Praise for CBA Bestselling Author
Lori Copeland

“[In A Case of Crooked Letters] Copeland produces a wacky jumble of humorous characters beset by serious circumstances. Joy wins in the end.”

—Romantic Times

“[A Case of Bad Tasteis] a riveting adventure in page-turning mystery and laugh-out-loud humor. Lori Copeland at her best!”

—Karen Kingsbury, bestselling author of the Redemption series

“The characters in A Case of Bad Tasteare both fun and frustrating, mischievous and maddening. As Maude says, ‘Life’s a hoot!’”

—Brandilyn Collins, author of Stain of Guilt

“Filled with emotion, danger and humor, [Ruth] is sure to warm your heart.”

—Romantic Times

Mother of Prevention
Lori Copeland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

First and foremost, I dedicate this book to the lonely and grieving. God has not forgotten you.

To Bob and Jo Martin: for your continuing ministry in Christ and for your watchful eye on this manuscript.

To Barbara Warren, whose love and commitment to God shows brightly through her work as my assistant and chief troubleshooter.

To Harlequin Enterprises, Joan Marlow Golan and Krista Stroever: for allowing me to be part of the Steeple Hill family.

To the new breed of Christian readers and buyers who encourage authors to write books of faith by buying them!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Chapter 1

“Where was the shoe the last time you saw it?”

Kelli, my youngest daughter, is like her father: charming, practical and witty, with enough savoir faire to carry her through two lifetimes. She’d misplaced a sneaker. “Not lost, misplaced,” she wheezed. She uncapped her inhaler, took a deep breath, then released it.

“In Sailor’s mouth.”

Sailor. Our family pooch that carried off anything that wasn’t nailed down. I’d warned Neil the animal was going to be nothing but trouble when he brought this…odd-looking creature into our home—rusty black, short legs, very fast, extremely agile. The dog had a domed skull, V-shaped dropped ears, a nose with a straight bridge and large dark brown eyes.

“What is that?” I’d asked.

“A puli. Isn’t he cute?”

Cute? That long coat looked to me like forty-five minutes a week of professional grooming to prevent matting and felting—and the thing was only a pup!

When I protested, my husband had dropped a noncommittal kiss on my forehead and predicted I’d be in love with Kelli’s fifth birthday present before the week was out. I’d proved him wrong. Two hours later I was on the floor, wrestling with the heart stealer, falling head over heels in love with the furry troll. Sailor, unfortunately, captured my daughter’s heart, too, but the pet couldn’t be around long because Kelli’s asthma turned out to be a problem. As long as she submitted to an allergy shot once a week, the doctor agreed Sailor could stay until my daughter decided between breathing and having a dog in the house.

I was still uncertain about the outcome. Sailor had been here two months, and the bond between animal and child had only grown stronger.

“Why did you let Sailor carry off your sneaker?” School started in twenty minutes and I still had to pack two lunches and slap on makeup before we left the house.

She lifted thin shoulders. “It’ll be all wet with dog slobbers.”

I swiped a lock of long hair out of my face before I turned and dumped coffee into the sink. “Run upstairs and put something on.”

My seven-year-old appeared, dragging her backpack across the tile floor. Kris wasn’t a morning person. “Have you seen my math book?”

“Not since last night.”

“I can’t find my math book.” She dumped Fruitee Pops into a bowl, grumbling. “Sailor must have carried it off.”

The puli skidded around the corner, his nails clicking against the entry’s hardwood floor. I gave the canine a warning look, glanced at the clock and thought, Great—now I’m really running behind.

I’d forgotten to put new batteries in the alarm. It had stormed last night, and the power had gone off. Neil and I had dragged the kids out of bed and traipsed over to the neighbors and spent an hour in their basement until the all-clear siren sounded. Never had Oklahoma experienced so many off-season tornadoes, but the weather was freaky everywhere this year. With dead batteries in the alarm, I’d overslept. When I’d awakened and seen the time, I’d thrown the covers back and sprung out of bed. Neil had rolled out on his side, complaining, blaming me for the late start—like he didn’t know how to replace batteries?

Ten minutes later the love of my life came through the kitchen door muttering under his breath, “Six minutes to shave, eat and get to the station. Fighting fires is easier than getting out of this house on time.”

I handed him a piece of buttered toast and a cup of coffee on his way to the detached garage. He was always cranky during Sooner season. Sooner fever, I called it. The college football team consumed Neil and his friends, and this year the team had an 8–0 record, primed to go for its third league title in four years. Four more wins and the popular Oklahoma Sooners would be one of the teams to play in the Sugar Bowl, the national title game in January.

“Call me!” I shouted to his retreating back. Neil worked a 24-on and 24-off shift. Station 16 was only a couple of miles away, but he would be late.

“And be careful!”

He lifted his right hand, which indicated nothing, and moments later I heard his old pickup leave the drive. We’d been too rushed to kiss goodbye, something that rarely slipped our attention.

Racing up the stairs, I applied foundation, ran an eye-shadow stick over my eyelids, lined the tops and bottoms in slate and brushed a hint of color on my cheeks, all the while yelling instructions to Kelli and Kris. “Ready in five minutes! Be in the car waiting!”

Mom had said there’d be days like this, but like so much of what Mom said, I hadn’t listened.

Minutes later I backed the van out of the garage and sped down our residential street.

The usual traffic jam encircled the school yard, so I dropped off the girls half a block from the front entrance. A light rain mixed with sleet coated the windshield and I wondered why I hadn’t noticed the weather earlier. The girls should be wearing boots and raincoats. Kelli lost a shoe—which I belatedly noticed didn’t match the one on her left foot—when she piled out, and it took a minute for her to scavenge around and locate the foot apparel. By now she’d noticed the difference in colors and she wanted to go home and change. I couldn’t go back home—my first appointment was eight forty-five. We had a brief but heated idea exchange before Kris reached down and wedged the shoe onto her sister’s foot. The back door slammed, and I peered in my rearview mirror, feeling guilty as sin. I punched the window button and stuck my head out.

“Be careful—don’t accept any rides from strangers. Put your hoods up. You’ll catch cold!”

I saw Kelli nod, but Kris ignored me.

“And don’t get your feet wet! You’ll get a…sore throat.” By now the girls had disappeared into the building. I rolled the window up and drove on thinking that tonight I’d stop by and pick up Kelli’s favorite meal—chicken nuggets and French fries. Nights Neil slept at the station the girls and I bached. We’d eat pizza, tacos—anything junky—but when Daddy was home we ate balanced nutritional meals. Neil had started to tease “his girls”—that’s what he called us—that we enjoyed his absence, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Neil Madison had been my life from the first time I laid eyes on him at a junior high dance. I didn’t remember how many years I’d loved the husky football quarterback, but it was a long time before he noticed me and even longer before he reciprocated my feelings. But when Neil Madison fell, he fell hard. January 5 we would celebrate nine years of marriage, and I could honestly say that I loved the man more today than I had that stormy winter afternoon I’d walked down the church aisle—in a practically empty church because an ice storm had paralyzed Oklahoma City traffic. Out-of-town guests and relatives were stranded in nearby hotels. Only the pastor, Neil and my parents made the ceremony. We’d spent the first forty-eight hours of our honeymoon in the airport Holiday Inn Express, waiting for flights to Jamaica to resume.

Those had been the most idealistic days of my life. I smiled and signaled, merging onto the expressway. We were young, in love, full of hopes and dreams. Neil had been with the fire department a little over a year and I hated his job—hated the risks his occupation involved. I was a born, certified, card-carrying worrywart. I constantly worried that something would happen to him, but he’d only smile and say when the Lord said his time was up, he could be eating a doughnut at Krispy Kreme. Since we both believed in God and the risen Christ, I consoled myself with the knowledge that He would never hand me more than I could bear, but deep down I knew that if God ever took Neil, I would blame Him till the day I died.

I pulled into the parking lot of La Chic, the trendy salon where I’m employed. The salon was located near various up-scale hotels and shopping malls, and enjoyed a five-star rating. I recognized a couple of vehicles. The red convertible belonged to my client Rody Haver. High Maintenance Rody, her husband called her. Rody permed her long blond hair one week, and the next she’d be back, sick of the curls and wanting a straight style. I’d cut her hair in a spiky, carefree punk look and when she’d leave she’d give me a huge tip and say she loved it! The next week she’d be back, claiming blond washed her complexion out—could we do something in red? I’d tell Rody I could make her hair any color she wanted, but I’d advise against putting any more product on an already stressed condition. But Rody would want red, so when she left she would be tinted a gorgeous shade of Amber Flame. She would declare this the real Rody. She loved it!

The next week I’d get a call and Rody would say that her husband, an entrepreneur with unlimited resources, didn’t care for red; she was thinking maybe something in ash. I’d pencil in a new appointment, but common sense told me Rody would hate ash, which she did.

We’d go back to blond—which she admitted was really her color—but could I do something about extra conditioning? The ends of her hair felt a bit brittle.

Her hair was breaking at the ends, and the last time I’d shampooed, her follicles felt like corn mush.

Rody was already in my chair, thumbing through a hairstyle magazine, when I stashed my purse at my workstation and flipped on the curling irons. Outside rain splattered the front plate glass and I noticed ice was starting to accumulate on sidewalks.

“I need to get home as quickly as possible,” Rody said, eyeing the worsening situation.

I glanced at my appointment book and saw that we only had a trim, so that wouldn’t take long.

“I love coming to you, Kate. You can fix anything! You’re always so cheery and helpful.”

I smiled, basking in Rody’s compliment. Actually, I was good at my job. Give me a bad color, perm, cut or weave and I could usually send the client out with a smile on her face. I took no credit for my talent, knowing it was a gift, one that I loved and one that gave me more clients and travel than I wanted. A couple of days a week I had to fly to other states to teach classes on perm and color. The remaining three I got to work here in Oklahoma City, and go home to my family at night. I was a born cosmetologist—about the only thing I couldn’t fix were my own self-defeating thoughts.

At the shampoo bowl, we chatted. Rody said her husband was taking her to Maui over the holidays. I said that was nice—Neil and I planned to go to Hawaii some day. The trip wouldn’t happen until the kids were older; I needed a new stove and refrigerator before I even thought about grass skirts and Hawaiian sunrises.

Back at my station, I fastened a cape around Rody’s neck and went to work. There wasn’t much to work with, and the improvement would be negligible, but I had a feeling that if Rody wasn’t messing with her hair she wasn’t happy.

“Neil’s talking about retiring at forty-five,” I said. Only last night I’d lain in his arms and we had dreamed of the time when I’d quit work, and he’d leave the fire station. He wanted to move to his grandparents’ farm in Vermont. He loved the east, loved the smell of sap dripping in his grandfather’s woodlot—and even more, loved his grandmother’s plates of steaming hotcakes and butter, drenched in maple syrup.

