 
Restless Souls

By

Bliss Addison

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2007 Bliss Addison

First Electronic Publication 2007

Second Electronic Publication 2011

*Previously Published by SynergEbooks*

This book is a work of fiction based entirely on the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental. Real places mentioned in the book are depicted fictionally and are not intended to portray actual times or places. All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

* * * *

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Other Books by Bliss Addison:

A Battle of Wills (Shannon Murphy – Book I)

With Malicious Intent (Shannon Murphy – Book II)

Wolfe, She Cried

Murder at the Villa Maria-Sedona Retirement Home

A Waning Moon

One Millhaven Lane

Deadly Serum

Prophesy

An Equal Measure

Sleight of Hand

Watching Over Her

A Silver Lining (The Monahans – Book I)

A Little Rain Must Fall (The Monahans – Book II)

A Mistaken Belief (The Monahans – Book III)

Summary:

Susan Turner wants for her children what her parents gave her - a loving home, a happy childhood, stability and security. Now, thanks to her lustful husband, she can only give them part of what she'd hoped for her son and daughter.

Following a brief period of mourning the death of her marriage, Susan picks herself up and moves on with her life. Her first thing to do is to sell the marital home and purchase something far, far away from the street where her husband has taken up housekeeping with her voluptuous neighbor.

Susan decides on a house, a fixer-upper the eighty-year-old man next door warns is haunted.

The days following their relocation give Susan an insight into her marriage and her soon-to-be-ex-husband she'd never before realized. Too late also, she learns the man next door had told the truth and the house, like her soon-to-be ex-husband, has something to hide.

_Contents:_

Chapter 1 – Starting Over

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

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 1

I clutched my handbag like a life preserver and walked from the house to my car, refusing to give any attention to the realtor's sign on the front lawn. At the driver's door, I couldn't resist taking a gander up the street at _her_ house. I didn't know what I expected to see – my husband's truck in the driveway, perhaps, even though I knew at this hour of the morning he would be sitting in his office behind his desk at the Sheffield Police Department.

It saddened me to sell the house, but not to leave the street.

I arrived at my lawyer's office ten minutes before the appointed time. All business, Douglas Roderick opened my file and extracted the documents that would dissolve my marriage.

"As you requested, the petition states the grounds for divorce is irreconcilable differences. Have you changed your mind about that?"

"I haven't." He thought I took the high road. I wouldn't explain I saved face by not petitioning on the grounds of adultery. From my point of view, admitting I couldn't keep my husband happy in bed was distressing enough without seeing it spelled out.

The devil was always in the details.

"Do you have any questions?"

"None." If I had any, I wouldn't ask. I needed this matter over and done with as quickly as possible.

He slid a pen and the papers across the desk to me, then pointed to the signature line. "Sign here."

I took the pen in my hand and wasted no time signing my name—Susan V. Turner. For sixteen years, I was the wife of Jonathan Thomas Turner and Suzie the happy homemaker. Soon, I would be the single mother of sixteen year old Katie Scott Turner and seven year old Benjamin John Turner and one day, I'd be happy again.

He shoved more papers at me. "These are the documents for the sale of your house on Woodland Drive."

I listened as he explained everything – smiling when he smiled, nodding when he nodded – then I signed my name again where he indicated.

"All things considered, Mrs. Turner, you came out the winner on this one. Not every wife does. Your husband was very generous giving you the marital home and paying your legal fees."

It was the least he could do, I thought, for the embarrassment and pain he'd inflicted on his children and me by taking up that ... _that_ woman. I'd say he got away easy. Too easy. Besides, my inheritance allowed us to build the house, so rightly the property should revert to me.

I forced a smile. "Yes, he was."

"The money you have left will tide you over nicely for the next several years."

"Yes, it will."

He pushed more papers at me. "These are the documents for the purchase of your new house on King George Highway."

My new house was an old house, built sometime in the early nineteen hundreds. It needed a lot of work, but nothing a fresh coat of paint, refinishing the hardwood floors, retiling the bathroom walls and floor, installing new fixtures and updating the kitchen wouldn't fix.

My real estate agent had joked the former owners died in each other's arms from an overabundance of love. It seemed incredible that ninety-year-olds would be sexually active, but then if someone had told me Jonathan would find love in another woman's arms, I wouldn't have believed that, either.

When I asked why the house was on the market for so long, the realtor shrugged and said it needed some work. An understatement, to be sure. Maybe no one else wanted to take on the task of refurbishing it. I needed the challenge, something that would consume my every waking moment. I planned on doing most of the work myself. What I couldn't handle, I'd hire contractors to do.

The words of the old man next door reverberated in my mind: "That house is cursed. You'd be wise to walk away while you can, girlie." I didn't heed his advice. I couldn't. From the moment I stepped across the threshold, I wanted to make that house mine. I was drawn to it. Not to the hand-carved woodwork or spacious backyard where I pictured flower and water gardens, a swing and apple trees, but something else. Something I couldn't identify.

Then he pointed a gnarled finger toward the sky. "A black aura surrounds it. See?" I looked up and noticed the roof needed re-shingling. I made a mental note to lower my intended offer even more.

"Mrs. Turner?"

Distantly, I could hear someone calling my name. I forced my mind back to the present.

"Huh? Yes?"

"Sign here, here and here."

I followed the direction of his finger and signed my name again.

"Okay, that finishes it. Stop by tomorrow ... say, around eleven o'clock, and I'll have the keys to your new home."

I stood. "I'll do that." We shook hands. On the way out the door I decided to drive by my new-old house. Why, I didn't know.

***

"Breakfast ready, sweet pea?" Leroy August asked his wife as he walked into the kitchen.

"In two shakes of a puppy's tail." Clara turned away from the stove and stared at him. "You look like something the wind spat back. Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine." He sat at the table and rubbed his tired eyes.

For years now, a good night's sleep eluded him. It was because of the nightmare. Always the same nightmare: A ring of fire encircling a full moon. Magenta clouds dotting a blackened sky. An owl hooting ominously in the distance. Birds speeding through the air, their frightened cries echoing in their wake. A house, shrouded in darkness. The front door creaking open. His heart hammering in his ears as he crossed the threshold into thick, almost soupy air. The room swathed in a reddish haze at the end of the hallway. The something, or maybe someone, he didn't know for certain, darting chaotically around him. The maniacal laugh piercing the silence.

It all started when their good friends, Bridget and Vince Simson, moved into the house next door.

Everything was fine for awhile.

Then things changed.

Little things at first, like Bridget and Vince declining their dinner invitations and forgetting their weekly bridge game.

While Vince seemed oblivious of his wife, Leroy observed her moping about the house, taking no interest in her appearance, the house or flower gardens she once cherished, chanting — the ravings of a lunatic, he'd thought. It was then that Leroy had intervened.

He wished he'd taken time to think through his course of action. If he'd done things differently, maybe his good friends would be alive today. If. . . Enough. Obsessing and recrimination wouldn't solve anything or change the past.

"I'm going to get the paper," Leroy said and stood.

"Don't dawdle. You won't be wanting to eat cold oatmeal."

Leroy walked through the hallway and out the front door. He strode across the veranda and down the six wide steps, then along the walkway as quickly as his feeble eighty-year-old legs allowed. Stooping to pick up the daily newspaper, he noticed a car parked in front of the house next door. He squinted against the glare of the early morning sun and recognized Susan Turner behind the wheel. The moment her gaze met his, she stomped on the accelerator and sped away.

"The woman who bought Vince and Bridget's house was just here admiring her new home," he said, re-entering the kitchen.

Clara placed his breakfast on the table in front of him. "So?"

He stared at the oatmeal with no appetite. "I think she might be afraid of me."

Clara scoffed. "Why would she be afraid of a big teddy bear like you?" She took her seat across from him.

"Probably because I told her Vince's house is cursed."

She placed a hand against her heart. "Oh dear."

"When will I get it through my thick head no one will believe that house is haunted?" He sighed, removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose.

There was nothing Leroy could do to prevent the new owner from moving in and what was inevitable when she did became almost too much for him to bear. His eyes filled with tears and his heart felt heavy.

"She probably thinks you're nutty." She chuckled.

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"No," she said and stared into space as though reliving memories. "Poor Father Murphy, God rest his soul," she said after several seconds, signing a cross against her heart and kissing her fingertips. "He was so sympathetic, but the more we tried to convince him the house was possessed, the crazier he thought we were. And the ladies from the church . . ." She shook her head. "That was so embarrassing."

"It was." Leroy would endure any discomfort if it meant saving Susan Turner and her family the anguish the Simsons had suffered. But he didn't only have himself to consider. Clara wasn't as resilient as she once was and might not recover from another public humiliation.

"Leroy, you're not eating. Is something wrong with your oatmeal?"

He shook his head, unable to speak.

"You've got to stop worrying about it, dear, or you'll drive yourself crazy. You warned her. There's nothing more you can do."

Clara knew him all too well. He patted her hand. "I know. Maybe one day I'll believe it. Or maybe I'll be stricken with Alzheimer's and won't remember anything."

"That would include not remembering me, you know."

The softness of her words and the sadness in her eyes pained him. "Okay, selective Alzheimer's."

"That's better."

He studied her a moment. "You're worried about the new owner, too. I can hear it in your voice, see the fear for her in your eyes."

"I am," she said, taking his fingers in her hand. "Bridget and Vince are in a better place."

"I know, but when I think of the torment they went through all those years . . ."

She squinted and looked into his eyes. "Something else is worrying you. What is it?"

"How they died. They must have been desperate to resort to suicide."

"We don't know that for sure. It could have been an accidental overdose like the coroner ruled."

Leroy's eyes filled with tears. "There must have been something more we could have done for them."

Clara smoothed a napkin across her lap. "We've been over this a thousand times, Leroy. We did all we could." She passed him a bran muffin.

He looked up from his untouched breakfast and took the muffin from her hand, noticing she wore that disapproving expression on her face that told him she knew what he was up to. He spread his arms wide and feigned innocence.

"What are your plans for the day?" he asked.

For many years now they spent their days together. Before he retired he asked her that same question every morning just as she asked him how his day went when he returned home from work. Some habits were just plain hard to break.

She gave the ceiling her undivided attention, drumming a finger against her chin. "Hmm. I find I'm dusting less, and I don't mind dirty dishes sitting in the sink anymore. Dust bunnies under the beds don't bother me. In fact, I think they're dang cute. And instead of sweeping crumbs from the floor, I try to figure out what their shapes resemble."

She could always make him laugh. God, how he loved her.

"Leroy, it took me most of my eighty years to realize life is meant to be cherished, not endured. Now every night before I fall asleep I wonder if I'll be sipping tea with Jesus in the morning. When morning comes and I open my eyes and see you next to me, I tell myself today is special because it's one more day I have to spend with you."

He squeezed her hand.

She dabbed his eyes. "Please don't worry, dear. You'll make yourself sick. What would others have done in our shoes? I'm guessing the same as what we did — try to help. There was nothing more we could have done for Bridget and Vince, and there's nothing we can do for the new owner, either."

Leroy nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. If he approached the matter differently and with more circumspection than he had with the Simons, he might be able to save the Turner woman and her children.

Clara leaned back and smiled. "I have an idea."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"What do you say about us trying to help our new neighbor?"

"I say that's a dandy idea, sweet pea."

As God was his witness, Leroy would not fail this time.
Chapter 2

That afternoon I picked up my kids at their schools and drove to our new home.

I faced my son and daughter sitting in the back seat. "Here we are, guys." I tried to sound upbeat, not that I would cry. My tears had all been shed. The time had come to move on. Buying this house was the first step in that process.

Benjamin grinned wide and craned his neck to get a good look at the house. Katie, on the other hand, slumped in her seat with a glum expression on her face.

"What do you think, Katie?"

