After a long moment, the young one shook his head. “Then let’s not try again, okay?” he said in a voice that brooked no disagreement. “It isn’t safe to be shooting out here, not with the highway so close. It’s also against the law. And that place isn’t for kids. It’s just about to fall down and you could get hurt in there. Now, you don’t want me to talk to your parents, do you?” “No, sir.” “Then you won’t go after that owl again, will you? If I let you go, I mean?” “No, sir.” Miles stared at them wordlessly, making sure he believed them, then nodded in the direction of the nearest homes. “You live out that way?” “Yes, sir.” “Did you walk or ride your bikes?” “We walked.” “Then I’ll tell you what—I’ll get your rifles and you two get in the backseat. I’ll give you a ride back home and drop you off down the street. And I’ll let it go this time, but if I ever catch you out here again, I’m gonna tell your parents that I caught you before and warned you and that I’m gonna have to bring you both in, okay?” Though their eyes widened at the threat, they both nodded gratefully. After dropping them off, Miles made his way back to the school, looking forward to seeing Jonah. No doubt the boy would want to hear all about what just happened, though Miles first wanted to find out how things had gone that day. And despite himself, he couldn’t suppress a pleasant thrill at the thought of seeing Sarah Andrews again. • • • “Daddy!” Jonah screamed, running toward Miles. Miles lowered himself into position to catch his son just as he jumped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Sarah had followed him out in a more sedate fashion. Jonah pulled back to look at him. “Did you arrest anyone today?” Miles grinned and shook his head. “Not so far, but I’m not finished yet. How’d it go in school today?” “Good. Miss Andrews gave me some cookies.” “She did?” he asked, trying to watch her approach without being too obvious. “Oreos. The good ones—Double Stuf.” “Oh, well, you can’t ask for more than that,” he said. “But how’d the tutoring go?” Jonah furrowed his brow. “The what?” “Miss Andrews helping you with your schoolwork.” “It was fun—we played games.” “Games?” “I’ll explain later,” Sarah said, stepping up, “but we got off to a good start.” At the sound of her voice, Miles turned to face her and again felt pleasant surprise. She was wearing a long skirt and a blouse again, nothing fancy, but when she smiled, Miles felt the same strange fluttering he’d experienced when he’d first met her. It struck him that he hadn’t fully appreciated how pretty she was the last time. Yes, he’d recognized the fact that she was attractive, and the same features immediately jumped out at him—the corn-silk hair, the delicately boned face, eyes the color of turquoise—but today she looked softer somehow, her expression warm and almost familiar.

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But she wouldn’t be upset now, if she was really over him. . . . Sarah finished her glass and rose from the couch, not wanting to believe that, refusing to believe it. She was over him. If he came crawling back to her right now and begged for forgiveness, she wouldn’t take him back. There was nothing he could say or do to ever make her love him again. He could marry whoever the hell he wanted, and it would make no difference to her. In the kitchen, she poured her third glass of wine. Michael was getting married again. Despite herself, Sarah felt the tears coming. She didn’t want to cry anymore, but old dreams died hard. When she put her glass down, trying to compose herself, she set the glass too close to the sink and it toppled into the basin, shattering instantly. She reached in to pick up the shards of glass, pricked her finger, and it began to bleed. One more thing on an already terrible day. She exhaled sharply and pressed the back of her hand against her eyes, willing herself not to cry. • • • “Are you sure you’re okay?” With crowds pressing in around them, the words seemed to fade in and out, as if Sarah were trying to listen to something from a distance. “For the third time, I’m fine, Mom. Really.” Maureen reached up and brushed the hair from Sarah’s face. “It’s just that you look a little pale, like you might be coming down with something.” “I’m a little tired, that’s all. I was up late working.” Though she didn’t like lying to her mother, Sarah had no desire to tell her about the bottle of wine the night before. Her mother barely understood why people drank at all, especially women, and if Sarah explained that she’d been alone as well, her mother would only bite her lip in worry before launching into a series of questions that Sarah was in no mood to answer. It was a glorious Saturday, and the downtown area was thronged with people. The Flower Festival was in full swing, and Maureen had wanted to spend the day browsing among the booths and in the antique stores along Middle Street. Since Larry wanted to watch the football game between North Carolina and Michigan State, Sarah had offered to keep her company. She’d thought it might be fun, and it probably would have been, if it hadn’t been for the raging headache that even aspirin couldn’t ease. As they talked, Sarah inspected an antique picture frame that had been restored with care, though not enough care to justify the price. “On a Friday?” her mother asked. “I’d been putting it off for a while and last night seemed as good as any.” Her mother leaned closer, pretending to admire the picture frame. “You were in all night?” “Uh-huh. Why?” “Because I called you a couple of times and the phone just rang and rang.” “I unplugged the phone.” “Oh. For a while there, I thought you might be out with someone.” “Who?” Maureen shrugged. “I don’t know . . . someone.” Sarah eyed her over the top of her sunglasses. “Mom, let’s not go into that again.” “I’m not going into anything,” she answered defensively. Then, lowering her voice as if conversing with herself, she went on. “I just assumed you’d decided to go out. You used to do that a lot, you know. . . .” In addition to wallowing in a bottomless pit of concern, Sarah’s mother could also play to perfection the part of a guilt-ridden parent. There were times when Sarah needed it—a little pity never hurt anyone—but now wasn’t one of them. Sarah frowned slightly as she set the frame back down. The proprietor of the booth, an elderly woman who sat in a chair beneath a large umbrella, raised her eyebrows, clearly enjoying the little scene. Sarah’s frown deepened. She backed away from the booth as her mom went on, and after a moment, Maureen trailed after her. “What’s wrong?” Her tone made Sarah stop and face her mother. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just not in the mood to hear how worried you are about me. It gets old after a while.” Maureen’s mouth opened slightly and stayed that way. At the sight of her mother’s injured expression, Sarah regretted her words, but she couldn’t help it. Not today, anyway. “Look, I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” Maureen reached out and took her daughter by the hand. “What’s going on, Sarah? And tell me the truth, this time—I know you too well. Something happened, didn’t it?” She squeezed Sarah’s hand gently and Sarah looked away. All around them, strangers were going about their business, lost in their own conversations. “Michael’s getting married again,” she said quietly. After making sure she had heard correctly, Maureen slowly enveloped her daughter in a firm embrace. “Oh, Sarah. . . I’m sorry,” she whispered. There wasn’t anything else to say. • • • A few minutes later, they were seated on a park bench that overlooked the marina, down the street from where the crowds were still congregated. They’d moved that way unconsciously; they’d simply walked until they could go no farther, then found a place to sit.

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