“Just think, Kate. I’ll only be forty-five, still considered young, and with my fireman’s pension we can make it. I can help Gramps run the farm, and you can stay home and raise the girls—go to PTA meetings, bake cookies, play bridge with your friends.”

I’d laughed. I’d worked since I was nineteen and I couldn’t imagine staying home, but it was a nice dream. I’d can from the fruit orchard, and make pickles and jam. I’d fallen asleep listening to thunder and rain rattle our old two-story home in a moderate-income subdivision, dreaming of long, color-drenched Vermont autumn days in our new one-story house with dark blue shutters. Neil would build the house next door to his grandparents. His parents lived nearby, so in Vermont the girls would get to see Maws and Paws every day if they wanted.

Mentally sighing, I finished Rody’s trim, blew loose hair off her neck with the dryer, then drenched my fingers with repair serum and ran my hands through the blondish, reddish, ash-speckled, shorn locks. In thirteen short years, my worries would be over. No more listening for the phone to ring, no more fear or paralyzing siren wails in the night, no more worrying that my husband, the man who was my life, would not come home.

I would be a woman of leisure—a mother and housewife whose only worry would be what to do with all that maple syrup.

I left La Chic around three; sleet had turned to a cold rain, but I stopped at the cleaners before I picked up the girls. Frieda Louis was coming out when I was going in. Frieda lived a couple blocks away, and our kids played together occasionally.

“Kate! How nice to see you.”

“Frieda.” I paused. She always looked as if she’d stepped out of a magazine—every hair in place, flawlessly applied makeup. I felt like an unmade bed next to her.

“Have any storm damage last night?”

I shook my head. “A little wind. We took shelter in the Fowlers’ basement and were up most of the night. How about you?”

“The wind took off an awning on the north side, but Jim had it back up by noon. Don’t you hate this freaky weather?”

I hated it. Oklahoma had come by the name “tornado alley” legitimately. We exchanged various bits and pieces before I ducked into the cleaners. Tomorrow was travel day: I had to fly to South Carolina and teach a color class to graduating cosmetology students. Except for those awful flights, I enjoyed the brief trips. I handed the clerk my claim ticket and within minutes I was climbing back into the van. One glance at the dash clock, and I realized I still had time for a quick stop by the pharmacy to refill Kelli’s inhaler.

I wheeled into Walgreens, braked, exited the car and dashed into the store. When I walked in I noticed a cluster of sales clerks grouped around an overhead television. A news bulletin blared. I caught sight of a billow of smoke, eerily reminiscent of a similar image from years earlier.

I shuddered, recalling that day with a sense of horror. April 19, 1995, at about 9:03 a.m. on a clear spring morning, a bomb inside a moving truck exploded outside the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. Parents had dropped their children at the building’s day-care center and employees had just sat down at their desks to begin the workday when the blast obliterated half of the nine-story building, killing 168 people, many of them children. It was the most deadly terrorist attack to take place on American soil. Until September 11, 2001.

Neil would have been involved in that tragedy, but we were on holiday. I had thanked God my husband had been spared that awful experience. Any time fire broke out, I panicked, even though right now I could see the fire wouldn’t involve Neil’s station. The pictures were of downtown Oklahoma City, yet a chill slid up my spine. Some other woman’s husband—some child’s father—was in turnout gear, dragging heavy hoses and racing up crowded stairwells.

I walked to the back of the store and handed the pharmacist Kelli’s spare inhaler. “I need a refill, Mac.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Madison. I’ll only be a minute.”

I turned, perusing the fall decorations. One counter over, Christmas trees blinked, and a revolving Santa was playing a guitar and singing Elvis’s “Blue Christmas.” I wondered when Fourth of July would collide with the harvest season. I hardly had time to take down decorations for one holiday and put up the next set, which made me think of chocolate chips. Kris needed three dozen chocolate chip cookies for a class party tomorrow, which meant that I had to light the temperamental oven, and the thought sent another chill up my spine.

I left the counter, picked up the chips in the grocery section and returned to see a man kicking up a fuss about his medication.

“I’m telling you,” he bellowed. “I’m running out of room to take my medication!”

“Out of room? Mr. Withers, the dosage says to apply a new patch every morning.” The white-coated clerk held the carton at arm’s length, rereading the instructions out loud. “Says here, one new patch a day.”

“I do that!”

“Is the medication too strong?”

“How should I know? I just do what I’m told, but I’m telling you I’m running out of room.”

I smiled at the pharmacist, who seemed totally perplexed.

“Look here.” The old man suddenly peeled out of his jacket, threw it on the counter, then unbuttoned his shirt and stripped out of it.

A chuckle escaped me, and I covered my hand with my mouth when I saw the problem. The man had at least fifty patches stuck on him in various spots and positions.

Indeed, he was running out of room.

The pharmacist stared at the interstate of patches, and then calmly explained that the man was to remove the old patch and apply a new one.

“Well, why didn’t they say so?” The man slipped the shirt back on and buttoned it. “Doctors won’t tell you a thing.”

A few minutes later I’d paid for the medication and was on my way out of the store when I glanced at the overhead TV. A young store clerk was glued to the set.

“That’s downtown, isn’t it?” I asked.

The young man nodded. “A high-rise office complex is on fire.”

I breathed easier. Station 16 was too far away to respond—unless the situation needed more men. I left the store, my mind back on cookies.

I picked Kelli up at Mrs. Murphy’s, the woman we called Saint Helen. Retired, husband deceased fifteen years earlier, Helen was a godsend to us. She kept Kelli after kindergarten, and stayed with both girls the days I traveled. I never worried a minute when I was gone; my girls loved Mrs. Murphy as much as Paws and Maws, and Papa and Grandma, and looked forward to the brief visits.

I picked up Kelli, then swung by the school. When Kris got in, her face was somber. “Mommy, my teacher says there’s a really bad fire downtown.”

“I heard, sweetie. But Daddy’s station wouldn’t be involved.”

“Are you sure?”

I twisted in my seat and gave her leg a reassuring pat. She worried as much as I did about Neil’s safety. “Positive. He’ll call us at the usual time tonight.”

When I pulled into the drive I punched the garage door button. Minutes later I carried the chocolate chips and Kelli’s medicine into the kitchen and deposited the bag on the small desk. No light blinked on the message machine.

Stripping out of my coat, I called for the girls to straighten their room before we ate, and then returned to the car for the cleaning. Fish sticks. Fish sticks, macaroni and cheese—that’s what I’d fix for dinner. Since I’d forgotten to stop by for the chicken nuggets, I’d fix Kelli’s second-favorite meal. I grinned, thinking about Neil and how he was frying hamburger and onions right about now. Tonight was his night to cook, and he’d be making Spaghetti Red, a concoction of onion, hamburger, chili powder and hot pepper.

How the guys’ stomachs survived the monthly gastric work-out amazed me, but they seemed to thrive on the challenge. Pete Wilson held the station record for most consumed—four bowls and two spoonfuls. Neil had said they’d had a trophy made, which Pete proudly displayed on top of his locker.

I sprayed a cookie sheet with Pam and lined a half dozen fish sticks on the cookware. Then came the challenge. I bent over the old oven and tried to light the gas flame, scared to death. As usual, it wouldn’t catch until I’d lit three matches. Then, in a loud whossssh! flame exploded. Usually it knocked me backward several feet and tonight was no different. I jumped back and slammed the door, allowing time for the old relic to heat.

Six o’clock. I grinned, taking a box of macaroni and cheese out of the cabinet.

Neil would be calling any minute.

Chapter 2

I glanced at the clock on my way through the kitchen to the utility room. Laundry. Boy, did I have laundry. How could four people get this many clothes dirty?

Seven-thirty. Neil still hadn’t called. He seldom went past his self-imposed seven-o’clock deadline, but for once in my life I was too busy to worry. The washer swished away, working on a load of clothes, and I headed for the bedroom to hang up perma press, shake out wrinkles and choose what to take with me. Black pants go with everything. A black, tan and white top and my brand-new cobalt-blue blouse with a vest of flowered tapestry material. Yeah, looking good, Katie, girl.

I dug through my closet hunting for my black flats. They were well broken in and comfortable and I had to stand on my feet all day. A couple of paperbacks to read on the plane. Now, what else?

Kris stuck her head through the doorway. “Mom, are you busy?”

“Oh, well, no. What would give you that idea?”

She glanced at the half-packed bag. “I have to have cookies for the party tomorrow.”

“Isn’t your class celebrating fall early? October is still a few days away.”

“We’re having lots of autumn celebrations this year.”

“Well, then, lucky I remembered. I bought chocolate chips today. I’ll bake them after supper. Maybe you can help.”

Sunshine reigned in her smile. “No kidding! Awesome.”

She was only seven and would probably make a terrible mess, but it was too late to back out now. I watched her skip from the room and wondered why I worried about her. I liked my job. I enjoyed the out-of-state classes I taught, but I worried. Should I go off and leave my children and husband, to fly to South Carolina for this meeting?

Was I neglecting my duties as a wife and mother, putting my job first? Our lesson in Sunday school this week had dealt with the woman’s role in the home. Boy, had I felt singled out.

Was I the only woman in New Freedom Worship Center who had trouble being everything to everybody? A superhero I wasn’t. I’ve always envied that Proverbs 31 woman whose husband and children rose up and called her blessed. When mine rose up and called me, it was usually because I was behind on the laundry.

I left the bedroom and hurried to the utility room to take the clean clothes out of the washer and throw them in the dryer.

I wished I could spend time with the kids tonight, talking and listening, but I was too busy to talk, too busy to listen. It seemed as if I was always rushed, making promises I had difficulty fulfilling. My “want to” kept running ahead of my “can do,” and I had enough guilt to fill Kelli’s little red wagon.

Neil was good to support me when I had to make these trips. It wasn’t the same as me being here, and I knew that. My husband’s retirement dream was sounding better all the time.

I went back to the bedroom to throw things into my suitcase. Thank goodness I had made a list. As I crossed off each item and dropped it in my case I felt a sense of relief. I was going to make it after all. I grinned at my lack of faith. I’d never missed a plane yet. But I always worried. Neil claimed if I didn’t have anything to worry about I’d invent something. Some days I thought he might have a point.

I closed the suitcase and went back to the laundry room. Kelli was down on her hands and knees trying to pick up a bug off the kitchen floor. One of those water roaches, I think they’re called, big, black and very, very ugly. I stared at the roach, and everything I had ever heard or suspected about bugs flashed through my mind. Dirty, creepy, crawly and disease-bearing. And Kelli was going to pick the bug up in her bare hands! The hair on the back of my neck prickled.

I shrieked, “Don’t touch that nasty thing!”

Kelli whirled to face me, lost her balance and plopped down on the floor next to the bug. At least the roach had enough sense to run for cover before I could dance the La Cucaracha on its helpless body. Kelli burst into tears.