"I'm not going into that house. It's a dump. What will my friends think? God, what were you thinking, Mom?"

"What do you intend to do? Sit in the car until you're eighteen?"

She rolled her eyes until only the whites showed.

"I think it's cool," Benjamin gushed. "Can I go in now?" He opened the door and hopped from the car.

"See? Your brother likes it."

"He likes the town dump and the smell of skunk, too."

I gave her that. Benjamin had eccentric tastes. "What's it going to be, Katie?"

"Why are you asking me what I want now? You didn't consult me before you bought the house."

"I'm sorry, honey. I didn't know I needed your permission." I reached between the seats and patted her hand. "Take time to decide. In the meantime, your brother and I will be in the house."

"Screw this." She gave the floor a solid kick.

"Feel better now?"

"No."

By the time I reached Benjamin, he was already rifling through the debris of candy wrappers, mud-soaked papers and dirty plastic bags littering the front yard.

"Look at all these old leaves, Mom. I bet there's all kinds of bugs and stuff under them."

Before I could stop him, he was on his hands and knees digging through the decaying mess. "Don't you want to see the inside of the house, Benjamin?" Peripherally, I saw Katie slink from the car and slough toward us. I turned to face her. "I'm glad you changed your mind, honey. It'll be fun fixing up this old place. You'll see." From my lips to God's ears.

"I want to call Phoebe," she said.

She needed service to do that. With everything else going on, I forgot to call the telephone company. I remembered to have the power hooked up, though. "They couldn't come any earlier than Monday." _Forgive me this lie._

She looked at me like I just landed on earth from outer space. "That's four days away. How busy can they be in this rinky-dink little town, for God's sake?"

"I don't know, but — "

"God, Mom, why don't you get with the times and get a cell phone?"

The need for a cell phone never arose before. I was Suzie the happy homemaker until three months ago. Always at home. Cooking, cleaning, making beds. That sounded so Stepfordwifeish. I would never play that role again.

"I'll call and plead with them to come sooner. Okay? I'll get a cell phone, too."

"Okay." She kicked leaves with the toe of her shoe.

Score one point for the negligent mother.

I turned to Benjamin. "Let's go in."

He stood and wiped his filthy hands on his jeans.

Clasping Benjamin's hand, I said, "Katie?"

She grudgingly moved closer. With a child on either side of me, I gazed up at our new home. I felt ashamed. I imagined my children did, too. Well, maybe not my son.

A man's voice wafted to us from the evergreen hedge dividing the two properties. "Be mindful of that first step. It's a leg-buster."

I recognized the voice as the nutty man next door who warned me about the house. I so hoped it wouldn't be like this — nosy neighbors, butting in where they shouldn't. Didn't I have enough to contend with? "Come on, children. Get a move on." I shoved Katie forward and grabbed Benjamin by the shoulder and hauled him along with me.

"God, Mom, what's your problem?" Katie asked in that newly adapted condescending way of hers when we landed on the veranda.

"Problem? No problem. I'm just anxious for you to see the house, that's all." What a liar divorce had made me.

Benjamin looked back. "Wow. That man looks just like Santa, Mom."

Uh-huh, a batty ol' St. Nick. I faced Benjamin forward. "It's not polite to stare, sweetie."

"Did you see him, sis?"

"No. I was too busy trying not to fall flat on my face. Thanks to Mom." She jerked out of my clutch.

Well, geez, sorrieee. Bludgeon the mother for trying to protect her children.

I placed the key in the lock. The door opened, it seemed of its own accord. "Everyone make a wish."

Katie and Benjamin gawked at me.

Why did my kids think everything I said was crazy? "If you make a wish when you enter a house for the first time, it'll come true." Every child of Irish parents should know that.

Benjamin closed his eyes and his small hands formed fists at his sides. "I wish there are hidden passages and secret rooms in this house just like in those old, old, castles in England."

I wished for that, too. Uh-huh.

"I wish that when I open my eyes, I'll wake in my bed and this'll all be a bad dream."

My daughter, the dreamer. She probably wished for her own cell phone, too, with unlimited minutes so she could spend hours telling her friends what a spaz her mother was.

We stepped into the foyer. Foyer. Such a fancy name. Too fancy for a house in this condition. I looked around, attempting to muster some enthusiasm, but couldn't. The truth willed out. Our new home was a decrepit, ramshackle configuration of age-old two-by-fours held together by plaster that would probably fall down around our ears at the first arpeggios from Katie's stereo. I made a mental note to buy her earphones.

Katie's high-pitched scream echoed through the house. Much to my chagrin, I agreed with her. What had possessed me? Now if my doctor had prescribed me the drugs I practically begged him for, I could blame my decision to buy the house on that. But I couldn't. I had to be insane.

Benjamin's squeal of delight brought a smile to my face. For some, there was no accounting for taste.

"Yeow, what's that stench?" Katie wailed.

Yes, it was gawdawful. I resisted the urge to pinch my nostrils. "It's probably just dampness from the basement. Once the house is warmed, it'll go away." I hoped the furnace worked.

"I bet it's haunted." Benjamin gave my legs an exuberant hug. "Thank you, Mom. Thank you, thank you for buying this house."

His blond curly locks brushed my hands. I bent and kissed his cheek, then reached for Katie for a group hug. She lunged out of my reach.

"Don't touch me. I hate you. I hate you for wrecking our family. I hate you for selling our house."

I recoiled, not knowing how to respond. Perhaps, Katie was right. Maybe I was at fault for everything.

"Did you know Dad's girlfriend has an Olympic-size swimming pool?" Katie asked with a perfected uplift of her right lip.

Yes, and she also had a set of knockers that would smother a cow. "I know."

"And why don't you color that gray in your mousy-brown hair? You know, a little eyeliner and mascara would bring out the blue of your eyes instead of them making you look sick all the time." She took a step backward. "And have you never heard of lipstick? A little powder would cover up those freakish freckles."

The digs disturbed me, but instead of succumbing to the allure of yelling, I took a deep breath and raised a hand to my face. "I like my freckles. You're probably right about the other things, though. Maybe you can help me with that?" Benjamin tugged on my pant leg. "What is it, honey?"

"Can I explore?"

"Just be careful, okay?"

"Awright." He did that thing where he bent his leg and raised it into the air and his hand yanked an imaginary rope, then bounded up the stairs.

I turned to Katie, who stood rigid, as though doing so helped her cope. She shouldn't need to cope. Jonathan and I put that on her. What had we done to our daughter? My throat tightened. "Insulting me is not going to bring your father back."

"I hate Daddy, too. I never want to see him again." Tears trickled down her cheeks. I wanted to dry her eyes, aching with want to wash away what robbed her of her bright outlook on life, but I thought my hand might get bitten.

Her behavior had worried me. Now that worry magnified. Until her world fell apart, as she'd told me many times over the past three months, she was a well-adjusted, happy and easygoing teenager. My mother's melodic voice sang in my ears: This, too, shall pass. "Things will get better, you'll see."

Katie cocked a hip. "No, they won't. Why are you so positive? Why did you have to sell our house?"

Truthfully, I was not always positive, but needed to appear so for my children. "Our house was paid for, so Daddy gave it to me in lieu of alimony and maintenance for you and your brother. Since I have no job, I have no way, at the moment anyway, to support us. And because this house cost one-fifth of what I sold our old house for, we don't have to worry about money for a long time." I smoothed back her hair. "You do realize, don't you, you got your hair and eye color from me?" I bent my head back and looked up at her. "And your father's height."

It filled my heart with joy to see her smile. It happened so rarely these days. Draping my arm around her shoulders, I said, "Whaddaya say, kiddo? Want the nickel tour?"

She shrugged.

Spears of psychedelic light stretched across the hardwood floor from the stained glass octagonal window in the alcove before the staircase.

I guided her through the hallway, past the newel post and banister I envisioned without the heavy coats of green paint. We approached the doorway leading into a spacious living room.

Katie took hesitant baby steps. I understood. Unlike me, she couldn't see past the holes in the plaster, the army green color on the walls, the hideous gray and black wallpaper, or the scuffed and filthy hardwood floor beneath our feet.

Before my eyes I envisioned almond-colored walls, gleaming hardwood floors, my peach-colored sofa against the wall facing the lovely bay window where my mother's ivory angels, blessed by Father Tom — God rest his soul — sat on the sill keeping watch over us, our house and the street beyond. In a brass pot that sat in one corner I grew lavender for good luck. It sprouted magnificently. The matching chair and ottoman took its place nicely in the corner to the left and my six-foot fichus looked majestic in the opposite corner. The glass doors with brass trim added just the right touch to the newly painted age-old brick of the fireplace. The peach and gray floral design of the area rug sitting squarely in the center of the room balanced the hexagonal coffee table perfectly. Its glass top sparkled brilliantly in the light from the crystal chandelier overhead.

For Katie, this house would be a constant reminder of the divorce of her parents, the divorce that destroyed her happy life, and the divorce that took her away from her friends. I wanted so much for her to see it as a fresh start, as a sign of our independence.

True, the house might remind me of what I'd lost, too, but once I whipped this old mausoleum into shape, the reminder would eventually peter out.

Strange I would think "mausoleum."

"If I were you, I'd find a way to get Dad back," Katie said smugly.

Depending on the circumstances, I was either a miracle worker or a buffoon in my daughter's eyes lately. I understood her feeling of insecurity and sympathized. No child should ever face the uncertainty of a roof over their heads, food on the table or clothes on their back.

Never once throughout my own childhood had there been cause for me to worry about those things. What my parents gave me — a stable, loving home, a healthy and happy childhood, security — I wanted for my children, too. I could only give them part of that now, thanks to my divorce and Jonathan who considered sex the bigger picture in our marriage.

"It'll take some work, but it's going to make a beautiful home." Warmth like I'd never experienced swept through my body. The feeling gave me strength. I smiled and looked at my daughter. From somewhere deep inside, I found the strength not to laugh at the expression on her face — a mixture of bewilderment, pity, sadness and anger.

"I hate to be the one to tell you, Mother, but not even you can make this place beautiful, if it ever was in the first place."

"Honey." I made a move toward her. She stepped away and stomped her feet.

We performed this dance often, she and I. We were getting good at it.

"God, Mom, what have you done to us?"

Not too long ago the veracity of her words would have devastated me. "Everything's going to be all right, you'll see." My mantra, these past several weeks.

She meandered like a zombie ahead of me. I steered her out of the living room, through the dining room and into the kitchen where our collective gasps ricocheted off the walls. The room was actually in worse shape than I remembered. Every door of the green painted plywood cabinets hung sloppily from either the top or the bottom hinge. The white porcelain sink was covered in a yellowish substance, its edges rimmed with scum. I stopped myself from wondering if the stove and refrigerator worked by adding packages of rubber gloves to my mental shopping list of cleaning supplies. No amount of cleaning solution, though, would remove the buildup of grease and something else I couldn't identify caking the surfaces of both appliances. It was moot, anyway. I had new appliances on order. Goodwill could have used them, though.

Staring down at the jagged pieces of broken linoleum floor, I wondered if a hardwood floor lay beneath, but couldn't muster the enthusiasm to look.

Turning my attention to Katie, I watched her eyes grow larger and larger to the point where I thought they might pop from their sockets. She spun in a slow circle, hands outstretched at her sides, palms upturned. "My God, this is bad. No, this is beyond bad. This is ... this is ...."

"Pretty bad?"

"Mom, this house needs a lot of work, and you don't know anything about doing any of this stuff."

The slump of her shoulders yanked at my heart. "I'll learn. I'll read books. I'll ask for advice from the people at the building supply store." Katie had worries and concerns she shouldn't have at her age. "I can . . . I will do this. Watch and see."

She snorted. "Like I have a choice?"

