood of that happening, but Sarah wasn’t about to argue. Hassie made the best sodas she’d tasted anywhere. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how famished she was.

“Thank you,” she said.

Hassie nodded, then left as abruptly as she’d come.

Sarah stood by the window and watched her. Since her own mother’s death, she’d considered Hassie both advisor and friend. In Sarah’s opinion, Hassie Knight had held this town together. If not for her, the community would have shriveled up and died the way so many other prairie towns had in the last twenty years.

Sarah’s gaze drifted toward her husband’s service station. It was difficult even now, three months after speaking their vows, to believe they were actually married. Unfortunately, the joy she felt was almost immediately squelched by regret at her daughter’s estrangement. For reasons no one fully understood, Calla disliked Dennis. When they’d announced their engagement, Calla had run away, choosing instead to live with her father in Minneapolis.

Sarah felt an oppressive sadness, a painful despair, whenever she thought about Calla. It was agonizing to see history repeat itself as she watched Calla make the same mistakes she had. Sarah felt so helpless. Nothing she’d said or done had brought Calla home. She shook off the memory; thinking about her daughter made it impossible to concentrate on work.

At five o’clock, her employees packed up and headed home. Sarah stayed behind, catching up on some long-overdue paperwork. An hour after she closed, Dennis joined her.

He walked into the back room, stood behind her, kissing her neck. “You ready to leave?”

He smelled of gasoline and grease, and spicy aftershave. Sarah closed her eyes and enjoyed the loving feel of his arms around her.

“I won’t be long. Did you go to the post office?”

His hesitation told her he had.

“There’s a letter from Calla,” he told her.

Sarah’s heart flew into her throat. She’d been so anxious to get a response about Thanksgiving.

“Open it later,” Dennis advised.

Sarah whirled around, unable to believe he’d say such a thing. “Why?” He knew she’d been waiting for days to hear from her daughter.

“What if she tells you she won’t come?” Dennis asked.

“Then she won’t be here.” Sarah’s flippant reply suggested it didn’t matter one way or the other. In reality, it meant everything. She’d only spoken to Calla a few times in the past five months. Despite her best efforts, every conversation had left her feeling guilty, upset and depressed. If only she could get Calla away from Willie’s influence, talk to her, reason all this out.

Thanksgiving would be perfect. Her father and her brother, Jeb, along with Maddy and the baby, would be joining them. Even Dennis’s parents were coming. A big family dinner, the kind they’d had when her mother was alive. Perhaps it was greedy of her, but Sarah wanted her daughter with them. Surrounded by family, Calla would surely feel the love everyone had for her, would surely realize how much they missed her. Realize how much Sarah needed her. Perhaps they’d even be able to break down the barriers and communicate as mother and daughter.

“Give me the letter,” she told him, and held out her hand.

“Sarah …”

“Dennis, please.”

His reluctance was obvious. She clutched the small manila envelope and was about to tear into it when she paused. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said, her voice shaking. All at once she was afraid of what she’d find inside.

“Open it,” Dennis said now. “You might as well. Get it over with.”

He was as ambivalent as she was. Sarah sighed deeply. Confronting her fear was more difficult than she’d expected. She opened the envelope, reached inside and pulled out half the airline ticket.

Sarah’s chest tightened and for a moment she could hardly breathe. Calla had torn the airline ticket in two and returned both halves.

“No letter?” Dennis asked, sounding as discouraged as she felt.

Sarah looked again and shook her head. “Why would she do something so cruel?” she asked.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Dennis said. “Let’s go home.”

“I don’t know why she hates me so much,” Sarah whispered. “If only she’d talk to me. If only …”