Why had I screamed like that? I caught myself before I said anything more. We didn’t need a crisis tonight, and I recognized the signs of an impending one. Her eyes were as big and as round as gumballs. She was my sensitive child, and when I shrieked, which I did all too often, she panicked. I could see it welling in her eyes. Abject horror.

I reached out and pulled her close, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. “Oh, Kelli, Mommy’s sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She sobbed, and the sound tore me apart inside. When would I learn to control my emotions? All my life I’d been frightened by anything that crawled, squirmed or got around without legs, which pretty well included everything in the insect and reptile families. Just the sight of something creepy and crawly was enough to cause me to hit the panic button. I hadn’t intended to scare Kelli; I just didn’t want her picking up the bug.

“Don’t cry, honey,” I soothed. “It’s all right. Bugs are dirty and they can make you sick.”

I marched her over to the sink, ignoring her protests. I wasn’t going to have my daughter getting germs or some unknown disease from playing with bugs. She squirmed, but I washed her hands twice with a strong disinfectant. Drat this old house—drat Neil for not calling the exterminator earlier. With any luck we’d have enough money saved next year to purchase a new home.

Kelli sobbed the entire time I scrubbed. “Bugs are nice, Mommy. They’re God’s helpless creatures.”

God’s helpless creatures? Where did she come up with this stuff? “They’re not as helpless as they look. I’m calling the exterminator the moment I get back.”

A look of pure horror filled her eyes. “The Terminator? For a little bug?”

Terminator? Arnold? As in Schwarzenegger? I stifled a laugh, wondering how I could explain the difference between an exterminator and a terminator to a five-year-old. Not that there was all that much difference between the two. My daughter was too tenderhearted to approve of either.

The phone rang and I lifted the receiver and snapped, “Hello,” thinking I’d hear Neil’s voice. Instead I heard the dial tone. I held the receiver out and stared at it. Someone hung up on me? What?

Kris called from the living room. “Doorbell.”

The kids weren’t allowed to answer the door. You heard such awful things about children disappearing that I was scared to death to let them open the door to a stranger. I hung up the receiver and hurried toward the living room. Telephone. Doorbell. Whatever.

I yelled at Kris to turn the television down from sonic to just plain loud. Why did it always sound like kickoff time at a bowl game around here? A little quiet wouldn’t hurt anything. I picked an armload of books and toys on my way to the door, dumping them in a corner of the couch before reaching for the doorknob.

I opened the door to find two men dressed in dark uniforms standing there. One was Neil’s fire chief, John Miller, and the other was one of Neil’s closest station buddies, Ben Burgess. I smiled and started to speak when I saw the grief in both men’s expressions.

My smile faded.

John spoke first. “Kate…I’m sorry.”

Sorry? I cocked my head. For what? I gripped the edge of the door. My heart must have stopped beating for a second, because my body suddenly felt wooden, heavy. His mouth moved, but I heard only scattered words.

“Accident…fire…stairway collapsed…lost two men…Neil didn’t make it out. So sorry.”

Ben had his arm around me helping me to the sofa. My legs felt rubbery, like those foam tubes children use in swimming pools. Kelli and Kris were hanging on to me, begging me not to cry. I tried to reassure them, but my voice failed me. Someone was weeping in great gasping sobs that seemed to come from some deep well of grief. That wasn’t me, was it?

“The high rise wasn’t in his district,” I cried.

“Sorry, Kate, we were called in.”

I saw my daughters’ fearful faces through a veil of tears. They clung to me and I held them close. Neil… Oh, God…Neil. The words ran through my mind like a prayer, but if God answered I didn’t hear Him.

John sat across from me, rolling the brim of his hat in his hands. “Who’s your pastor, Kate?”

I stared at him, blank. I couldn’t remember the man’s name. I had heard him preach every Sunday for four years and I couldn’t remember his name.

“Joe Crockett,” Kris said.

I shook my head in amazement, thinking how smart she was. I had raised this kid—Neil was so proud of her…. Neil.

Then Pastor Crockett and his wife, Eva, arrived. Time had no meaning for me. Pastor Joe took my hand and I saw the compassion in his eyes and I started crying harder. Eva had her arms around Kelli and Kris, leading them from the room. I knew I had to get control of myself. My daughters needed me, but I couldn’t think. People talked to me and I answered or nodded, but it was as if I was watching some other woman sitting on the sofa shredding a tissue and trying to cope.

My pastor’s words came to me out of a fog. “Neil’s in heaven now with his Lord and Savior.”

I knew he meant well, but I wanted to lash out that I didn’t want him to be in heaven. I wanted him here, with me.

Oh, God…why? Had I told him I loved him and kissed him goodbye before he left this morning? I wished I could go back and relive that hurried departure. Hold him a moment longer, say everything I should have said.

Someone had called a doctor, and a man showed up, carrying a black bag. I remember answering his questions to the best of my knowledge, though I was operating in a fog. He shook out a couple of pills, and I swallowed them. He gave the bottle to Eva and reminded me to call him in the morning; I had only enough medication to last through the night. At the moment I couldn’t recall if I had a physician. Doctors scared me.

Eventually I stopped crying. The well had run dry. I sat on the sofa in a soggy, wilted lump, blissfully calm. The sedative had started to work.

Sunshine filtered through the bedroom lace curtains. The house had filled up with people, bearing meat loaves and casseroles. A woman I had met—and should have known—went on and on at great lengths in a stage whisper, apologizing for burning a roast.

A bubble of hysteria rose up in my throat, choking me. Burning a roast? When my husband, the love of my life, the father of my two precious children, had burned to death in a high-rise fire?

Neil’s parents arrived, and the situation intensified. Madge Madison threw her arms around me and leaned into me for support. Her tears soaked through my sweatshirt. I held her, rocking back and forth the way I did with my daughters when they were hurt.

His father, Harry, short and broad shouldered with a handsome head of white hair, seemed to have shrunk. His hands trembled as he reached out to touch my shoulder. I released my mother-in-law and went into his arms. He awkwardly patted my back, and for the first time I felt a small measure of comfort. Maybe because he reminded me of Neil. With Neil’s parents on either side of me, I walked into the kitchen where neighbors were serving coffee.

I stared at my kitchen counters, buried under a deluge of dishes. Salads and desserts and casseroles. How could three people—actually two if you counted Kris and Kelli as one—be expected to eat all of this? My ancient refrigerator was working in overdrive anyway.

Sue Carol, from my Sunday-school class, handed me a cup of coffee I didn’t want. What I wanted was to crawl off and lick my wounds and try to deal with the devastating blow, but I guess manners, once learned, go deeper than surface polish. I forced myself to speak to everyone who had taken the time to come and offer comforting words. It occurred to me that friends are one of the greatest unrecognized blessings, and you never fully appreciate them until your world crashes around you.

Eva made up the bed in the guest room for Neil’s parents. She was also the one who insisted everyone go home so I could rest. I stared helplessly around the kitchen at the surplus of food, not sure what to do with it all and too tired to care, but to my relief Sue and Eva managed to put away all of the perishables, then filled freezer containers and stashed them in the deep freeze for later.

I locked the door a little after eight o’clock, and turned out the front porch light. Neil’s parents had already gone to their room, worn out by the day’s emotions. Neil was their only son and the pride of their life. I didn’t see how any of us could go on without him.

Losing him had left a crater in my heart.

The girls followed me into my bedroom. Mine. Not ours any longer. Their eyes were red and swollen from crying. Kelli’s lower lip trembled. “Can I sleep with you?”

“Me, too,” Kris begged.

I didn’t hesitate. “Sure. I’d like that.” And I would. The thought of that empty bed had been hanging over my head like that sword of Damocles. Now I would have company.

I helped them into their nightgowns. We could skip baths tonight. I brushed Kris’s long, straight blond hair, a feature we shared, along with blue eyes, straight noses and peach complexions.

Kelli, on the other hand, was a miniature replica of Neil with her short cap of dark curls and warm brown eyes. I forced myself to concentrate on drawing the brush through Kris’s hair, willing my mind away from the way Neil and I had looked as a couple. My Nordic fairness offset by his dark hair and golden tan. His picture smiled at me from the dresser, held close by the silver frame. But Neil was gone.

I laid down the brush and kissed Kris lightly on the cheek. “Hop into bed, okay.”

The girls were docile tonight, none of the usual begging to be allowed to stay up late or demanding a story before they went to sleep. I averted my face so they couldn’t see my tears, thinking that their lives had changed irrevocably. Whatever happened now, I was determined that the three of us would stay together, and I’d make the best possible life for my daughters.

Kelli hopped up on the bed and sat cross-legged. “You should have been in the kitchen when Mrs. Hutchinson dropped the bowl of fruit salad.”

“She did what?” I turned to stare at her, sure I hadn’t heard right. Ida Hutchinson never did anything wrong, to hear her tell it.

Kris’s face wrinkled in a smile she tried to suppress. “She almost said a bad word, too. And Reverend Joe was standing right there.”

I laughed.

It felt so blessedly good.

The thought of Ida cutting loose in front of our pastor struck me as being extremely funny, although I supposed part of my reaction was due to nerves.

The girls, freed by my laughter, joined me. I sat down beside them on the bed and the three of us had a good laugh. Finally, wiping tears from the corners of my eyes, I said, “Look, girls. We’ve lost Daddy, but it’s still all right to laugh.”

Kris nodded. “Daddy liked to laugh.”

“Yes, Daddy did.” Neil had had a laugh that rang out like church bells. I could be standing on the other side of the yard and hear him and know immediately Neil was enjoying life. That’s the way he was—he enjoyed life, and he’d told me a hundred times, Be happy for the day, Kate. Tomorrow has its own agenda.

I drew my girls close, breathing in their unique, little-girl scent. “We’re going to have sad times,” I promised, thinking how ridiculously understated that sounded. “But we will always have laughter. Daddy would want that. That’s a promise.”

The children hugged me back, then rolled over and crawled beneath the blankets.

I turned out the light and stretched out in the middle of the bed with my clothes still on, holding a precious daughter on each side. “Say the prayer,” Kelli said.

I caught my breath. How could I pray tonight? From the depths of my misery, what could I thank God for?

“Go on, Mommy. God’s waiting.”

All right. I would say the prayer, but other than in front of my children, I would never speak to God again. Never. He had taken the one thing from me He knew I held the dearest. What kind of loving God did that? My praise came haltingly and was brief.

“Thank You for my daughters. Thank You for the years we had their father. Be with us as we go into tomorrow, for we need Your care.”

“Amen,” the girls said in unison.

I lay in the dark, with the girls sleeping beside me, and let my thoughts drift. I was still too numb and keyed up to sleep. Sudden tears scalded my cheeks. Dear God. Neil was gone.

The day of Neil’s service dawned clear and sunny. It had rained two days in succession. I had a feeling that the sky had cried itself out.