Despite her attitude and lack of confidence in me, excitement overcame me. From the morning after Jonathan told me he wanted a divorce, it was a trial rolling out of bed every day. Now I had something to look forward to, something to do that would make me feel like something other than useless, something more than a man's castoff.

"I can paint. I can clean. I can mix plaster. I even think I'll be able to redo the floors. How hard can it be? If a man can do it, a woman can do it better, right?"

Judging by the skeptical expression on her face, she considered me incapable of looking after them, let alone refurbishing a house. I walked over to the kitchen window and ran a finger along the peeling paint on the sill.

"I wonder what happened in this house?" Katie asked.

The question took me by surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Well, didn't you say people lived here up until they died?"

I nodded. That was my understanding. "So?"

"So, don't you wonder how they could live in all this dirt?"

"They were old. Very old. Maybe their vision was impaired."

She snorted again. "They had to have been blind."

"I can turn this house into a home, a home that will make you and your brother proud, the kind of house you won't be ashamed of." How many times did I have to say those words for me to believe them?

"And if you can't?"

Katie sounded like she'd take pleasure in seeing me fail. "I will. You'll see."

I watched with amusement when she sniffed the air.

"Mom, is it my imagination or is the stench getting stronger?"

The odor was stronger. I'd noticed it too, but hadn't said anything, hoping that Katie wouldn't notice. I should have known better. Little escaped my daughter's attention. The burdens of the last few months crashed against me in waves then and as much as I tried to prevent it, my eyes watered. One tear, followed by another and yet another, fell from eyes and trickled down my cheeks. Seconds later, I lost control and sobbed. I never wanted my children to see my vulnerability, to see their mother was not the warhorse they thought, to see I harbored doubts about how we would survive without their father or that I sometimes questioned my own sanity.

I turned my back to my daughter and attempted to regain my composure. I couldn't. My body convulsed. My throat constricted and I gasped for breath. Just when I thought my daughter cared nothing for me and couldn't empathize the turmoil I suffered, a hand caressed my shoulder. Briefly. Lightly. Lovingly. The gesture – the gentle touch of my daughter's hand – demolished what little remained of my stalwart resolve. My sobs became wails. My unexpected collapse into self-pity shattered my façade, destroyed the inroads I managed to forge toward picking up the pieces of our shattered lives. I cried because of that, too.

After a moment, I pulled myself together and peeked out the cracks between my fingers. Katie stood with her back to me on the other side of the room, staring into the half-bath. What? How did she get from here to there so quickly? Before I could ask, Benjamin barreled down the stairs. His short legs ran ahead of him a few feet before his running shoes came to a screeching halt.

"Mom, this house is so cool. The bedrooms are twice the size of the ones in our old house and I can walk into the closets, they're so big. And in the bathroom there's this big, big..." he spread his arms wide at his sides, "bathtub that has these big claw feet holding it up. Come see, come see."

The doorbell ding-donged. Probably the only thing in the house that worked properly, though I couldn't say the sound was welcoming. "That must be the movers. We'll have beds to sleep in tonight after all."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a mist whirling upward in a spiral. What in hell was that? It floated through the doorway. I chased after it.

Chapter 3

The swirling mist turned out to be nothing, if it even existed in the first place. I didn't know for certain. Many times lately I imagined Jonathan beside me, watching me with love in his eyes, teasing me, enfolding me in his arms and telling me how much he loved me.

Now, hours after the movers left, I lumbered upstairs and stood in the expansive hallway, looking from one closed bedroom door to the other. Should I see Katie first and save Benjamin for last? The best for last? I never compared my children or loved one more than the other, but lately Katie's behavior taxed my patience. At the moment, I preferred my son's sunshine smile to my daughter's glum expression. That and the fact when I looked into her eyes I saw her contempt for me and knew she blamed me for the divorce.

The silence in the old house creeped me out. Shouldn't there be some noise? The clang of a water pipe? The rattle of a window pane? The creek of a floorboard under my weight? I stared at my feet. It was as though I turned stone deaf, suspended in time. A few loose tendrils of hair, escapees from my ponytail, kissed my neck.

My first instinct told me that Benjamin snuck up on me again and fanned the air behind me. I pivoted. No one stood at my back. A warm breath caressed the nape of my neck. I whirled around. Still no one. I didn't know what was going on, just that something was. Maybe an intruder found his way into the house and played games with me. This was something I never had to contend with during my marriage. With Jonathan at my side or nearby, I'd always felt secure. A woman could steal my husband, but no one would dare break into our home, not with Jonathan in it.

I ran into my bedroom, checked the windows and found them closed and locked.

Now, in addition to seeing things, I imagined sensations. Great. Maybe I was going crazy. If I were, would I know that I was?

Shaken from the experience and feeling the need for Jonathan's muscled arms protecting me, I sprinted across the hall, rapped my knuckles against Katie's door and waited for her to invite me in. A moment passed, then another. "Katie. Honey?"

"Whadda ya want?"

"May I come in?"

"Like 'no' would stop you."

I turned the doorknob and pushed, but the door didn't budge. "Katie, I can't open the door. Is something against it?"

"Like that would stop you."

Ignoring her retort, I applied more pressure. It still wouldn't open. Putting my shoulder to the door, I shoved with all my might. The door gave. I flew into the room, stumbled, caught my balance and stopped inches away from toppling on her.

"God, Mom, what's the matter with you? Have you been drinking again?"

One bottle of wine — an isolated incident — and she never let me forget it. "The door was stuck."

Katie sat up in bed and curled her legs beneath her. "If you say so."

I plunked down next to her, noticing the tight set of her lips and cold look in her eyes. My daughter hated me. I didn't know what to do to make her love me again. "You're still upset with me."

"Wouldn't you be?" She stared past me.

I wished I were all seeing, all knowing, all wise. It would take that to make her understand I wasn't to blame for everything. "Probably."

"Yeah, right."

I ignored the sarcasm in her voice and traced the outline of a square in the quilt I'd stitched by hand. Wanting with a desperate need to break through the wall Katie had built around her, I said, "You're feeling disillusioned, sad, resentful, afraid and angry, huh?"

She didn't answer.

"I'm feeling all of those things too." I bobbed my head. "It sucks when things don't go our way, doesn't it?"

"I wish you would get back with Daddy."

She loved him because he was her father, but he not only dumped me, he also dumped her and Benjamin. He was a louse. Maybe someday he'd realize what a shit he was. "I tried, but sometimes, honey, there's no turning back once a decision's made. Maybe one day your father will find his way back to us."

"You could have tried harder."

"I did my very best to make him stay, Katie," in fact, I told him he could keep his girlfriend if it meant staying with us, "but I know now if I'd talked him into staying, it wouldn't have worked out. He would have ended up resenting me and you and Benjamin for forcing him to stay when what he wanted was to leave."

She turned on her side and smothered her head in the pillow. "I hate him for what he did to us. I never want to see him again."

"Please don't say that," I said, placing my hand on her shoulder.

She sat up. "I can't help it. Because of him we have nothing. You'll probably never find a job, and when the money runs out, what will we do? We'll probably have to go on welfare and eat in soup kitchens."

"Honey, you're going to have to trust that your father and I will look after you and Benjamin." She had a point, though. My job prospects would be few and my degree in political science would get me nowhere fast in the unemployment line. I inched closer and smoothed spirals of chestnut hair from her face. "I'll find a job. I'm pretty smart."

"Not smart enough to know your husband was humping your neighbor down the street."

How many cutting remarks would I endure before she stopped blaming me for the divorce or before I slapped some sense into her? The time had come where I had to make my daughter see the reality of her life.

"Here's the way it is, Katie. Your father and I are divorced, or at least we will be shortly, and in all likelihood, we won't be getting back together. I sold our house and bought this one. Get used to it. I have custody of you and your brother and unless you want to live with your father, get used to that, too."

The sound of her sobs impaled my heart. Some truths were never easy to accept. After a moment, she lifted her head from the pillow. "You're a bitch."

I laughed. "Tell me something I don't know. That's why your father left me, didn't you know?" I hoped she would soon realize I was not a bitch, that I loved her and Benjamin more than life itself, and buying this house was a wise move.

I straightened my shoulders and walked out of her room. It was difficult. My inadequacy to resolve this matter to her satisfaction weighed like an anchor on my back.

"Knock, knock," I said at Benjamin's door.

"Who's there?"

"Ima."

"Ima who?"

I'm a complete idiot, that's who. An unfit mother who thought only of herself. Katie would agree. Benjamin, on the other hand, would argue. "Ima knockin'."

"Enter Ima knockin'."

Bum into the air, Benjamin was heavily immersed in searching through one of the many cardboard boxes scattered across the floor when I entered.

"What are you looking for? Maybe I can help."

"My flashlight. Do you know which box it's in?"

I wished I had the foresight to label the boxes with each item contained in them instead of 'Benji's Toys'. "No, but I'll help you look." I took the utility knife from the back pocket of my jeans and cut through the packing tape on the nearest box. "Why do you need your flashlight?"

"I'm going to investigate the attic and the light bulb up there is burned out."

"There's nothing for you to see in the attic." I didn't want him going up there before I checked it out first.

"Have you been up there?"

"No. No, I haven't."

"How do you know then?"

A mom knows these things, I wanted to say, but it was undetermined how much I knew at the moment. "It's late. We'll check out the attic tomorrow."

"Mom, ghosts only come out at night," he said in that tone of voice he used when he told me something I should know.

"Ghosts?" My eyebrows reached my hairline. "There are no ghosts in this house."

He nodded so rapidly I thought he might get dizzy. "There is. I easedropped on Mr. August talking to Mrs. August. I know it's not polite ...."

"It's 'eavesdropped', and who's Mr. August?"

"The guy next door. Santa Claus."

"Ah." The crazy old coot who told me this house was cursed. He probably wanted one of his relatives to buy it and was trying to scare me away.

"He said this house is haunted and weird things happen here. Like things going missing. He said — "

"Sweetie, there is no such thing as ghosts." I smoothed back the hair from his forehead, wondering about the sanity of our neighbor.

"Shure, there is, Mom. Ghosts are lost souls who can't get into Heaven because they did something really bad on earth. They have nowhere to go so they roam the earth."

"Mr. August?"

He shook his head. "Miss Anderson."

"Oh." His catechism teacher.

"Didn't you have ca...te...giz...zim when you were young? Probably didn't have it back then, huh?"

To a seven-year-old, forty was ancient. I thought that of my own mother, too, even into my teens. I stared off to a corner, thinking about our neighbor. He worried me. Tomorrow, after I showed Benjamin that no ghosts inhabited our house, I'd pay him a visit and make it clear he was to stay away from Benjamin.

"So, can I, Mom? Pleeease."

I ruffled his hair. "Tomorrow, okay?"

Benjamin agreed, but he wasn't happy about it. His quivering chin told me so.

After leaving his room, I soaked in the big old-fashioned bathtub. I closed my eyes and breathed in the heavenly fragrance of jasmine. Within moments, sleep captured me. I dreamed Jonathan lay on me, his slender fingers exploring my body as his lips captured my mouth.

He kissed the hollow of my throat, my shoulders, down my arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. With his tongue, he drew a line down the center of my chest. Answering my yearning, he kneaded my breasts. I arched my back, wanting more and never wanting it to stop. He dipped his hand to the pit of my back and rolled us over. I nestled between his thighs. His kisses grew hungrier, more urgent, more demanding, driving me wild with desire. He flipped us over and kissed my stomach, my navel.

I lost myself in the sensations coursing through me.

His hand descended to my inner thigh, then moved higher and higher. I begged for mercy, writhing and moaning, and raking my fingernails down his back. When I thought I couldn't wait another moment, he entered me. My legs wrapped around his hips of their own volition, it seemed. I embraced him as he moved inside me.

I awakened with a start. My arms flailed the air and I slid under the water, then surfaced, gulping bubbles and coughing. It took a moment for me to regain my equilibrium.

"Jesus." I only had one lover my entire life, but comparing the sex with dream-Jonathan and sex with real-life Jonathan, it was no contest.

Why did my husband turn to another woman when we could have had sex like that?
Chapter 4

Jonathan pulled his car to a stop against the curb and gazed up at the house Susan bought. One bedroom window upstairs was brightly lit. He saw Susan puttering about the room. Why hadn't he realized before now how beautiful she was? He ached to take her in his arms, to hold her, to tell her how much he loved her and how sorry he was for everything.

If someone told him he would be a father again at the age of forty-four and fetching ice cream and pickles in the middle of the night for his pregnant girlfriend, he would have scoffed.

What a mess he'd made of his life. What a fool he'd been.

He appreciated Susan now in ways he never had before. Wasn't that always the case?

Maybe she would take him back. It wasn't too late to stop the divorce. She would understand that in a moment of weakness he'd acted on an attraction. She would understand about the baby, too.

He trudged up the front walk, climbed the steps with a heavy heart and stepped to the front door, ringing the bell like a salesman. A moment later, the door swung open. It surprised him she answered the door without looking through a window first or asking who it was.

She wore a tank top, short-shorts and her hair was tousled. She never looked so good to him. The rosy hue of her cheeks, the spattering of freckles across the bridge of her patrician nose and her painted toenails had him wanting her back even more.

"My God, Jonathan, it's almost midnight."

He knew the time, but hadn't expected that kind of welcome. Susan was gracious at all times, or at least used to be. "I know. I'm — "

"What are you doing here?"

Her insolent tone surprised him. He hadn't prepared an excuse, hadn't thought he'd need one, and said the first thing that came to him. "I can't find my record collection. Maybe the box got mixed with yours."

"I'll look for it tomorrow."

When she made a move to shut the door, he stepped over the threshold. The door rammed his hip. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Why?"

"I'd like to see the house." She didn't return his smile. He couldn't understand her behavior.

"So you can tell me what a mistake I made buying it? I don't think so. Good night, Jonathan. And next time don't just drop by. Call first. And earlier would be better."

The woman who stared him down was not the same woman who shared his life for the last sixteen years. He wasn't prepared to give up or give in. "May I come in?"

She hesitated a moment, then moved aside, splaying her arm in a wide arc. "What Jonathan wants, Jonathan gets."

He ignored the remark and looked around as he strode through the hallway and into the living room. "You should have consulted me," he said, grimacing at the sad state of the walls, ceiling and floor.

"Excuse me?"

"Shouldn't I have had some say in what house you bought?"

"No, and what would you have said? Don't buy it? Have you thought about resale value? It needs a lot of work? You can't do it alone? They should be paying you to take it off their hands? No, Jonathan, you forfeited the right to argue against anything that involves me the moment you signed the divorce papers." She paused to take a breath. "I did whatever you asked for sixteen years. I behaved the way you expected a wife to behave. I don't have to do that anymore. I have a mind of my own. A good mind, an intelligent mind, and I'm quite capable of looking after the children and myself. I'm not dependent on you anymore."

He never saw her so assertive or so angry and didn't know what to make of it. "I could've helped."

"Wouldn't you have just loved to do that."

"Why are you thinking the worst of me? You should know me better."

"I do know you."

This wasn't going the way he expected. He inhaled deeply. "It would have been friendly advice."

"No, it wouldn't have been." She wagged a finger in front of his face. "You still want to run my life like you did when we were married. I didn't argue then because you didn't give me a choice. I'm free to make decisions now, and love that I do."

He flinched when she swiped her hand through the air. "I didn't come here to argue or criticize you, Susan."

"No? Then why did you come? And don't tell me it was for your record collection. I'm not an imbecile. You want something. What is it?"

The woman standing before him with her hands on her hips and a steely look in her eyes was a stranger to him. He'd admit it to no one, but she frightened him a little. He stared at the cracked ceiling, then at the peeling plaster on the walls. "This place is a shack." The words surprised him. What possessed him? Normally, he would have tried for diplomacy.

"Well, I see you're still as diplomatic as ever. It may be a shack, Jonathan, but it's my shack. And with a little paint and a little cleaning, it'll be a home. My home and your children's home."

"You're going to need some help getting it habitable. I can lend a hand."

"No, thank you. I'll do the work myself, and what I can't, I'll hire people to do."

He felt sorry for her if she thought she'd be able to do this on her own.

She narrowed her eyes and gave him a sly look. "You always do that."

"Do what?" He had no idea what she meant.

"Look at me like I'm crazy when I say something you don't agree with."

"Susan — "

"Enough. Leave."

He made a move toward her. She waved him away. He stepped back.

"Please go, Jonathan."

"No, I won't go. Not until I know Katie and Benjamin are being well looked after, are happy and — " The breath was sucked out of him. He clutched his throat.

"What's the matter?"

After a long excruciating moment, the pain subsided and his breath returned. "I . . . I don't know. It felt like a knife sliced through my neck." Now that he could, he inhaled deeply.

"Probably tension. You hate it when things don't go your way."

"That's not true." He raised his nose into the air. An odor, like death, filled the air. "What's that smell?"

"Dampness from the basement."

He wouldn't argue with her, but the odor was not caused by moisture. He'd smelled death often enough to recognize the scent. Something or someone had died in this house. Not recently, but at some time. "You might want to get the dehumidifier going."

"Uh-huh. Are we finished here?"

Just then a searing pain tore through him before settling like pins in his backside. "Oh, God." Without any thought to appearance, he clutched his butt and jumped around.

"What's the matter now, Jonathan?"

With the pain subsiding, he sneaked a peek at Susan in time to see her crossing her arms against her chest. She seemed to be taking satisfaction in his trauma. Something was wrong with her and something was definitely not right with this house.

"Nothing."

"You'd better leave before you blow an artery. Obviously, my buying this house without consulting you first is doing a number on your nerves."

Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea. "Well, I guess I've overstayed ... yee-ow."

He clutched his chest. "Something just stabbed me." The words rushed from his mouth before he could stop them.

"It's all in your head, as you so often told me. There's only the two of us in the room, Jonathan, and I know I didn't do anything to you."

From the way this impromptu visit had gone and her expression, he'd bet she wished she'd caused his pain. He straightened and backed up, high stepping toward the door as needles pricked his entire body. "I'll . . . ow . . . pick up the kids . . . yikes. . . . for the weekend on Friday at . . . Christ. . . . five o'clock."

***

The following morning, after a fabulous night's sleep, I sprinted downstairs and into the kitchen, raring to clean house. Jonathan's late night visit had invigorated me. I not only managed to make him understand where he stood in my life now, but I aired a few of my grievances. Not that I knew I had grievances while we were married. Only now I realized I wasn't happy in my marriage – not really. The little floozy down the street from my old house actually did me a favor. I should thank her.

Even Jonathan's pains gave me satisfaction. I knew that was un-Christian of me, but I felt no guilt. I did wonder though what had caused his pain. Tension? A prelude to a heart attack? Whatever. His life insurance was in good standing.

"I don't see why I have to help." Katie, dressed in a short skirt and white blouse to obviously further her point, leaned against the kitchen counter beside me.

If I weren't in such a good mood, her attitude might irk me. "Because, honey, I need your help."

"I hate this house."

Thanks for the news flash. "I know, honey." I patted her hand and lifted a huge box of rags from the counter. "Once it's cleaned, maybe you'll hate it less."

She stepped in front of me. "I. Do. Not. Want. To. Live. Here. I. Will. Not."

"Katie, I know how you feel, but what's done is done."

"It's Saturday."

Could this child of mine come up with a lamer excuse to get out of a little work?

"If I'm keeping you from watching cartoons, we don't have cable yet."

She stomped her feet. "You forgot to arrange for cable? God, Mom, what's the matter with you?"

Great. My subtle hint at her childish behavior not only went overlooked but served to give her something else to complain about. I just couldn't win with her.

"I didn't forget. Monday is the earliest they could make it." At her skeptical expression, I added, "That's the God's truth. It is. Really." Before she could think up a retort, I shoved rags at her. "Now what we have to do today is get this kitchen cleaned. That means everything – windows, cabinets, inside and out, walls and floors. Then we'll move on to the bathroom. Then ...." I saw the look of absolute horror on her face and stopped. There was so much more to do, but it could wait until tomorrow. "Then we'll have dinner at Mama Jo's. Whadda say? Sounds like a plan, doesn't it?"

One way to Katie's heart was through her stomach. She loved Italian food. That and Mama Jo's handsome young grandson who bussed tables for her. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her eyes light up. "Now, change into old clothes and we'll get started." She didn't make a move. "The sooner we get started, the sooner we'll be finished."

Benjamin ran into the kitchen.

"Okay," she said. "But you didn't win." Like a temperamental thoroughbred, Katie galloped from the room.

"Yes, dear. I know." I sighed.

Benjamin patted my hand. "Everything's going to be okay, Mom. You'll see."

I draped my arm around his shoulders and hauled him close. "And how do you know that?"

"You told us, 'member?"

If I never did anything right the rest of my life, I'd die a happy woman knowing I did everything right when I gave birth to this little man. My son, my joy.

"I'll help you, Mom. What're you cleaning first?"

"The cabinets, I think."

"Awesome. I saw a snake in that cabinet over there." He pointed to the far wall. "Can I put him in a cage in my room if I catch him?"

"When watermelons grow on trees."

Chapter 5

Benjamin's snake turned out to be six feet of coiled black rubber hose. I wouldn't say it disappointed me.

After cleaning the cabinets, the countertops and the sink, I realized the dirt hid the chips, gouges and cracks. No amount of cleaning or painting would enhance their appearance. They needed to be replaced. The idea excited me. What excited me more, though, was that it meant I, not my husband, would decide the color of the countertop and the type of wood for the cabinets.

I no longer had to kowtow to Jonathan's tastes and opinions.

With each passing day, I recognized more and more that Jonathan's infidelity had set me free, and divorce was making me an independent woman. Now, when I think I'd begged him to stay, my stomach soured.

There were a lot of firsts for me in the last three months. For instance, today was the first time in my life I used a screwdriver. I must say it wasn't all that difficult to refasten the cabinet doors. With a little help from Benjamin, of course.

I took the pen and pad from my back pocket and made a note to stop at the hardware store on our way to Mama Jo's. I needed more tools and added screwdrivers, hammer, pliers and a toolbox to my ever-growing list of things to buy.

It dawned on me I didn't know how to ask for screwdrivers. I couldn't ask a sales clerk for one in the shape of a star, or the one in the shape of a box without looking stupid. Maybe they came in packages and I wouldn't have to ask at all.

Benjamin, who had floor-sweeping duty, joined me.

"Whatcha writing, Mom?"

"I'm making a list."

"Are you checkin' it twice?"

That brought a smile to my lips. "Yes, actually, I was. I don't want to forget anything."

"Can I see it?"

"As you say, shure." I handed him the pad. Benjamin read at the age of four, which I attributed to the Baby Einstein videos, and now, three years later, printed better than I.

"That's called a Phillips screwdriver, Mom."

I looked at him. "What is?"

"The one in the shape of a star."

"Oh."

"And the other one, the box, is a Robertson."

"Oh. How do you know?"

"Dad tol' me."

"Oh. Anything else I should know?" I leaned against the counter.

"Uh-huh. About the hammer — "

"Does it come in different shapes, too?"

He giggled. "No, silly goose, hammers come in different weights. The bigger it is, the heavier it is."

That made sense. "So, what ounce hammer should I buy?" Who needed to ask advice from the clerks at the hardware store with helpful little sons like my Benjamin?

"Well, that all depends on what work you're doing. If you're doing finishin' work, hangin' pictures, light stuff like that, you want a lightweight hammer. I think that's the one you should buy."