My mother and dad had arrived from Kansas. I put them in the master bedroom, and fixed a pallet for myself on the floor in Kelli’s room. My parents and Neil’s had never been what you might call “close.” Armed truce was more like it. They were so polite to each other it set my teeth on edge.

Sally Fowler, my next-door neighbor, kept running in and out, keeping peace and striking a note of normalcy. I had a large black-and-blue bruise on my arm, which puzzled me. When I wondered about it out loud, Sally said the day Neil died I had kept pinching my arm, trying to convince myself I was dreaming. I couldn’t remember, but I didn’t remember much of that awful day. The mental fog had cut deeper than I realized.

My mother was standing at the stove when I entered the kitchen, making her special sour cream flapjacks. Madge Madison was arranging her famous breakfast casserole on the kitchen table.

Mom poured juice. Madge poured hot chocolate.

The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife and called it fudge. I sighed. Well, at least nobody was crying.

Kelli padded into the room and cast a jaundiced eye at the set table. “I want Fruitee Pops,” she announced.

My mother matched her look for look. “Kelli. I got up early to fix pancakes for you.” Her tone said, Therefore you will eat them.

Kelli stuck out her lower lip. “I don’t want pancakes. I want Fruitee Pops.” She sat down at her usual place and propped her elbows on the table. Mom slapped a plate of pancakes down in front of her. Kelli pushed it aside.

Mom burst into tears.

So did Kelli.

Followed by Madge.

I excused myself and went upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom.

Somehow we made it to the funeral home on time. Flowers were banked on both sides of the casket. Neil had a lot of friends, and the auditorium was crowded. I’d let Neil’s mother pick out the songs, and now I regretted it.

“‘If we never meet again, this side of heaven,’” the soprano trilled, and I sobbed into my handkerchief.

Neil would have liked his service, if that were possible. The church held over six hundred firemen today, all dressed for a solemn occasion. When the funeral cortege left the church for the cemetery, the fire signal system started tapping at regular thirty-second intervals. The procession passed Neil’s station, Station 16. His fellow workers and friends—some with tears openly streaming down their cheeks—stood at attention with their caps over their hearts. Behind the hearse was a body of twenty men who were his closest friends. Behind them, one hundred uniformed firemen accompanied my husband on his last run.

The service at the cemetery was mercifully brief. We didn’t linger at the grave site. By this time I knew it wasn’t Neil in that box—that wasn’t my vibrantly alive husband.

As soon as we got back to my house everyone started loading cars, looking for lost items and saying final goodbyes.

Dad hugged me. “Listen, kitten. You need us, you call. Oklahoma isn’t that far from Kansas. We’ll come in a heartbeat.”

I leaned against him, feeling like a little girl again. “I know. Thanks.”

Mom wrapped her arms around me. The tip of her nose was red from crying. “Oh, Katie, I’m so sorry. We loved Neil.”

I kissed her cheek. “He loved you, too.”

“Call me and let me know how you’re getting along.”

“I will.”

“Anything you need, call,” Dad reiterated.

I nodded, knowing they couldn’t provide what I needed—my life restored, my husband resurrected from the dead.

They both hugged the girls, then they got in their car and drove away, and we went through the whole routine again with Neil’s parents.

As suddenly as they had appeared, everyone was gone. Sally and Ron Fowler had offered to take Neil’s parents to the airport. I’d agreed, thankful for the reprieve.

That night I sat in the empty living room, holding a cup of tea I didn’t want. The kids were in bed, the doors were locked. For the first time in days the house was silent. I had never realized how devastating silence could be.

I was a widow with two small children and I knew I couldn’t make it alone. Never mind how I knew, I just knew. Neil’s worn Bible lay on the coffee table where he’d left it. We had been strong believers, faithful in our church, but nothing in our Christian walk had prepared me for this. A man didn’t die at thirty-two; that wasn’t possible. The past week had been a nightmare and I wanted to wake up.

But I wasn’t asleep, and I knew it.

Was my faith strong enough to face the future? Neil had left a reasonable insurance policy, so with proper investment I wouldn’t have to worry about money. If I kept my job…but I had to do a lot of flying. What if the plane went down? The thought winged through my subconscious and formed a grapefruit-sized knot in my stomach. What would my children do with both parents gone?

Kelli and Kris would be orphans. Neil and I had never gotten around to making a will. Mom and Dad would take the kids…but Neil’s parents would want them, too. I gripped my hands in my lap, imagining the war. There’d be a big fight. Split right down the middle along family lines.

My children would live in turmoil; they’d end up in therapy, warped for life because I was a thoughtless parent who was so self-absorbed I’d forgotten to consider my children’s future.

I’d never fly again.

What was I saying? If I wanted to keep my job I had to fly. It was all too complicated for me in my mixed-up state.

Somehow I’d hold my family together. Life went on, and people went on.

As I recall, that was my last rational thought for a while. I sank into a blue funk. I knew that being a responsible parent meant being there for my children no matter how badly I was hurting, but my mind rebelled. So I slipped away to a private place where I could mourn Neil’s passing without the world’s interference. If it hadn’t been for kind neighbors and my church family, I don’t know what would have happened to Kelli and Kris. I loved them—loved them with all my heart—but anguish had rendered me nonfunctional. I faintly recalled someone being in the house at all times, but mentally I was absent. I couldn’t explain it; only those who had lived the experience could put the feeling in plain words.

And I stayed that way for maybe two or three weeks. I’m not sure. I’m only sure of how and when my body slowly came back to life. Well, not slowly. Swiftly was more accurate.

It was when Kelli suddenly burst into my bedroom, startling me from my black abyss.

“There’s a snake in the attic!”

I blinked, focusing on my daughter. “A what? Where?”

“A snake,” she repeated. “In our attic. Come and get it Mom.”

Chapter 3

A what? My heart jolted, and started beating for the first time in weeks. I was still sleeping on the pallet, unable to return to the bed Neil and I had shared. I jumped up, wide-eyed, hair standing on end. Kris, evidently the calmest Madison, wet a paper towel in the adjoining bath and slapped it across my forehead. I sank back on the pillow, feeling cold water running down my neck.

Snake.

In my attic.

When I found my voice, I asked if Kris was certain.

“Real sure, Mommy.”

The snake had slid behind the cubbyhole where we kept Christmas decorations. My natural instinct was to call Neil; my second was to break into frustrated tears.

Kris patted my hand. “Don’t cry, Mommy. I’ll get the snake.”

Although I was tempted, I couldn’t let a seven-year-old engage in an attic snake hunt. I had no idea what kind of snake resided in my home other than Kris’s description: big.

And black.

Maybe.

“We’ll call Ron Fowler,” I said. “And what were you doing in the attic so late?”

“Playing.” Kris glanced at the clock. “Mr. Fowler will be asleep by now.”

Worry kicked into overdrive. If Neil was here he’d dispose of the snake and that would be that, but Neil wasn’t here, and this was just the first of a series of problems I would face without him. I couldn’t call on my neighbors, the Fowlers, in every crisis. Kris pressed a tissue into my hand, and I tried to get a grip on my fear.

I hated snakes about as much as I hated toads. Both repulsed me, especially toads. One had gotten in my bed when I was a kid. We’d lived in a rural area, and near a pond, so snakes and toads were plentiful, but the critters kept me paranoid. I tried to shake off fear. I had been in a state of shock for, what—weeks? I glanced at the wall calendar—the one Neil had given me last Christmas. Twelve months of sexy, bare-chested firemen. Hot tears filled my eyes.

“What day is this?” I asked.

Kris rolled her eyes pensively. “October, uh, maybe the middle.”

Dear Lord. I had sleepwalked through half of October!

I was appalled. I had to pull out of this. I threw back the sheets and told Kelli I was going to shower and wash my hair before we tackled the snake.

I stood under the hot water until the heater ran dry, but I felt more human now. Toweling off, I spotted the bottle of sedatives I had been downing like chocolate-covered almonds. I’d lived on doctor-prescribed medication for the past few weeks. I uncapped the bottle and stared at the blue pills and knew the next few weeks were going to be unbearable, but I had to keep it together for Kelli and Kris. As soon as I was dressed in sweats and clean socks I carried the pills downstairs and crammed them into a jar of sardines, then threw the sardines in the trash. I detested sardines. I knew I wouldn’t touch the pills again.

Armed with baseball bats and a butterfly net, my daughters and I climbed the creaking attic stairs. A single overhead bulb lit our way; a bare oak branch scraped the roof. The creepy scenario reminded me of a scene out of a low-budget horror flick. I rarely came up here, but Kris and Kelli played among luggage pieces, old trunks, dress forms and seasonal clothing on occasional rainy afternoons. And of course decorations—Thanksgiving, Christmas, Fourth of July. Madisons were into decorating for every occasion; our house was old and rambling, but always festively lit.

The three of us wore sober expressions; my five-year-old clung tightly to the fabric of my sweats. We made the steep climb, and then stood at the head of the stairs while I flipped on the lone hanging lightbulb that lit the attic itself.

I flashed the light beam across the open rafters. I’d heard snakes like to hang by joists. I swallowed and asked exactly where Kris had spotted the snake. Maybe she’d been mistaken. A seven-year-old’s imagination was fertile ground. I felt relieved. That was it—Kris thought she’d seen a snake. It could have been anything or nothing. I mean, how would a snake get in the attic this late in the year? Weren’t reptiles dormant now? I wasn’t sure. Kris pointed toward the stored Christmas decorations. Warning the children to stand back, I crept closer to the danger area. Boxes of bulbs, tinsel and outdoor lights blocked my view. I’d have to move a few to see behind the shelving, but first I took the bat and whacked each box, notifying the snake of my presence. Something darted out. I shrieked and scrabbled for cover, lunging for the nearest refuge. I climbed aboard an army trunk and shouted, “Kelli! Kris—go back downstairs!”

Kelli broke into tears, and Kris, the color of putty, grabbed her sister’s hand. I yelled again. “Get away! Run!”

Kris raced toward the stairs, pulling her sobbing sister after her. I could hear their leather soles clattering down the wooden stairway.

I forced myself to think. What had run out at me? The snake? A roach? I hadn’t gotten a good enough look to identify the source, but the way I reacted must have made Kris and Kelli think a tyrannosaurus rex was loose in the attic.

Instantly I regretted my emotional outburst. My poor children were going to be paranoid wrecks by the time they were grown. Neil had often accused me of passing my fears onto the kids, but I didn’t mean to—after all, how did I know what was slithering around on my attic floor? In my hasty flight, I’d dropped the flashlight. I spotted the beam shining on the floor. I saw nothing but dust bunnies in the intense light.

I eased off the trunk and cautiously approached the enemy zone. When I didn’t see anything of the snake, I banged on a box of tinsel and scrambled back onto the trunk. Nothing happened. I could hear Kris and Kelli at the bottom of the stairway, crying.

“It’s okay, sweeties!” I called. “Don’t let anybody in the house!”