"I think you're right. I don't expect I'll be hammering four inch nails into two-by-fours."

"You never know. It's always better to be prepared for any con . . . tin . . . con ...tin — "

"Contingency?"

"Yes."

"Good thinking." I ruffled his hair.

"I know."

My son, the human sponge for information, was growing up too fast. Nothing could prepare me for that contingency. "It's settled. I'll buy two hammers."

He kicked the linoleum. "Whatcha going to do about the floor?"

Good question. "I don't know. I suppose it'll have to be lifted and . . ." I watched him fall to his knees and roll back a piece of flooring.

"There's a wooden floor underneath."

My heart missed a beat. "Wood like plywood or wood like the floors in the rest of the house?" I held my breath.

"Wood like the rest of the house."

I exhaled. "Oh, wonderful." I clapped and danced a little jig. It took little to thrill me these days.

The doorbell ding-donged.

"That thing has to go."

"I'll get it," Benjamin yelled.

I caught him by his shirttail. "No, I will, Benji. You wait here. We don't know this neighborhood yet. It's better to be careful than sorry." Yet I opened the door last night at midnight without knowing who wanted in. Go figure.

On my way to the front entry, I mentally added "melodic doorbell" to my list.

I looked through the six small panes of glass in the door. Good. Santa, just the man I wanted to see.

With my most charming smile, I invited our neighbor dressed in coveralls and a red plaid shirt into my home.

"No," he said, shaking his head and stepping back, away from me.

He seemed afraid. Of what? Me? Why? His attitude puzzled me, until I remembered his advice to me the day I viewed the property. He must still think ghosts haunted this house.

"I just came to bring you this." He shoved a Bundt cake at me.

"Tha . . . thank you." The idea of anything home-baked made me yearn for a kitchen with new cabinets and countertops. The aroma wafting from the cake made my mouth water. "It smells delicious. Thank you again." But just because he brought me a gift wouldn't stop me from laying down a few rules regarding my son.

"It's a rum cake," he said, gesturing at my hands.

"I can tell." We'd surely get tipsy if we ate one crumb.

"Well, that's all I came to do. Good day, ma'am." He tipped his baseball cap and made a move to turn.

"Mr. . . . I'm sorry, we haven't been properly introduced." I extended my hand. "I'm Susan Turner."

When he took hold of my hand, I wondered if he suffered from Parkinson's it trembled so vigorously. Maybe my talk to him could wait.

"Leroy August, ma'am. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He hesitated a moment, seemingly deciding whether to leave or stay, then looked past me, as though searching for something. "Might I have a word with the man of the house?"

Why was it men assumed a woman couldn't own a house without a man? "You're talking to him." I wanted so much to capture Leroy's bewildered expression on film.

"Huh?"

"My husband and I are divorced." The thump of running feet sounded at my back.

He pointed over my shoulder. "I meant that man."

I turned and saw Benjamin running through the hallway toward us. Oh, that man. He dashed past me and jumped into Leroy's outstretched arms. I gasped, thinking Benjamin might send the old man toppling backward off the veranda. There'd been no need to worry. He was as solid as concrete.

Benjamin wrapped his arms around Leroy's neck. "It's nice of you to visit. Why are you standing out here?"

"I just came by to bring you a cake and say hello."

"Yum. Cake. Did you bake it?" Benjamin yanked on Leroy's beard.

"Me? No, laddie. I can't bake anything worth a darn."

Benjamin turned to me. "Mom, did you know Mr. August's a carpenter?"

Oh? I smiled. "No, I didn't know." I loved the idea of a carpenter living next door. He might come in handy.

Benjamin giggled when Leroy tickled his tummy.

It didn't surprise me Leroy had taken to Benjamin. He made friends easily, unlike me. I wasn't always that way, though. "Do you have grandchildren, Mr. August?" A flicker of sadness reflected in his eyes and I felt sorry I asked.

"No, the little missus and I was never blessed with children." He set Benjamin on the floor. "That's probably why you took such a cotton to me, huh?" Benjamin piped in.

Leroy had a jolly laugh.

"Yes, that must be it."

Behind me, Katie trudged down the stairs. I turned. "Katie, honey, come meet our neighbor." When she stood beside me, I draped my arm around her shoulders. "Mr. August, this is my daughter, Katie. Katie, this is Leroy August." I whispered in her ear, "I love your hair pulled back like that."

She shrugged out of my grasp. "No, you don't. And I don't want to meet the neighbors. I won't be here long enough to get to know them." She turned and stomped through the hallway.

Speechless, I stared at Leroy's moccassin-ed feet for a moment before looking into his face. He stared back at me with his mouth hanging open. Getting my wits about me, I said, "I'm sorry for my daughter's rude behavior. She was brought up better than that."

"I'm sure she was, and there's no need to apologize, ma'am. Well, I guess I'd better be moseying along."

"Thank you again for the cake, and I hope you drop by again." I truly meant that. Go figure. Moments ago, I wanted a stern one-on-one with Leroy. Now I wanted him as a friend.

He nodded. "I'll do that."

I closed the door and leaned against it, knowing I needed to put an end to my daughter's reign of rebellion. "Katie Scott Turner. Front and center.

Chapter 6

At noon, I laid a blanket and pillows on the floor in the middle of the living room. As the bright midday sun shone through the bay window and a fire crackled in the hearth at our backs, we sat cross-legged eating take-out pizza with our fingers. Benjamin advised pizza was meant to be eaten this way. I tended to agree. It had never tasted so good.

My talk with Katie went well. It grieved me that she made it necessary, but she pushed me too far. I made her understand I would not tolerate her insolent behavior any longer. Time would tell whether she decided to accept the reality of our situation or not. I ached to take her in my arms and promise her nothing would ever hurt her again, but it would have been a mistake to do so.

I regretted not asking her what she meant when she said she wouldn't be here long enough to get to know the neighbors. I didn't need it spelled out for me, but it was something we should have talked about.

Her first order of business was to apologize to Leroy. She came from the Augusts chattering and bubbling with excitement. Apparently, Leroy's wife, Clara, charmed her no end.

Through God's will, my children had been deprived of the love of their grandparents. I hoped Leroy and Clara might be willing stand-ins. Imagine that. Yesterday, I was ready to lay down the law to Leroy and now I wanted him a part of my children's lives, a part of all our lives.

"Okay, who wants rum cake?" I asked.

"I do. I do."

Of course, my son, a slave to his sweet tooth, would. One thing he inherited from me.

"How about you Katie?" Her smile brought me hope. Maybe things would be all right between us, after all.

I cut three slices, and we sat back, ate cake, and sipped bottled water. I was physically and mentally exhausted, but at that moment, life had never been so good. I marveled at what we accomplished that morning. The cabinets, walls and windows in the kitchen had all been cleaned.

Between the three of us we managed to remove every bit of the old linoleum flooring and the glue left behind. The hardwood floor beneath was discolored in places, but other than that, it resembled the floors in the remainder of the house. I imagined them sanded and varathaned with a high gloss and smiled.

"So, what's on the agenda for this afternoon, Mom?" Benjamin asked.

Truthfully, all I wanted right then was a nap followed by bed rest for the remainder of the day. "I don't know. What do you think we should tackle next?" I watched as he squeezed his eyebrows together and his face grew solemn and smiled when he put his forefinger to his chin and tapped.

"What about this room? We can tear down that old wallpaper and scrub the floor."

I wondered if I possessed the stamina to keep up with his energy and enthusiasm.

"Sounds like a plan. Katie, what do you think, honey?"

She yanked one leg out from under her. I knew by the slant of her eyes she was about to make a saucy retort. I gave her a look, a look that would tell her, "Watch it, young lady."

Quickly understanding, she smiled and said, "Whatever you want to do is fine by me."

"Okay, it's settled then. But we stop at three. Deal?" It would be a mistake to push them too hard or too far, and if Katie realized I tired liked anyone else, maybe she'd view me as human, rather than a monster, as she sometimes thought of me.

"Deal."

"Deal."

We slapped palms.

When three o'clock rolled around, though our derrières hanged to our thighs and our feet dragged the floor as we turned in circles admiring our accomplishment, we finished what we'd intended. It proved a little difficult to work around the furniture and the boxes stacked on any available floor space, but we managed.

The first six layers of wallpaper peeled off easily enough. It was only the last layer that gave us trouble. But with a little steam, some hot water, a scraper and lots of elbow grease, we eventually removed the final layer. It pleased me greatly to see peeling plaster on the walls.

The floor, now that the buildup of dirt had been scrubbed with steel wool and washed, didn't look half bad.

The three of us stood beside each other with our hands on our hips and surveyed the room.

"Great job, guys. I don't know what I'd do without your help."

"Aw, shucks, Ma'am. T'was nothing."

I suspected Benjamin's colloquialisms came from Leroy. If that were the worst he said in his life, then praise the Lord.

Benjamin reminded me of my promise to check out the attic. "You said you would, Mom."

A bubble bath beckoned me. I virtually smelled the scent of jasmine, but I wouldn't go back on my word.

Strangely enough, Katie decided to join us.

With me leading the way, we climbed the staircase to the attic. Three steps from the top, we heard a sound, like a falsetto mewl. Every nerve in my body responded by freezing me in place. Small hands clutched my jean-clad legs from the back.

"Is it . . . is it a ghost?"

Obviously, the idea of a ghost intrigued Benjamin more than the actuality. "Don't be silly. There's no such thing as ghosts, remember?" My voice sounded more certain than I felt.

"Now what?" Katie, at the end of the line, asked.

"Now what what?" I needed time to think, time to plan, time to map out our escape route, time —

"Now what are you going to do?"

Good question. We couldn't stand in the staircase forever. Nor could we retreat, close the door and pretend we hadn't heard anything. "You kids go back downstairs while I find out what made that sound."

"No, Mom, don't. You might get hurt." Benjamin's arms encircled my legs.

Something natural made that noise, right? The doors and windows were locked.

"Nothing's going to happen to me." I hugged him close and waited for some reaction from my daughter.

She stood with her hip thrust to one side and her arms folded across her chest. "So, are you going to run away like a frightened rabbit or are you going up?"

Ah, yes. Katie wanted to see if I had the backbone I told her was a prerequisite for the course of life. No doubt she would take great pleasure in seeing me turn into a quivering mass of helplessness.

The whimpering started again, causing all three of us to look at each other. I was second-guessing my bravery. I didn't know what was running through Katie and Benjamin's minds.

While I still had an ounce or so of courage, I said, "Katie, run down to the kitchen and get the broom. We might have mice." We didn't have mice — I already checked — but if something up there frightened me, there was no way my daughter would ever learn I could run like an Olympian.

We all inhaled sharply when another round of whimpering filled the room above our heads. The sound rose in pitch, then fell.

In the lull that followed, Katie took off down the stairs, I hoped, in search of my broom.

The whimpering ended in a high-pitched shriek and silence descended upon us.

If ghosts did exist, they would rattle chains and only show themselves at night, wouldn't they? I reconsidered my decision to investigate. There would be more light earlier in the day tomorrow. No, I had to do this. For many reasons.

The attic remained silent. I moved up a step with Benjamin attached to the back of my leg. Then another. I stopped on the last step, hesitated a moment, then set one foot ahead of the other, dragging Benjamin with me. Safely on the floor, I looked from one side of the attic to the other. Nothing looked amiss. Boxes were piled everywhere and the smell of mildew filled the air.

The roof sloped gradually to the floor at the edges and the area in the middle was high enough for a tall person to stand upright.

I poised myself, ready for flight, my arms bent at my sides. "The police are on their way," I said to the dark corners. Had someone ... or something jumped out at me, I would have sprouted wings. But nothing happened. No whimpering, no movement. Nothing of anything.

"Mom?"