Quivering, high-pitched voices replied in unison, “We won’t, Mommy.”

I doubted perverts kept these late hours, and I’d drummed into the children repeatedly not to accept rides from strangers, and to never, ever let anyone in the house without permission, including friends and neighbors. Of course, not taking candy from strangers was a given.

Minutes passed, and the snake failed to show its—whatever. I debated my options, worrying my lower lip with my upper teeth. I could lock the attic door, seal it tight with duct tape and call the exterminator in the morning, but I knew neither I nor the girls would sleep a wink knowing what lay in the attic.

Buck up, Kate. You’re a big girl now.

I took a swipe at unanticipated tears and could almost hear Neil saying, You’re head honcho now, babe. Take care of the ranch.

Head honcho. Head coward was more like it. I didn’t want to be head anything. I stepped off the trunk and carefully approached the largest box. I tugged and slid the carton away from the wall, then grabbed my bat and waited.

Nothing.

I tackled the next box.

Nothing.

I systematically moved boxes, poised for swift justice. Would I actually beat the thing to death? I’d never gotten close enough to a wild animal to be lethal. My insides churned with hot tar. Soon all the Christmas decorations were sitting in the middle of the attic floor, and still no sign of the snake.

I sank back down on the trunk to think. The kids’ crying had fizzled to an occasional hiccup. I pictured my sweet, innocent children huddled below, confused. Worried. Lord, why am I such a poor role model?

Why such a wimp and worrywart? Maybe being an only child had created the condition. Mom and Dad had been protective—overly so. Maybe I came by the trait naturally. I thought of all the imagined horrors of my youth, and I cringed. I didn’t want Kelli and Kris to grow up afraid of their shadows. Without Neil as a stabilizing force, I would be responsible for how my daughters reacted to fear the rest of their lives. The thought scared me to death.

I had to overcome my uncertainties. I’d prayed about them, but then I would almost immediately revert to my old state. Now that I was alone, I had to change. I had to get a grip. Starting with the snake. Okay. I would shut the attic door, seal the crack and tell the kids not to worry: the snake couldn’t harm us. I didn’t know beans about snakes, but this one sounded as if it might be a common breed. A cobweb grazed the top of my head, and I reached up to brush it aside, praying a black widow wasn’t lurking somewhere in the web. Or brown recluse—that would be more likely.

Stop it, Kate. You didn’t ask to be a widow at thirty-two, but you are. It could be Neil left alone, with two children, and I knew, deep in my heart, between Neil and me, God had chosen the right one to take home. Why? Because he couldn’t have taken care of kids, the house, baby-sitting and his job. Oh, he could, but it would have been so foreign to him.

I stood up and reached for the butterfly net and flashlight. And then I felt it—something heavy dropped from a rafter, right at my feet.

Peering down, I tried to locate it. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. The snake lay directly in front of me.

Faint now. I was too scared to scream. Hysteria rose, my mouth moved, but nothing came out. Instead, I jumped back, batting at the reptile with the butterfly net.

Stumbling across the attic floor, I engaged in a silent one-on-one war. My heavy shoe trapped the head and I stood frozen. Yewoooooo. I knew I was going to be sick. The snake squirmed and wiggled, thrashing its long body.

“Mommy?” Kris called.

“Yes,” I squeaked. The reptile’s tail thrashed and whipped back and forth.

“You okay?”

Get a grip, Kate. You don’t want them scared of their own shadows.

“Fine,” I chirped. My hand tightened on the butterfly net. I couldn’t hit the snake—it wasn’t in me. Besides, if I missed I would panic and go to pieces.

God, You’ve got to help me. I cannot do this alone.

I bent over and carefully draped the mesh around the reptile’s head and then scooped the writhing snake into the net. Once I had him trapped, I gained power. What now? I could hear Kelli and Kris clumping up the stairs.

The snake was still an alarming sight, even net-trapped.

With a false calm, I snatched the net up and hurried to the east window. Paint had practically sealed the pane, but I discovered strength I didn’t think existed. Kris and Kelli reached the top of the stairs about the time I jerked the window open and flung the net, snake and all, outside, praying the mesh wouldn’t lodge on the shingles. I slammed the window shut and turned around, smiling as they hit the doorway.

“Hey, guys.”

Kelli and Kris hesitantly crept toward me. “Did you find the snake?”

“Taken care of,” I said, pretending to wash my hands of the disdainful matter. “Anyone interested in a cup of hot chocolate?”

The kids stared in wonder, relief filling their faces. Kris smiled, and I realized I hadn’t seen her smile in weeks. “You got it?”

“I got it.”

And I prayed that I had it. A lifetime, my children’s lifetime, was an awesome responsibility. I hoped I was up to the challenge.

It was after eleven o’clock before the house settled back to normalcy. I switched out the lamp and climbed into my pallet. Kelli’s soft breathing reassured me I was richly blessed, even if I cursed my circumstances.

Streetlight filtered through the eyelet curtains. I rolled to my side and covered my ears with my pillow, hoping the action might blot out my thoughts. No such luck. Worries fought with my need for sleep. Despite my comatose state, I had continued to work. I had a six-o’clock flight; without Neil to help, I’d have to drop the girls and their luggage at Mrs. Murphy’s on my way to the airport. My heart ached as though someone had welded the valves shut.

What if I got sick and couldn’t work? Neil’s insurance should cover the next few years, but the money wouldn’t last forever.

I should go back to church; so many of the congregation had supported us, prayed for us, sent encouraging cards and letters. I tried to recall the last Sunday Neil and I were together—couple-together. We’d gone to church, and then taken the girls to Chuck E. Cheese’s for a special treat. That night we had taken the family to the local zoo. The kids had delighted in the animals and fall decorations. Neil and I had strolled hand in hand beneath a full moon, admiring giraffes and elephants, their habitats decked in colorful lights. I never once thought that would be our last official outing together, but then, who would ever think that? Bad things didn’t happen to us.

I tossed my blanket aside and rolled to my back, staring at the ceiling. I knew by heart exactly how many tiles it took to stretch across the room and the number it took to run to the opposite wall. Two hundred and forty.

The house was old, dating back seventy-five years, but it had been the best Neil and I could afford on our budget seven years ago. I was expecting Kris, and Neil was relatively new at the fire station. With a baby on the way, we knew we’d need more room than the efficiency apartment we’d moved into after our honeymoon. We’d found the house on a lovely spring afternoon, and even though it was old and run-down, we saw all kinds of possibilities. We’d painted and wallpapered and made a small nursery downstairs adjoining our bedroom. We’d loved this home, but recently we’d talked of buying one of the ranch styles in a new, moderately priced subdivision a few miles away. Kris could stay in her school district, and Mrs. Murphy would still be close.

I rose on an elbow and peered at the clock. Twelve-thirty. I had to get some sleep. Without medication, the hours dragged, but I would not take another pill. I had to resume life. For my children’s sake, I had to make an effort to restore normalcy.

One o’clock came.

Then two o’clock. I had to be up and functioning in two hours.

Sleep refused to come. Finally I got up, padded to the kitchen and sat down at the table. A house was so empty this time of night. The furnace was turned low; the floor was cold and unwelcoming to my bare feet.

I stared out the window onto the quiet street. Neighbors were asleep, couples lying next to each other in their beds. I closed my eyes and recalled the years I had taken Neil’s presence for granted. Of the hundreds and thousands of times I’d curled next to his warm body, felt his heart beat in sync with mine, and never once thought of the woman or man who lay that same night in an empty bed, alone. Hurting. Pain so intense you wondered if your heart wouldn’t succumb to the blackness, and you prayed that it would.

I knew I had to talk to someone. Anyone.

Quietly I walked to the desk phone, not having the slightest idea whom I’d call. Not Mom—I loved her dearly, but she didn’t understand, thank God, how deep the pain cut.

If I had a sister…but I didn’t. Or a brother. Not even friends close enough to call at this hour of the morning.

My eyes focused on the prayer sheet I’d brought home Neil’s and my last Sunday together. The pastor’s home phone number stood out. Did I dare? A moment later I picked up the receiver and punched the numerical pad.

Two rings later a man answered. I don’t know if Joe Crockett recognized my voice. I don’t see how he could have, because I was sobbing by now, incoherent, but he managed to single out who I was.

“Pastor Joe…I…need you,” I managed.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, Kate.”

I got dressed, and when I let him in it was close to two-thirty. Surely the church didn’t pay him well enough to climb out of a warm bed on a cold winter’s night and come to a distraught female’s rescue.

He handed me his topcoat and hat, then quietly followed me into the kitchen. We sat across the table from each other. I didn’t know where to begin. So I just admitted the truth.

“I can’t do this alone.”

“You are not alone,” he said. “You feel alone, but God is with you, Kate.”

“God.” I shook my head, resentment welling up in my throat.

“He’s promised never to leave us, Kate, but He hasn’t promised that we’ll always feel His presence. I know you feel utterly alone and forsaken right now.”

“Why did God take Neil?” I looked up, tears running down my cheeks. “I begged Him not to take Neil—for years I’ve begged Him. Why did He do this to me?” My voice broke, tears obstructing my voice.

He shook his head and sighed. “I can’t answer that. But I’m here. I care—the church cares. God cares.”

I didn’t care.

Pastor Joe was kind and the church had been supportive, but Neil was gone, and there was nothing anyone could do or say to bring him back. I knew the next thing he’d be telling me was that God uses our bad experiences to make us stronger, and I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to be stronger. I wanted my husband back—in this house—laughing, playing with Sailor, teasing Kelli, helping Kris with her homework. Loving me.

We sat in the silent kitchen and he clasped my hand in comfort. The warmth of another living, breathing adult helped, made the dark house feel less threatening and cold.

“Tell me how I go on.” I thought of the Colorado flight in a little under three hours. Leaving my girls for the first time since we’d become a family of three. Three was an uneven number….

“It will take time, Kate. Days. Weeks—maybe years. The grieving process is different for all of us. It will be time you won’t want to give, but eventually you’ll be able to go on. You’re a strong young woman. I have utmost confidence in your ability to survive.”

I don’t know where the conversation would have taken us if the pastor hadn’t heard Sailor scratching at the back door. I’d forgotten to let him in before I went to bed.

“That’s Sailor. He wants to come in,” I said.

“I’ll take care of it.” He got up and walked to the back door, unlatched and opened it. Sailor entered the house on a rush of cold air.

“Drop it!” Pastor Joe shouted.

Startled, I sat up straighter. “Pardon?”

“Drop it!” He backed up, keeping his distance from the dog. I rose slightly and peered over the edge of the table. My jaw dropped. Sailor had the snake in his mouth. A black tail wildly gyrated back and forth.

“Sailor! Drop it!” Pastor Joe repeated sternly.

“No! Don’t drop it!” I sprang up, wondering what I’d done with the bat. This snake was like a plague!