With my concentration focused on what I might find, I'd forgotten about Benjamin behind me and almost jumped out of my shoes at the sound of his voice. My hand found my pounding heart. "Yes, honey."

"Are you scared?"

"With you watching my back? No way."

We inched toward the middle of the room.

"Mom?"

"Everything's fine," I whispered, looking around. "This is one very messy attic." The movers had piled boxes everywhere.

Suddenly, something flew through the air above our heads. I shrieked. The phantom shrieked and disappeared in a corner to our left. Benjamin cried out and hugged my legs even tighter. My heart beat so fast I thought it might burst through my ribcage. "Bat," I screamed.

Benjamin cut me loose. I turned and followed, the toes of my Nikes biting the heels of his Spiderman running shoes. "Bat. There's a bat up here. That's the noise we heard. Just a friggin' bat." Not a ghost ... not a ghost. Hallelujah.

We burst through the doorway at the bottom of the stairs and ran into Katie, bowling her over and pitching the broom she held in her hands down the main staircase.

Benjamin was the first on his feet, Katie next. I sat up, but didn't stand.

"Mom, are you sure it's a bat?" Ben asked, sounding excited.

I nodded.

"Cool."

"And why didn't you know that, Mom?" Katie asked.

My daughter thought I should know everything. What gave her that impression?

"If there's one, chances are there's more." Benjamin danced from foot to foot.

Relieved a ghost hadn't made those noises, I shared his excitement, but only until I realized he might be right. "There could be more." How would I get rid of it . . . them? Bat exterminators? Was there such a thing?

Benjamin ran toward the stairs. I intercepted him. "Stay down here. You can get diseases from bats and if they get caught in your hair, you'll have to shave your head." I didn't know if that were true or not, but I hated the thought of all those wonderful curls being cut off.

"Yeah, I heard that before."

"You did?" I wondered who told him that.

"Uh-huh."

Katie made a move for the stairs.

I jumped up and barred my daughter's way.

"It's just a little bat, Mom. What are you afraid of?"

"Not so little." In fact, what flew over my head was monstrous. "Why don't we leave it be? It's not doing any harm."

"It's probably trapped. If we don't give it a way out, it'll cry all night and we won't get any sleep."

That held about as much appeal for me as going up into that attic again. Since it found its way in, it would find its way out, wouldn't it? No, maybe not. "Just stay behind me, okay?" Two nods. I raced to pick up the broom.

The flight up the stairs took less time than the previous one. With my children in tow, I opened the window and tiptoed in the direction where the bat had taken shelter.

"Mom, if we catch it, can I put it in a cage in my room? I'd like to study it."

Benjamin, I noticed, had changed his strategy to get me to change my mind about keeping wild life in the house. "I don't think so."

"Awww, Mom." He slapped the air. "Bummer."

"Good try, though."

"It wasn't a good idea to open the window so wide, Mom," Katie said. "Now something else can get in." She crossed her arms against her chest and tapped her foot against the floor.

She couldn't resist pointing out my lack of foresight. "How else are we going to get rid of it, or do you want to hope it'll find its own way out?" I suspected the window had been open all along and one of the movers closed it, thinking he was doing right.

Benjamin peeked around my legs. "We can catch it."

My son was persistent, I gave him that. "Hopefully, Katie, nothing else it'll get in. It'll just be for a little while. How hard can it be to scare a bat out a window?"

She shrugged. "You're the boss."

"Ha. Ha." Only when it served convenience.

"Mom." Benjamin sprinted to a corner before I could stop him. "Look what I found." He ran back to me and handed me his find. "Here. Put this on. It'll protect your hair."

With the broom held securely between my legs, I turned the lampshade around in my hands. What could I do? What could I say? Another mother might say no. "Thank you, honey. That's so thoughtful of you." I plopped the helmet on my head, brushed the cobwebs from my face and took hold of the broom, sweeping it from one side to the other to keep the bat at bay as we trudged toward the back wall of the attic.

"Mom, look," Benjamin yelled and pointed.

I saw it, too. My skin chilled in response. "Hit the floor, kids." _Thud. Thud._ I squatted just as a streak of black buzzed the top of the lampshade. I turned in time to see the bat fly through the open window. An inhaled breath rushed from my mouth. "It's gone. Flew the coop." Yay.

Benjamin and Katie raised their heads.

I straightened and soon realized I misjudged the height of the room. Maybe the lampshade had something to with it. "Ouch." I removed the shade and massaged my head.

"That must have hurt," Katie said, smiling.

My daughter took great pleasure in my pain. Maybe everything wasn't all right between us. I stared past her and noticed something shiny wedged in the rafters. I reached up and took it in my hand. "Look at this, guys."

Benjamin joined me. "What is it?"

"I don't know." I walked toward the window. My children followed. "It's a box. It looks like a metal pencil box."

"Cool. Open it." My son sounded fascinated. My daughter yawned.

I opened the box and, other than a red silk lining, found it empty.

"That's strange." Benjamin said over my shoulder.

I agreed. Something about that box disturbed me. I shoved it far against the wall and followed the children down the stairs. "Well, let's get ready. I want to get to the hardware store before we have dinner at Mama Jo's."
Chapter 7

The stop at the hardware store took longer than I expected. It neared five-thirty when we entered the restaurant.

We sat at our usual table near the kitchen. The sumptuous aroma of simmering garlic, pepper, and onions wafted toward us. Katie and Benjamin looked exhausted. Maybe I worked them too hard. Now, in addition to my aching head and back, my heart ached for what I put them through.

Katie hadn't said a word since we left the house. Usually, she sat in the front passenger seat of the car, but since the divorce, her place was in the back with Benjamin. It made me look like a chauffeur. I wondered if the world knew Katie was angry with me. Though it had tempted me to invite Benjamin to sit in front, it would have been negligent to do so because of the airbags. Newer model cars had the option of turning them off. If Katie continued to resist our new life, I'd consider trading my old but still reliable car for one of those. Hopefully, Katie would move past her animosity and resentment and take her seat next to me and I wouldn't have to buy something I neither needed nor wanted.

I smoothed the red and white-checkered tablecloth, feeling zapped of every ounce of energy. Had I forced conversation, it would have done me in. So instead of talking, I watched my children.

Katie sat slumped in the chair with her arms folded across her chest. Her foot kicked the leg of the table. She stared through me. I told myself her attitude came from the absence of Mama Jo's grandson at the restaurant and not because she hated me.

I turned and looked at Benjamin, who watched a family of four at the table next to us.

The two little girls chattered and bounced in place while their parents listened, seemingly enthralled with every word they spoke.

I knew what my son was thinking: We used to be like that.

I knew what my son was wishing: I wish Mom and Dad would get back together.

It broke my heart that my children would never share the joys of a happy family again.

I was wondering how I could make my children's lives better when my gaze fell on the gentleman dining at a corner table. He held his knife in his right hand and his fork, tines pointed downward, in his left. Why that turned me on I had no idea. He wore faded blue jeans, a denim shirt and scuffed cowboy boots. A black leather jacket was draped across the chair next to him. I had always been attracted to the 'tall, dark and handsome' types. How I fell in love with a blond was beyond me. Look how well that turned out.

What color were his eyes?

Look at me, I telepathically prompted.

No, don't.

Yes, do.

He looked up.

Oh, God.

Then as though he read my thoughts, he peered directly at me. His penetrating gaze nearly sucked the breath from me. I turned away quickly, but not before seeing the color of his eyes. Hazel. Wonderful. Why that thrilled me, I didn't know. It wasn't as though I'd ever see him again.

It was still early when we arrived home; too early for me to retire for the night. My children disappeared to their rooms and I was left downstairs, alone and traipsing from one room to the next.

In the hallway, I moved boxes out of the way, but after three, I couldn't do more.

Herbal tea sounded like a great idea. On unsteady legs I wandered into the kitchen and filled the kettle with bottled water. Since we moved in, we used tap water only for showers and washing up. The iron water pipes needed to be replaced by copper. I imagined what accumulated in them over the years and gagged.

The kettle whistled. I threw a tea bag into a cup, poured boiling water over it and walked to the living room. It had turned dark, but not the dark of midnight – it just seemed that way in this old house. With pastel colors on the walls and white woodwork, the house would be brighter, even in darkness. I poised one hip on the window seat, then looked out and spotted someone leaning against a streetlight staring at my house. The hair on the nape of my neck sizzled. My children needed to be protected. That was left to me now.

Before I could question my reaction, I stood on the veranda, acting like I didn't scare easily. "May I help you?"

The stranger straightened and with a bad-boy swagger strode up the front walkway toward me. He stopped at the steps. I recognized him. He was the tall, dark and handsome diner at Mama Jo's. Oh my.

"Do you live here?" he asked.

What kind of stupid question was that? I came out of the house wearing pajamas — oh my God, I was wearing pajamas. Well, really it was jogging pants and a tank top — my sleeping attire lately, but he wouldn't know that. "Yes."

"You and your husband?"

What business was that of his? When I hesitated, he walked up the stairs and extended his hand. His focus on my face warmed me. He had the most beautiful eyes.

"Where are my manners? Alex Cowan."

He was a giant of a man, big-boned and big-shouldered. I took his outstretched hand. "Susan Turner. I'm divorced. This is my house. I bought it." Okay, Suze, shut up.

"Good for you."

His smile made me feel completely safe and relaxed. Despite his casual appearance, there was nothing casual about this man. He knew how to use his darkly lashed eyes. I felt immersed in their warmth. He could probably charm a cobra out of its skin.

"You have your work cut out for you. I own one like it on the corner."

The house he referred to was even larger than mine and in better shape. It caught my attention every time I came down the street. "Oh." I realized then we were neighbors. I didn't know how I felt about that.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Yeah, sometimes I was sorry I bought the house, too. "It can be fixed."

"About your divorce," he said.

"Oh." The sadness in his eyes told me he knew about such things. "Did your wife leave you for another woman, too?"

He chuckled.

"Did I say something funny?"

Alex had a smile that virtually lit up the veranda. "No, Ma'am. I've never been married. You'd know that soon enough. Everybody knows each other's business on this street sooner or later. It's a small street in a small town." He leaned back against a pillar. "Met any of your neighbors yet?"

"Just the one next door." I pointed to Leroy's house. "Do you know him?"

"Uh-huh. But ever since what happened...."

I hated it when people did that. "What? Don't stop there. Tell me."

Alex looked down at the floor.

What he didn't want to tell me must certainly be terrible. I wondered why I never heard the story.

He gave me a curious look, like he'd just recognized me from the restaurant.

"You're the woman from Mama Jo's tonight."

I nodded. "And you're the man from Mama Jo's." But he wouldn't get off that easily.

"What about Leroy? What happened?" I waited patiently while he ran his slender fingers through his hair.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

I nodded. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have asked."

He shrugged. "I don't know all the details, but I heard he saw a demon in your house."

Alex paused to tug on his ear.

Ghosts, demons, cursed houses and possession — it sounded like something out of a horror movie. "Go on," I said, returning his intense stare.

"Leroy thought the Simsons, the previous owners and friends of his, were under its control and went to the priest at the cathedral insisting on an exorcism. The town folk almost locked him up."

"The poor man." I didn't know. My heart went out to him. "Do you think he might still be loony?" Since Benjamin seemed determined to spend time with him, I needed to know.

"Now? No. But a man ranting like a man possessed about a house possessed ... wouldn't you think he was crazy?"

I didn't know about that. My daughter called me crazy countless times. I wasn't.

"Probably just the ramblings of an old man."

"Could be. The only thing is, Leroy wasn't an old man at the time."

"Really?" That had me thinking. "How many years ago was that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Twenty-five, maybe."

That surprised me. Now, after all those years, Leroy still thought the house – my house – was haunted. "Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Cowan?"

"Alex, please." He shoved off the pillar and jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I don't know. Maybe. Do you?"