Sailor wagged his tail and dropped it. The snake was badly injured but still alive.

“How in the world?” I breathed.

“Yow.” Joe’s eyes focused on the disappearing reptile.

“Mommy?” Kris came into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.

“Kris! Get back!”

My daughter jumped, her eyes darting to the pastor, then back to me. “What…?”

“The snake! Sailor carried it into the house.”

What had I done? Committed the unpardonable sin? Was God punishing me? Could I expect a plague of grasshoppers or a swarm of locusts next?

“Where’s the ball bat?” I asked.

Wide-eyed, Kris pointed upstairs. “You left it by the attic door.”

“Stay where you are,” Joe commanded. “I’ll take care of it.” Joe sidestepped me, grabbed the snake behind the head and took it briskly outside. Kris and I continued to balance on top of a kitchen chair.

Sailor stood in the middle of the floor, obviously proud of his show-and-tell display.

“Sailor. Bad dog,” I scolded.

Kris clung to my robe. “Mommy, you said you’d gotten rid of the snake.”

“I know, dear. I thought I had.” That snake had nine lives—all intended to test me.

When Joe returned, it was close to 4:00 a.m. and time for me to get up.

He had disposed of the snake—where or how I didn’t ask. I only hoped this was a permanent riddance. I dragged Kelli out of a warm bed and dressed her. Pastor Joe helped carry two sleepy children outside to the garage.

After stowing our luggage in back, he wished me well, and casually assured a worried Kelli that Mommy would be coming back. He stepped back and watched as I backed the van out of the garage and sped off in the gray dawn.

As I adjusted my rearview mirror I suddenly realized he’d never answered my question. How did I go on?

I guess no mere human held the secret. No one could explain how anyone lived through times like this and kept their sanity. Or their faith. I realized that I was mad at God. Livid. He’d taken the best part of my life, other than Kelli and Kris. How could I be anything but bitter?

Chapter 4

Since Neil had died I had been knee-deep in paperwork. I had no idea there was so much involved in dying. Not for the deceased, but for the ones left behind. It was like mopping up after a public disaster; only, this tragedy was private and mine. I had signed papers, taken care of trusts, filed insurance papers and I still wasn’t finished. I couldn’t believe that Neil died and left me to cope. I gazed out the kitchen window at the two holly trees he had planted six years ago. They’d been just twigs back then. Now they were at least five feet tall and one of them sparkled with bright red berries. He had planted a male and a female tree, explaining that was necessary if we wanted berries.

I blinked back tears. It seemed as if everything came in pairs. Everything except me. Alone was a terrible word. The Colorado trip had gone surprisingly well. I had another trip coming up tomorrow—Arizona this time. The girls had made it all right without me, thanks to Mrs. Murphy, but I had still felt guilty about leaving them, and now I was getting ready to leave them again.

The phone rang, jerking me out of my thoughts. I reached for the receiver on the second ring.

“Kate? That you?” It was Nancy Whitaker, one of the stylists I worked with at the salon. Why would she be calling on a Sunday night?

“It’s me.”

“I stopped by the shop for a minute and found you had forgotten to take your briefcase. Won’t you need it on your trip?”

I groaned. My teaching material. Of course I’d need it. How could I have been so careless? “Rats. I’ll have to detour by in the morning and pick it up. Or if you’re going to be there for a while I can run over now.”

“Don’t do that.” Nancy paused. “Tell you what. I’ll drop it by on my way home. Will that work?”

“That would be great. I still have to pack, and the kids haven’t eaten yet.”

She promised to drop by and we broke the connection. I dug a pizza out of the freezer. Junk food again. I had zero interest in cooking. I fed the girls whatever was handy, and sometimes the meals weren’t exactly balanced. Corn chips and baloney sandwiches. Boxed macaroni and cheese. As for me, I’d lost ten pounds I didn’t need to lose. My appetite was gone.

I wandered into the bedroom trying to decide what to take with me, although by now I had narrowed my travel outfits down to a few that would pack well with the least amount of wrinkles. I shuffled aimlessly through my side of the closet, not really caring what I wore. I made a few selections, folded them and plopped them in the suitcase.

Kris hovered in the doorway. “You never did bake those chocolate chip cookies.”

I stared at her, trying to remember. What cookies?

“For my school party,” she prodded.

I shook my head to clear the fog. “Honey, that’s long over.”

The color in her cheeks heightened. “I know that. I’m not a baby.”

“Well, then, your point is?”

“We could still bake cookies.” She met my gaze, looking defiant. “I sort of promised.”

I sat down on the bed trying to figure out what we were talking about. “Promised what?” I asked gently.

She lifted her eyes to meet mine. “I told Mrs. Harrison that I could bring cookies tomorrow. We don’t ever get anything special in class for just because.”

I swallowed hard. “Just because” was a catchword in our house. Anytime we did something nice or bought a present for someone for no particular reason, it was a “just because” gift. Just because I love you. My eyes touched a well-known brand of perfume in a cut-glass bottle. Expensive and unexpected. My last just because gift from Neil.

I looked at Kris, noting the flush staining her cheeks, the hesitant expression. Had I actually sent her to school wearing that purple-and-black-plaid skirt with a golden-yellow-and-black-striped shirt? She looked like a walking ad for crepe paper. What had I been thinking? Or more to the point, why wasn’t I thinking? I seemed to be lost in a fog most of the time. And had I, in my preoccupation, caused her to look so insecure?

I realized she was still waiting for an answer. “Okay. One batch of cookies coming up. Chocolate chip okay?”

She grinned, relief crossing her youthful features. “That would be great, Mom.”

I nodded. “Consider it done. I’ll finish up here and then we’ll get started.”

My daughter took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “And can we go back to church next week?”

Well, now. I hadn’t seen that one coming. We hadn’t been back to church since Neil’s funeral. I knew the girls missed their friends and church activities, but I wasn’t yet ready to face our favorite pew where Neil and I had sat together. Besides, I was uncertain right now that there even was a God. He had ignored my pleas to keep Neil safe. How could I trust Him again?

Kris was still waiting for an answer, and I forced a smile. “We’ll see. Run along now and let me finish packing.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. Judging from her expression, I hadn’t fooled her. “We’ll see” probably meant “no,” and she knew it. I sighed. Life had gotten complicated and I wasn’t mentally equipped to handle complicated. Maybe I wasn’t spiritually equipped, either.

Kris left and I glanced around the room for forgotten items before closing my suitcase. When I got back I’d have to tackle Neil’s personal belongings. So far I had kept his side of the closet closed, unable to face the thought of getting rid of anything.

The doorbell rang and I answered, to find Nancy holding my briefcase. Tall, slender, with a head of silver-blond hair she wore in a tousled mop, she looked like the typical feather-brained blonde. Behind that pretty face resided a sharp intellect and a friendly compassionate manner. She was a favorite among La Chic customers.

“You okay, girl?” she asked.

I dredged up a smile. “I’m okay.”

“Look, if traveling is too much for you to handle, you need to tell Maria. She can work it out.”

The idea sounded tempting, but I knew giving up traveling would amount to a cut in salary, something I wasn’t prepared to accept. What if I became incapacitated and couldn’t work? We’d need everything I could earn now to get us by without dipping into the insurance money. Maria, the elegant manager of La Chic, would probably be flexible, but for now I’d try to carry on.

Nancy and I attended the same church, and she was aware I had been staying away from services. She didn’t mention it, though, probably thinking that I didn’t need the pressure right now.

She reached out to grasp both my hands. “I know flying makes you nervous.”

“Particularly in winter,” I admitted. “Every time I see them deice the wings I start praying.”

Nancy nodded encouragement. “We’ll both pray that God will see you safely through.”

She left, and I shut the door and locked it. I thought about what she had just said. Flying did make me nervous, but I had always trusted in God to bring me safely home. Sometimes I had even enjoyed the takeoffs and landings. But I had lost faith in the power of prayer. My husband had started every day with prayer. Why had God looked the other way when Neil was trapped in that burning building? God owed me some answers.

I wandered into the kitchen and got out the cookbook, looking for my chocolate chip recipe. The weather was unseasonably warm for October. Sailor had been playing out in the backyard all afternoon, but now he scratched at the back door. I let him in and turned my attention to assembling cookie ingredients. It took only a few minutes to mix the dough, and, like the girls, I was looking forward to freshly baked cookies. Maybe I’d put together some ice-cream sandwiches using warm cookies. It sounded good, and for a brief moment I thought perhaps I was regaining my appetite.

Sailor was acting weird tonight, hovering around my feet until I almost tripped over him. “Kelli,” I called. “Come get this dog! He’s in the way.”

My youngest daughter wandered into the kitchen, pouting. “Poor Sailor. Nobody loves him except me.”

“Yeah, right,” I muttered. “Look, I have to light this oven. I don’t need any distractions, okay?” The temperamental thing could blow sky-high. Well, not literally. Last month Neil had called a serviceman to look at the gas monstrosity and he’d pronounced the relic safe. Just old and cranky.

Kelli scooped the dog up in her arms. “All right. Come on, Sailor. We’ll watch from here.”

“I should sell tickets?” I wiggled my eyebrows at her, in a pitiful imitation of Groucho Marx. My daughter, of course, had never seen the great Groucho, so she simply stared at me as if I had lost my mind.

“All right, I’ll provide the evening entertainment, but stand back out of the way.”

“Don’t worry,” Kelli said. “I’ll be ready to run if the stove blows up.”

“Oh, yeah? You expect that to happen?”

Her expression was way too serious. “You always say it’s going to.”

That stopped me in my tracks. Had I infected my children with my fear of this stove? I tried to laugh. “Don’t worry. There’s no danger of the stove blowing up. I was only joking.” Wasn’t I?

I hunted for the long fireplace matches someone had given us. They had always seemed a strange gift, since we don’t have a fireplace. Never had. I found the matches in the top cabinet lurking behind a jar of molasses, bought earlier to make gingerbread houses, which had gone unmade.

Lighting this monstrosity was actually a two-man job, but tonight I’d have to do it on my own. Our house was old and so were our appliances. The stove must have come over on the ark. I paused a foolish moment to wonder if there was a second one out there somewhere making some other woman’s life miserable. Or if this was something else that didn’t come in pairs?

I knelt in front of the stove and turned on the gas and was rewarded with a furious hiss. Satisfied it was working, I scraped the match across the flint. Nothing. Another match, no spark.

We’d had these matches for ages. They were probably too old to ignite. I fished out another one, forgetting I had left the gas on while I played with matches. This one flamed almost immediately, and I breathed a sigh of relief and extended it toward the oven, neglecting to turn my face to the side the way I usually did.

For a long moment I hung in limbo. Then, voom! The mother of all explosions shot a sheet of fire in my direction.

Blue flames rose like a Yellowstone geyser.