"Definitely not." There were a few things in life I was certain of — taxes, death and that ghosts didn't exist.

"You could ask Leroy about it."

I could. If I truly wanted to know the story. What mattered was that Leroy wasn't crazy anymore. Now if I started seeing apparitions in the house, it would be a different matter. "Maybe I'll do that." I suddenly felt chilled. "I should really go in. It was nice chatting with you."

He smiled. "I'm sure we'll run into each other again. And if you need any help, I'm the house on the corner."

I returned his smile. "You already told me that."

"But don't expect too much. I'm doing the work myself. It's a slow process."

_Tell me about it._ I watched him walk down the street and imagined him riding a Harley and sighed, wishing I were eighteen again. I would do things much differently.

Feeling melancholy, I entered the house, locked the door and climbed the stairs leading to the second floor. In the hallway, I noticed the light was out in Katie's bedroom, but my son, the night owl, was still up. Just as I raised my hand to knock, I heard him talking.

"Benjamin?" I tried the door. It was locked. "Benjamin, let me in." He never locked his bedroom door. Something was wrong. I cried out to him again. Thankfully, he answered.

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey. Unlock the door."

"It isn't locked."

My heart pounded. My fingers shook as I tried the doorknob again. "Yes, it is, Benjamin." A terrible feeling rumbled in the pit of my stomach. All that talk about ghosts and demons made me imagine all sorts of weird things — a devil holding a pitchfork to my son's neck, a pedophile holding my son in a neck lock and threatening his life if he breathed a word. I shouldered the door just as I had that first night on Katie's. The door gave way and I flew into the room, tripped over one of his toys, stumbled a few feet and landed face first on the floor. I couldn't move. Aches on top of aches prevented me. Small hands grasped my forearms.

"Mom?"

"I'm all right. I just need to get my breath."

"Okay." He knelt on the floor beside me and smoothed his hand over my hair.

After a moment, I rolled over — very gingerly — and sat up.

"My door wasn't locked, Mom. Honest."

I made a move to stand. Pain shot through my shoulders. I cried out. While I waited for the spasm to subside, Benjamin held my hand. The gesture brought tears to my eyes. "I believe you. These old doors stick sometimes. Probably from the humidity."

"Uh-huh."

"Can you help me up?" I put my feet flat on the floor and extended my hand, but he was already at my back pushing. I stifled a scream when he shoved me upright. He led me to the bed. I sat. He sat next to me. The look of concern on his little face spurred me back to reality.

"I'm fine. Really." I patted his hand. "Who were you talking to just now?"

He cast his eyes downward and in a soft voice said, "No one."

"Yourself, huh?" I thought it was more than that, though. It was probably best not to pressure him into telling the truth.

He nodded.

"Sometimes I talk to myself, too, you know."

He jerked his head in my direction. "You do?"

"Sure. Sometimes we have to talk to someone intelligent."

It took a moment for that to sink in. "Aw, Mom." He knuckled me in the forearm. I inhaled a deep breath and swallowed the pain. One ... two ... three. I exhaled. "It's ... it's all right, too, if you have an imaginary friend, you know." I didn't know that for sure, but I'd find out.

"He's not imaginary. He's real." The words shot from his mouth like bullets.

That almost knocked off my socks. I cast a surreptitious glance around the room. Unless this mysterious new friend was under the bed or in the closet, we were alone in the room.

"What's his name?" I asked after regaining my composure.

He leaned in close to me and whispered, "Bosco Alphonsus Xavier Joachim, but he likes to be called Irwin."

"I can see why."

"Aw, Mom." He knuckled my arm again. I was prepared this time. The punch didn't hurt nearly as much. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

He shook his head.

"Sure?"

"Shure."

I smoothed the blond tendrils of curls from his forehead and kissed it. "I love you."

"I love you too, Mom."

Benjamin wrapped me in a bear hug.

Chapter 8

The following morning, I sat at the dining room table, drinking tea and looking out the window at the leafless oak trees in the back yard swaying in the late autumn wind. As I lie in bed last night waiting for sleep to come, I thought a great deal about my children and their behavior.

What Katie and Benjamin needed now was their mother. They shouldn't be spending all their free time helping me fix up a house. That could wait. It didn't look very nice, but it was clean.

They were used to better, I was used to better, but that would come in time, too.

The first on my list of fun things to do with my children today was breakfast at their favorite restaurant, The Three Sisters Café. As the name implied, three sisters owned and operated the establishment. Mary handled the business end of things and waited the counter and tables. Martha cooked and Mabel baked the most scrumptious desserts I'd ever eaten. My hips attested to that from time to time.

By the time we left the house, eleven o'clock rolled around.

I drove toward Main Street against the glare of the midmorning sun and amidst the bustle of churchgoers. After parking the car, we strode into the diner. A quick glance around suggested we might be taking our breakfast out to the car. The stools at the counter were taken. Every table was occupied, as was every booth. Great. We hit the brunch crowd. Foresight. Where was it when I needed it?

"The placed is packed. Let's go home." Katie turned to leave, like her word was law. The aroma of bacon and sausage sent my stomach into a growling frenzy. I grabbed her by the arm. "Wait, honey. I'm sure a table will free soon."

Benjamin yanked on my pant leg. "Mom, there's a man waving at you over there," he said and dashed toward the booths.

Too late to stop him, I grabbed Katie's arm and hauled her with me as I went after Benjamin. By the time we reached him, he was talking nonstop to a stranger.

"We didn't feel like having cold cereal this morning, so Mom took us here and now we don't have no place to sit." Benjamin tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth. "That bacon shure smells good."

"I'm sorry," I said, preparing to usher Benjamin back to where we'd stood. I glanced at the gentleman and realized he wasn't a stranger at all. "Alex. Hi."

Benjamin peered up at me. "You know him, Mom?"

"Yes, sweetie. We met before." I made the introductions. Katie plainly cared less. Benjamin, however, seemed quite taken with him, which I suspected had something to do with the motorcycle helmet perched on the seat next to him.

"Do you have a bike?" Benjamin asked, excitement animating his voice.

"Uh-huh."

"A Kawasaki, I bet."

"Nope. A Harley."

God, I'd been right about that. I didn't give myself too much kudos. Alex just looked like that bad boy who'd ride a Harley.

"Cool. Will you take me for a ride sometime?"

"Benjamin," I said, injecting some sternness in my voice. The question surprised me, though it shouldn't, not from my son.

"It's okay." Alex turned and gave his full attention to Benjamin. "If it's all right with your mother, sure."

Benjamin looked up at me. I nodded, knowing it was a mistake to agree and praying the opportunity would never come about.

"You'll probably have a long wait for a table." Alex looked at me. "Would you like to join me?"

"No. I ... we ... er — "Benjamin's squeaky cry of delight interrupted my superlative refusal.

"Awright." He jumped across the seat and landed safely in the corner of the booth. "Then you can tell me all about your bike and how you know my mother."

I wasn't stupid. I knew when not to argue.

Katie and I tripped over each other trying to get the space next to Benjamin. My daughter won. Alex stood, took his helmet and set it on the floor, then gestured to the empty bench.

I slid across the seat, already feeling shy to sit next to a man I hardly knew. Alex took up more than his share of the space when he settled in beside me. Our thighs touched. Why did that unsettle me?

Katie crossed her arms against her chest and peered at Alex. "Yeah, I'd like to know how you know my mother, too."

The first words my daughter spoke this morning was to order us out of the café. Now, it was to find ammunition to use against me. I loved my daughter, I told myself. Loved her... loved her... loved —

"So, Katie, how do you like your house?" Alex smiled, obviously hoping to sidetrack my children.

How we knew each other shouldn't shame either of us, but I was thinking that Katie might be guessing that her father wasn't the only one who had an affair. She didn't know me at all, if she could even consider that.

"It stinks, literally." She kicked the metal center leg of the table.

This time Alex directed his smile at me before turning to Benjamin. "How about you, young man? How do you like your house?"

Benjamin sat on his legs and leaned his elbows on the table, his small hands clasped together in front of him. "It rocks. It has this big, big bathtub with bear paws and the attic is full of neat stuff. We saw a bat up there." He studied his fingers for a moment, then looked up. "It's gone now, but Mom still won't let me in'estigate it on my own."

"That's too bad. Maybe I could come over sometime and us men can check it out."

Benjamin's eyes shone like newly minted coins.

Great. Just what my son needed — encouragement.

"Maybe your sister could join us."

Katie unfolded her arms. "No way."

"Please excuse my daughter's rude behavior. She's upset with me because she thinks I'm responsible for her parents' divorce."

"Mawum." She rolled her eyes. "God. What's the matter with you?"

I stared into her eyes. "Obviously, my daughter has trouble with the truth also." Where did that come from? Maybe I was getting a little batty.

"God, Mom." Katie slouched lower in her seat and gave the table leg a wallop that shivered the salt and pepper shakers.

Benjamin pursed his lips and peered at Alex. "My sister's goin' through a rough patch right now, but she'll be all right in a little while. She's really nice, once you get to know her."

"I know it." Alex sat back, frowning. "How old are you, sir?"

Benjamin sat back, too, assuming Alex's relaxed position. "I'm seven years, six months and ..." He counted on his fingers. "Ten days old."

"That makes you — "

"Almost eight ... years ... old. I was born April 13, 1998."

Alex leaned forward, looking directly at Benjamin. "Another thirty minutes and I would've figured that out."

"I'm shure you would've. You seem smart enough."

Alex turned to me. "Susan, your son is — "

"Purrr ... cocious Mom says."

Alex had a marvelous laugh and a terrific way with children. Truthfully, there wasn't anything about him I didn't like. Benjamin seemed bewitched, and my daughter ... well, wouldn't give a second glance to Tom Cruise at the moment.

Benjamin squirmed on the seat and blurted, "Our house has a ghost."

Given his fidgeting, I'd expected that Benjamin was about to let loose with something that would either embarrass me or fill me with pride. I braced for the former and rehearsed an apology, but it was unneeded. I peered at my son. "Didn't we investigate the attic — "

"It's true. I've seen it," Katie said.

That nearly shocked me out of my loafers. After I found my voice, I said, "Katie, you never told me that."

"Well, if you took a moment for me, I'd've told you."

It crossed my mind she might be making this up. She knew I didn't believe in ghosts. Still, my daughter never lied, or at least, never used to. In my peripheral vision, I noticed Alex lean in closer to Katie, as though he wanted to commit everything she said to memory.

"What did he look like?" he asked.

"First of all, it's a she."

"A she?" If I believed in ghosts, which I didn't, they would be male.

"Mine's a boy," Benjamin said, bobbing his head.

"A boy?" I closed my gaping mouth. These fabrications were all too much for me. Ghosts in my house? Not one, but two? Impossible. My children simply possessed overactive imaginations.

"And second of all, she's gone now."

"Mine's not."

I patted Benjamin's hand. "Is it all right if we let Katie tell her story first, honey?" He nodded, but not happily. I turned my attention to my daughter. "Gone," I repeated. If she ever existed, or materialized, however it was said. I still harbored doubts. It might be best, though, to humor her. "When did you see her, honey?"

"Last night in my room."

"What did she look like?"

One by one my daughter touched her fingers, as though she were counting in tune to a nursery rhyme. _This little piggy went to ...._

When it appeared she didn't intend to answer, I prompted her. "Katie?"

She looked across the table at me and shrugged. "She had mid-length, blond, almost white hair, tied back with a yellow ribbon. Her eyes were blue." Katie stared into space for a moment as though visualizing the apparition. "Like the color of an unclouded sky. She wore long, flowing white silk and a bright light surrounded her."

"Anything else?"

Katie stared into space again for a moment. "Her baby fingers curled inward. Just like yours, Mom."