I reached out a trembling hand to adjust the controls, and the monster stopped roaring and started purring. Sighing, I shakily got to my feet. My face felt as hot as a roasted marshmallow. I promised myself to replace this stove as soon as possible. Now that I was down to one paycheck per week, and not wanting to tap into our emergency fund, it didn’t look as if “possible” would be coming around anytime soon.

“Wow!” Kelli said. “That was awesome.”

“Wasn’t it?” I agreed. “Better than Fourth of July fireworks.”

She frowned. “Are you all right, Mom?”

“Sure. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look sort of funny.”

Well, that was a given. I’d come within an inch of being roasted. Yeah, I probably looked goggle-eyed from the shock. I felt a tremor of pride. I’d lit that stove, and when it spit flames at me, I hadn’t even screamed. I was maturing.

“I’m okay. Right now I’m going to bake chocolate chip cookies, and when I’m through we’ll make ice-cream sandwiches. How does that sound?”

“Awesome!” She ran from the room, shouting at Kris. “Mom’s lit the stove and it didn’t blow up!”

I grinned. Kelli was a wordsmith. She collected words and phrases the way other kids collected favorite toys. Awesome was her latest.

The day, which had been sunny, was suddenly overcast. I stepped to the back door and cast an anxious glance at the sky. It was too hot for this time of year.

After watching the racing clouds for a few moments I went back inside and turned on the kitchen television. Worry was setting in. Almost immediately a weather crawl appeared across the bottom of the screen. “A tornado warning is in effect for Oklahoma City from four o’clock central mountain time until 5:30 p.m. Stay tuned to this station for updates.”

Tornado. And a warning, not a watch. More serious. Tornado alley again. We’d been hit before and I was familiar with the devastation left behind by the killer funnel clouds. So far we’d been lucky, but if Lady Luck had ever lived in this house, she had moved out.

Kris came into the kitchen. “There’s a tornado warning out. I thought we were through with storms.”

“I know. I just caught it on the TV.” I dropped spoonfuls of cookie dough onto the baking sheet. “You keep a close eye on the set for further warnings.”

She paled. “Will it hit us?”

“I hope not.” I slid the cookies into the oven.

She stared at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why?” I kept an ear tuned to the weather report. Well, maybe both ears, because I didn’t hear what she said. She looked worried, but then both girls had worn that strained, anxious expression frequently around me. We were going to have a long talk, as soon as I could get my thoughts straight. It was important to know what you were talking about before you started talking, and right now my thoughts were still tied in a knot and I couldn’t find the right string to pull.

“All residents in…are urged to take cover immediately.”

I dropped the spoon. It hit against the glass bowl with a clang. “Where? I didn’t catch that.”

“Us!” Kris cried. “That’s us!”

The telephone rang and I snatched up the receiver. My next-door neighbor Ron was on the phone. “Kate? I don’t want to alarm you, but I think you and the girls should come over here. Sally and I are going to the basement.”

“We’ll be right there.” I slammed the receiver down and yelled for Kelli. “Come on! We’re going next door.”

Kelli ran into the kitchen, clutching Sailor. I shoved both girls out the door. “Run.” The stove. I whirled and shut off the oven, opened the door and jerked out the pan of half-baked cookies.

The clouds had turned a dirty yellow color. I stood transfixed, watching them boil overhead. A sudden gust of wind whirled debris past me. Trees bent low. I froze, unable to move.

“Kate!” Ron yelled from the door of his house. “Come on. Hurry.”

I ran toward him like a scared rabbit scurrying toward the safety of a brush pile. He pushed me toward the basement steps. “Sally and the kids are already down there.”

I had started down the steps when he suddenly pulled me back. “What’s that you’re carrying?”

I looked down and discovered I still held the pan of half-baked cookies. My jaw dropped. I remembered taking them out of the oven, but evidently I had forgotten to put them down.

Ron laughed. “Give them to me and get downstairs.”

I shot one more glance toward the sky and saw a dark finger of cloud extending toward the ground. As I watched, it rose again. Tornado. Dear God, help us. It really was a tornado. I stumbled toward the stairs, aware Ron was right behind me carrying the cookies.

Sally and the kids were huddled in a corner of the basement away from the windows. Vicki, the Fowlers’ oldest daughter, had her arms around Kelli and Kris. Mark and Tommy, age thirteen and fifteen, were sitting next to Sally. Mark had brought his ghetto blaster and had it tuned to a rock station. If we didn’t already have hearing problems we would be permanently deaf from the volume by the time we got the all clear.

If we got an all clear.

If the tornado hit us we might all wake up in heaven.

Where Neil was waiting for us.

The thought stunned me. As badly as I wanted to see him, I didn’t want to die right now. The girls were young. I wanted to see them grow up and get married. I wanted to be a grandmother. The longing caught me by surprise. For weeks I had been mentally moaning that I was ready to die. Apparently that wasn’t true.

Kelli clutched Sailor so tightly he whuffled in protest. Tootsie Roll, the Fowlers’ yappy little Pekingese, kept running around us in circles, evidently thinking this was some sort of game. Between the dog and the rock music I was about to resort to some very undignified behavior, like yelling “shut up” to the dog and heaving the ghetto blaster to the far side of the basement. Not very wise behavior if I wanted to be invited back.

Since I didn’t have anywhere else to go in a tornado warning, I decided to keep my options open.

Ron shouted at Mark to turn off the music so he could catch the weather report. Tommy had picked up a guitar that was lying around, and plucked aimlessly at the strings. If he had a melody hidden in there somewhere I couldn’t find it. The kid had been taking lessons for several months. As far as I could tell, he needed a few more.

Ron managed to get a few words of the weather report before Mark turned the radio back to his music. The volume was loud enough to mask the roar of the wind outside, which was one blessing. Ron reached over and turned off the radio and motioned for Tommy to put down the guitar. The boys complied, albeit reluctantly, and their father reached out to grasp their hands. “Let’s pray.”

I stiffened, eyes wide. Did he think we were in imminent danger? He caught my eye and shook his head. “I don’t know if the tornado is coming our way or not, but if it doesn’t hit us it will hit others in its path.”

I felt tears sting my eyelids. Neil would have said something like that. He had been concerned about others. I realized I’d been concentrating on myself and my children. Me and mine. My husband’s death had reduced me to a cold, unfeeling half Christian. I felt chastened as I bowed my head and listened while Ron prayed for our safety and for the safety of those around us. A peace came over me. Not that I knew what was going on outside those basement walls, but because Ron Fowler was a good man; somehow I felt God would hear and answer his prayers. I had even whispered a short prayer of my own. I didn’t have confidence in any prayer of mine, but somehow I felt better.

Mark switched on his music again and Ron shook his head and turned the channel to a weather broadcast. The announcer’s voice came over the air and I thought I had never heard better news.

“It looks like the tornado system has passed for now, but high winds have caused considerable destruction and a twister did touch down on the north side of the city. No information on damage right now. However, it seems to be all clear for the time being. Stay tuned for further developments.”

Ron got to his feet. “Well, looks like the excitement’s over for now.”

Kelli had climbed into my lap, still clutching Sailor. She lifted a tearstained face to mine. “The tornado went away? We’re not going to die?”

I hugged her. “Yes, darling. The tornado went away. We can go home now.”

We sorted ourselves out and climbed the stairs. I noticed the boys staring at me with bemused expressions when we trooped through Sally’s kitchen. Ron appeared to avoid looking at me at all. I started to feel self-conscious. Was my face dirty, or what? Sally took one good look at me and burst into laughter. “What happened to your eyebrows?”

“What do you mean, what happened?” No one had said a word, and I hadn’t done anything to my eyebrows. She took my shoulders and turned me to the mirror. I stared back at my reflection in horror. My eyebrows and eyelashes were gone!

Kris was standing at my elbow. “I tried to tell you, but you didn’t listen.”

The stove. That rotten stove. When it exploded into flame it must have singed my eyebrows. No wonder I had felt like a marshmallow held too close to the flames. And I had to teach a class in Arizona tomorrow looking like this. I burst into tears.

Sally put her arms around me. “Don’t cry, Kate. They’ll grow back. Just be glad you weren’t hurt.”

Of course I was glad I hadn’t been burned, but I didn’t want to hear my eyebrows would grow back. I wanted them now. The idea startled me. That had been my theme ever since Neil died. Me, I, mine. I wanted my life put back together and I wanted it now. For the first time I realized it wasn’t going to be that way. What I wanted had little to do with reality. Life happened. Like it or not.

And I didn’t like it one bit.

“You look funny, Mommy.” Kelli giggled. I turned and took another look at myself. As a matter of fact, I did look funny. A chuckle started somewhere inside me and I didn’t even try to hold back.

When I laughed it was as if the tension in the room shattered into tiny pieces. Part of it was relief because we had escaped the tornado, but it was such a blessing to laugh. To hear my children laugh, to see Ron laugh until the tears ran down his cheeks. I mopped my eyes feeling as if maybe, oh please God, the healing process was starting.

Sally spotted the pan of cookies. “What’s this?”

“Well, they started out to be cookies, but they didn’t get done,” I said.

“Why are they over here?” she asked, peering at the blobs as flat as pancakes.

I snorted again. “I took them out of the oven when Ron yelled for us to come and I forgot to put them down.”

Sally shook her head and laughed. “Tell you what, I’ll make a pot of coffee and we’ll eat the cookies. Deal?”

“Sounds like a first-class deal to me,” I agreed.

While they weren’t as well-done as I would have liked them, the chewy little blobs tasted a lot better than I had expected. We sat around the Fowler kitchen table eating and drinking coffee while Vicki styled Kris’s hair and Kelli played with Sailor and Tootsie Roll. By the time we were ready to go home I felt as if I had reached my first turning point.

I was slowly working my way out of the fog that had filled my waking moments. We were surviving. That was enough for now.

The girls and I walked home beneath a clearing sky. The first stars were just starting to peek through the clouds, and the air was freshly washed. The yard was full of windblown trash, and broken limbs were tossed everywhere like matchsticks. We’d had some strong winds, but thankfully nothing worse.

The phone rang as I entered the kitchen. I answered to find Pastor Joe Crockett on the line. “Kate, are you and the girls all right?”

“We’re fine, Pastor. We were next door with the Fowlers in their basement. What about you?”

“Missed us, but I’m sure you’ve heard about the damage to the north.”

We talked about the storm for a few minutes, and then he said, “Kate, I’m worried about you. I want you to know you can talk to me anytime you feel the need.”

“I know that, Joe, and it helps a lot. Really it does.”

When I hung up the phone I realized something had happened to me tonight. I had come through a few more minicrises without falling apart. In my own way I was learning to cope. I had read the books on grieving that kind friends and thoughtful neighbors had dropped off; I believed that I had now passed the shock and disbelief stage.

I was lucky to have good friends and a pastor who cared. I was facing a future without Neil whether I liked it or not, and the kind of life I gave my children depended on how well I could handle that future.

I thought I had it all figured out. Little did I know my worst days still lay ahead of me.

Chapter 5

I left La Chic early Wednesday afternoon. On my station calendar, penciled in bold red and circled, was my annual physical appointment. This year I’d have blown it off, only I was in my responsible mode now; I was obligated to take care of myself. Plus, my right ear had been giving me fits on takeoffs and landings. Sometimes the pressure was so bad I was doubled over.

For me, seeing a doctor was like pulling teeth. I had a white-coat phobia—my blood pressure, heart rate and anxiety level all shot through the roof when a doctor or nurse approached. Dad had feared doctors and he’d passed the phobia along to me. Same with storms—every time a dark cloud came on the horizon he’d pace the floor and warn Mother that they’d better get me to shelter. I’d spent half my youth crouching in a dank cellar, praying the storm wouldn’t touch us. I knew God promised safe passage to those who loved Him, and in those years I wasn’t aware of any gales other than nature’s fury. I’d taken God’s promise literally. Safe passage to me meant safe passage—it didn’t have any hidden meanings like “You might not make it through the storm, but you’re promised ‘safe passage’ into heaven.” I was starting to see that life’s fury was every bit as lethal as Mother Nature’s temperamental displays.

A little before five, a nurse showed me to a small cubicle lab, comically labeled the Vampire’s Den. The sign served its purpose and I smiled in spite of my apprehension. Three vials later, I was handed a brown bottle and pointed to the bathroom down the long hallway.

Later I settled on a hard examining table covered in white paper and waited, my eyes roaming the built-in desk with boxes of rubber gloves, lubricant, ear swabs and wooden tongue depressors. Some sort of tool lay in plain sight. Torturous, no doubt.

An hour later, or at least it seemed that long, the doctor breezed in, reading my chart. “Kate. How are you coping?”

“Hi, Dr. Bates.” I hadn’t been in his office since last year’s physical, but he’d been kind enough to make a house call and prescribe medication when Neil died.

He paused, peering at me over the rims of his glasses. “How are you doing, girl?”

Tears smarted in my eyes. When anyone got that tone of voice—the I’m-so-sorry-about-Neil tone—I still lost it. I knew people meant well, but they couldn’t help, so the tone was always there, plunging me back to my black pit.

“Not so good, Dr. Bates, but friends say it will take time.”

He patted my shoulder and lifted the foot extension, snapping it into place. “I lost my wife a couple years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, my mind now on what the nurse was doing. This whole process gave me the jitters.

He paused, squeezing my hand with calm reassurance. Dr. Harry Bates had given me my first high school physical, so I should feel comfortable in his presence, but I was jumpy as a pea on a drum.

“People lie,” he said. “You never get over losing half of you, Kate. Not entirely, but you manage to go on.”

I closed my eyes. “What if I don’t want to go on?”

“Well.” He went about his business and I tried to think of my “happy place.” Sunning on the beach, with plovers and turnstones soaring overhead, rolling surf—ouch!

The mystery tool.

“Trust me,” the doctor said. “Given time, the pain will ease and some morning you’ll wake up and decide life’s a pretty good deal after all.”

“If you say so,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I’m still in the tearful stage—but making progress.”

Later I sat in his plush leather office chair and waited for results. Demons swarmed my mind. Had he found something? Would he walk through that door with a sober expression and regretfully break the news that I had only scant weeks to live? I shuddered, clasping my arms around my middle. There had been an odd pain recently—near the upper rib cage. What organ would that involve? Did they have treatment for my particular case? No. They wouldn’t if I had scant weeks to live.

Scant. How many weeks were in “scant,” anyway?

I had broken out into a cold sweat when Dr. Bates sailed into his office and sat down behind his desk.

“First the good news—you’re healthy as a horse.”

I felt faint with relief, although the comparison wasn’t exactly flattering.

“You’re a little anemic, but nothing unusual for a woman your age. And you could use a few extra pounds. So eat up.” He scribbled on a pad, then tore off the sheet and handed it to me. “Get this filled and take one a day. With food.”

I scanned the prescription. “Okay.”

The doctor settled back in his chair, his dark eyes studying me. “Now for the bad news.”

I glanced up, heart racing. He’d said I was healthy as a horse. I knew it—healthy as a horse can be in my condition.

“Your right eardrum has a small tear, minute but worrisome. You fly almost every week, if I recall.”

I nodded. “Twice a week. I teach classes out of state.”

He shook his head and steepled his forefingers, resting his mouth against them for a prop. “Sorry, Kate, but I’m going to have to ground you. That tear will heal if we’re careful. If not, I’ll want to watch it over a period of time before we consider surgery. You’ll be running the risk of hearing loss in that particular ear if we don’t take care of the problem once and for all. Didn’t we talk about this last year?” He glanced at my chart. “You were complaining of pressure, and you had a sinus infection and drainage.”

I nodded. He’d touched on the subject, but at the time the eardrum wasn’t perforated.

“I have considerable discomfort on takeoffs and landings. Even with the antibiotic and allergy medicine you prescribed last year, the pain is intense.”

“Then you’ve got to stay out of planes for a while.”

“But my job…” Did I have to remind him I was sole breadwinner now, and my job necessitated flying?

He shook his head, his expression stern. “That right ear is in jeopardy. You’re grounded—at least until the problem is corrected. Talk to your superiors. I’m sure something can be worked out.”

I left the sprawling medical complex in a daze. If I couldn’t travel, I couldn’t teach. If I couldn’t teach, La Chic would have to replace me. And who knew for how long or if I’d ever get the position back? Dr. Bates had said the tear might not heal even if I were careful. Surgery loomed like an approaching cold front.

I took a chance that Maria, my superior, would still be in her office. When I pulled into the salon, I saw her white Lexus parked in back. I used the employees’ entrance.

Maria glanced up when I tapped on her door. The French-born, attractive brunette always seemed rushed, so I stated my case as quickly as possible.

She folded her hands on the desk and stared at me, noncommittal for a moment. I could see my career—and paycheck—flying out the window.

“For how long, chérie?”

“The doctor doesn’t know—there’s no way to know. Maybe as long as a year.”

“A year.” She gave a French-sounding tssk. The row of silver arm bracelets tinkled melodiously when she reached up and touched her cheek. “One year. Disturbing.”

“Maybe sooner,” I offered. I adored my job, and I didn’t want to lose any part of it, though the idea of not flying made me almost giddy. No more angst-filled flights, crowded airports and overbooked airlines. No more cold and impersonal hotel rooms, lugging baggage, cabs in unfamiliar cities. I hadn’t realized it before, but now I was stunningly aware I didn’t really want to fly anymore. In fact, I didn’t care if I never saw another plane.

“Well, you are much too important for us to lose, ma chérie.” Maria smiled. “I will make a phone call in the morning—perhaps something can be worked out. Your talents are not limited to teaching, Kate. La Chic can work around your condition until you are healed.”

For the second time that day I felt faint with relief. I could keep my job. If God and I had been on speaking terms, I would have thanked Him.

“See me tomorrow.” Maria dismissed me with a harried glance. “We’ll talk then.”

When I climbed back into my car I realized I had survived yet another disaster and not come unglued. Life was getting better.

Kate, you’re made of Teflon, I told myself.

But in fact I knew I was made of pudding, and one more catastrophe would send me over the edge.

What would La Chic do with me? I could always work in the shop, but I knew that without the teaching challenge I would get bored easily, and I didn’t want to dip into the insurance money. I needed something more than cuts and permanents; I needed the adrenaline that came with watching talented students evolve into gifted stylists under my tutelage.

But then beggars can’t be choosers, so I would take whatever Maria could find, and baby my right ear until I could resume travel.

No more flights for a while.

Maybe I’d have Kris and Kelli offer a brief thank-you to God tonight in their prayers.

Will Rogers World Airport teemed with travelers when the girls and I climbed out of a shuttle Saturday morning. My head was still spinning from the rapid changes gripping my life.

Maria had called me into her office Thursday morning and broken the news—La Chic’s affiliate San Francisco salon needed a manager. The present one had been involved in a car accident two days before and required a lengthy recuperation period. There was only one hitch. The girls and I had to move to California.

At first the idea repulsed me. Leave everything I’d ever known—including irreplaceable memories of Neil? I couldn’t do it…yet I couldn’t remain immobile forever. Everywhere I looked, every street I drove, every restaurant we’d shared a meal reminded me of Neil. I couldn’t face memories of my deceased husband day after day and move on with my life. Maria was offering not only a job, but a new start. So I had agreed to move.

I unloaded backpacks and luggage out of the shuttle and wondered how Dr. Bates would react if he knew I was flying to San Francisco on a house-hunting expedition. I knew what he’d say, and I also knew the risks, but driving to the Bay Area was out of the question, and trains scared me to death. Every time I heard a newscast it seemed some passenger train had been involved in an accident, either here or overseas.

“Is the plane going to crash, Mommy?” Kelli slipped into her backpack, staring up at me with Neil’s dark eyes.

“No, honey. The plane isn’t going to crash.” She’d overheard me talking to Mom on the phone last night, and I’d expressed my usual flying hang-ups.

Kris helped me load bags on a cart and we wheeled our baggage inside the terminal and headed for our airline counter. A long line snaked around the cordoned area. I checked the time and noted that our flight left in a little over an hour; we had plenty of time.

The line moved slowly. Once or twice a new window opened, but only long enough to check in first class or frequent flyers. The girls waited patiently; their behavior made me proud. Neil had always taken care of baggage and checked in when we traveled. Was it only last year that we’d stood in this exact line, happily anticipating one glorious sun-drenched week at Disneyland? The girls had chattered with excitement, and Neil had teased that I was looking forward to the theme park more than Kelli was.

I mentally shook off my thoughts. Stay focused, Kate.

By the time we checked in and the luggage cleared security, we had fifteen minutes. The boarding gate was F12.

The three of us broke into a trot when we cleared security and headed for the assigned gate. I lugged a heavy shoulder bag and my purse, Kelli had her backpack and Kris pulled a small overnighter behind her. Threading our way through the teeming crowd, we sprinted toward the gate with five minutes to spare.

Passengers were on their feet studying their boarding passes when we arrived. It looked to be a full flight this morning.

A woman’s voice came over the PA. “Passengers on flight 224 to San Francisco—there has been a gate change. That flight will now be boarding from gate F3.”

“F3,” I told the girls. I picked up the heavy shoulder bag, and we set off for the eight-gate jaunt.

Breathless, we arrived a few minutes before the other passengers. Kelli peeled out of her backpack and let the canvas sink to the tiled floor. I set the shoulder bag down and rubbed my aching shoulder. An old rotator cuff injury had flared up.

“Mommy, are we going to eat breakfast on the plane?”

“Kelli, there are no meals on shorter flights. Didn’t you eat a bowl of cereal this morning?”

My daughter shook her head. “I couldn’t see it.”

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