Oh God. Goosebumps broke out on my arms. Until that last detail, Katie could have been describing a fantasy figure in a movie, or one of her teachers. My mother, deceased now twenty-one years, had appeared to my daughter. A woman Katie had never met, a woman she never knew, yet she'd described her precisely. I studied Katie, wondering whether or not to believe her. I spoke of my mother often to my children. Through my eyes, I wanted them to see her as the wonderful, generous and compassionate woman she was. Maybe my mother had appeared to Katie. Or maybe she fabricated the story. The picture Katie presented seemed too detailed for it not to be true, though. I remembered describing Mom to my children, but couldn't recall telling them that she liked to tie her hair back with ribbons, particularly yellow ribbons. Then it dawned on me. Photo albums. Was my daughter really so vicious and vindictive that she would do and say anything if she knew it would hurt me?

"Mom, what's the matter?" Katie asked. "You look like you saw a ghost."

I clasped her hand. She didn't pull away. "I'm all right." Should I believe a word she'd said?

"Did this woman say anything to you?" Alex asked.

"I was crying and she appeared." Katie stared into space, as though picturing the moment. "She sang, 'Hush little baby, don't you cry ...." My daughter turned to me. "Mom, you always sang that to me when I was little."

I expected her to burst into laughter. She didn't. Judging by the serious expression on her face, she'd told the truth, or the truth as she remembered. Sometimes, dreams could appear real, then be recalled as vividly as though they actually happened. I couldn't dismiss that possibility.

The turmoil and upheaval in Katie's life lately could account for a hallucination, as well. Maybe she subconsciously dreamed up this person, someone to give her what she apparently wasn't getting from me — comfort and security. Oh God. How terrible a mother was I?

"Rats." Benjamin said, snapping his fingers. "Mine doesn't sing to me. Mine just wants to play games all the time."

Mary appeared at our table to take our orders.

Flabbergasted by my children's stories, my mind refused to think coherently. After several seconds of 'ahs' and 'ohs', Alex took the liberty and ordered for us. The breakfast special — eggs, sausages, pancakes, homemade blueberry syrup, orange juice, two coffees and two glasses of milk.

When Mary left, Alex said to Benjamin, "Games are fun. I like playing games."

"You do?" Benjamin asked incredulously.

"Sure, I do. Hasn't your mama ever told you all men are boys at heart?"

Benjamin looked at me, grinning. "No, she ne'er told me that."

Alex draped an arm across the back of the booth. "Maybe we can play Chinese checkers some time."

"Cool. I love Chinese checkers. I always win."

"That's because you cheat, little brother." Katie elbowed him in the ribs.

"Do not."

"Do too."

There were so many more questions I wanted to ask my children, but not there, in public where I could be overheard. I knew too that my queries needed to be casual-sounding and made to look like they stemmed from curiosity rather than fear — which was what I actually felt.

"So, Susan, how are the house renovations coming along?" Alex asked as though sensing my desire to change topics.

I mustered a smile and told him what we accomplished so far. "And someone from Home Building Supplies is coming first thing in the morning to measure for new cabinets. You wouldn't happen to know the names of any reliable plumbers, electricians and floor finishers, would you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. I'll bring you a list tomorrow, if that's okay."

I smiled again. It seemed I did that a lot with him. "That'd be great."

Our breakfast arrived and I dug into it with a gusto that surprised me.

Chapter 9

With the cordless phone clutched in my hand, I paced the length of the living room, thanking the telephone company for their prompt service yesterday and thinking my daughter was alone on the streets, too upset for common sense and easy prey for some dirty old man. I didn't need to remind myself we didn't live in a subdivision in the country now. We lived in the city proper, where people lived on the streets, where people begged on street corners for handouts, where pushers sold drugs, where ... no, I wouldn't think the worst.

There was no reason for alarm. It had only been two hours. When Katie was ready, she'd come home. She was simply angry and trying to scare me.

I considered what to do next.

I had already called all her friends. No one saw or heard from her since Friday. Maybe Jonathan should know. I imagined my ex-husband's reaction when he learned I misplaced his daughter and decided not to call him.

No, I had to call him. It was the right thing to do.

Feeling like the earth dropped beneath my feet for the second time today, I rummaged through my purse for his home telephone number. I stared at the seven digits for a moment before punching them in. Jonathan didn't answer the phone as I expected he would. His girlfriend did. I hung up. It went against everything I'd been taught. I didn't care. If my mother wanted me to be courteous and gracious at all times, she should have shown me how to be polite to my husband's lover.

The front door opened and closed.

Recognizing my daughter's footsteps, I charged from the living room and caught up to her on the first step of the staircase. While waiting for her to return home, I'd prepared a litany of rules to enforce on her, but now I couldn't remember one of them. "Oh, thank God, honey, you're all right. I was sick with worry." I wrapped her in a fierce hug. She didn't pull away.

With a great deal of effort, I released her after a moment of almost squeezing the life out of her. I called to Benjamin upstairs. "Your sister's home."

Katie stepped off the stairs and onto the floor beside me.

Benjamin bounded down the steps. "Sis, where've you been? Why'd you run away like that?" He grabbed her around the waist and hugged her tightly. "I was so worried. I thought you were never coming back."

Katie turned and clasped her brother's hands. "I just needed to be alone, just like you do sometimes."

"I go to my room, though."

Hearing my daughter's chuckle and seeing the love in her eyes for Benjamin made me remember what our lives were like before the divorce.

I lead them into the living room with Benjamin latched on to his sister like an appendage.

They sat on the sofa. I sank to the floor before Katie and rested my hands on her knees. "Where have you been, honey? Do you want to talk about it?" I kept my voice soft, calm. It took a great deal of strength. I still wanted to throttle her.

"What's the flukin' big deal where I was? I'm not a child anymore."

I patted her hand and forced a smile. "That's true. I keep forgetting you're all grown up."

"I don't need to tell you where I am every minute of the day. I'm sixteen years old."

My daughter goaded me. I was determined not to rise to the occasion. "Age doesn't have anything to do with whether or not you check in with me, or calling to tell me you're safe and you'll be home soon. That's what mothers and their children do. I was worried. I imagined you being attacked by some pervert, or dead in an alley somewhere." I swiped at a tear and bowed my head. I wasn't playing fairly but if the ruse worked, I could live with the manipulation.

Through my lashes, I watched my daughter's reaction. Only a second passed before she threw her arms around my neck and said she was sorry. We hugged. There was no greater pleasure than having my daughter in my arms. Benjamin jumped from the sofa and hugged us both. Correction. There was no greater pleasure than having both my children in my arms.

"I thought you'd be mad." Katie sat back down and pulled her brother with her.

Truth was, I'd fumed. It was a wonder smoke hadn't billowed from my ears. "I'm just thankful you're home safe and sound." I put up with a lot from her lately, but one day we'd be friends again. Miracles happened.

"I got a tattoo."

"You got a tattoo?" I couldn't believe my straitlaced, A-student daughter would do something like that. Images of dirty needles and dirty hands flashed before my eyes. It took all of my resolve not to mention that.

She nodded. "On my butt. You wanna see it?"

"I want to. I want to." Benjamin bounced in place.

"Of course, I'd like to see it, honey."

She stood, turned and rolled down the waistband of her jeans. "It's a snake."

A snake? Lord Almighty. I didn't know what to say. What a beautiful snake? Snakes scared me. Benjamin came to my rescue.

"Awesome." He turned to me. "Mom, can I get a tattoo?"

I saw that coming. "Yes, when you're thirty-six."

He counted on his fingers. When he came to the ninth one, he said, "Mawum. That's a long way away."

I grabbed him around the neck and knuckled his head. "Not so long. Hey, you want to see my tat?" I controlled the urge to laugh at my daughter's surprised expression. I bared my midriff.

"See?" My son and daughter gawked at the yellow rose encircling my navel. "That was a long time ago. I was mad at my mother and thought it'd freak her out. It didn't. Your grandmother was a terrific lady. God, I miss her." I brushed tears from my cheeks. It seemed all I did today was cry.

Katie chewed on a thumbnail. "What were you mad at Grandma for?"

I sat next to her, thinking back to that time. The reason refused to surface. "I can't remember now. Must have been something important, though, huh?" I shrugged. "Now, the tattoo is a constant reminder of my petulance at that age."

"You could have it removed." Katie shrugged.

I shook my head. "No. I need it to be there."

"Why?" she asked softly.

"Because it helps make me a better person." I could virtually see the wheels turning in my daughter's head. Katie would remember this moment her entire life. Maybe one day she'd tell this story to her daughter, too.

She stared down at the floor. "Mom, did you believe me when I told you I saw a ghost?"

I took her hand in mine. "Is that why you got mad and left the restaurant?"

She nodded, biting her bottom lip.

"I'm sorry, honey. I should have been more sensitive, more understanding."

"Well? Do you believe me?"

The tears pooling in her eyes made mine water. Afraid I might have another crying bender and babble like an idiot as seemed my inclination lately, I concentrated on taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. Feeling stronger, I turned my full attention on my daughter. "I believe you believe you saw a ghost."

"But you don't believe in ghosts?"

"No." Nothing would change my mind.

"I didn't believe in ghosts, either, until I saw one."

"Sometimes our minds plays tricks on us — "

She shrugged out of my grasp and stood. "You know, Mom, not everything is black and white. There are gray areas, and despite what you think, there are things you know nothing about." She stomped from the room and up the stairs.

I shook my head, wondering how I'd managed to yet again alienate my daughter. She was right about one thing, though. There were things I knew nothing about. How to handle a rebellious teenager, for one.

I gathered Benjamin in my arms. It was unlike him to have nothing to say. "Everything all right, sweetie?"

He knelt on the couch beside me, cupped his small hands around my ear and whispered, "Irwin told me you wouldn't believe me if I told you about him."

"Why are you whispering?" I whispered too, I realized.

Benjamin looked over my shoulder. "Because he's here in the room with us now."

Chapter 10

"Irwin's here with us now?" My eyes focused on Benjamin's curls jittering from his impassioned nods while my mind revved in neutral. Something was seriously wrong with my children. Katie and Benjamin were unable to cope with their parents' divorce and now they suffered from delusions and probably needed therapy. It was one of my greatest fears. Tears burned my eyes. My children needed therapy because of the actions of their parents. How could Jonathan and I have been so cruel?

Benjamin looked over my shoulder and pointed.

In a reflexive action, I turned, expecting to see nothing but gouged walls and empty space. Instead, I stared into the dark, almost black eyes, of a dark-haired little boy with a delightful, slightly mischievous smile. Whatever delusions my children experienced, I experienced, too. Instinctively, I jolted from the sofa, yanking Benjamin with me.

"Mom?"

Dimly, I heard my name. Getting my wits about me, I asked, "What?"

"If you're not nice to him, he'll get mad."

I inhaled deeply. "It's okay, honey. He's not real, just a figment of our imagination. We've been under a lot of stress lately. It's natural for us to see things that aren't there." The horror speeding down my spine confused me. If this weren't real, why was I scared? I closed my eyes and opened them. Benjamin noticed.

"Closing your eyes doesn't help. I did that, too, the first time I saw him. He's really here and doesn't go away until he wants to."

I argued with my mind that this couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real. Any moment now I'd wake from this nightmare. Despite my resolve, I believed a little more with each passing moment that this apparition was not a manifestation of our anxiety. My stomach churned at the thought.

"Say something to him, Mom."

Say something? What? Do you come in peace? Wassup? Then I said what I would instinctively say to anyone on introduction. "Hi." The catch in my throat made me cough.

He smiled, a most endearing one. "Hi, Mommy."

I grasped Benjamin's shoulders and moved him with me a step backward. "I'm not your mother."

"You don't remember me?" He bowed his head.

His quivering chin and the single teardrop trickling down his cheek affected me deeply. "I'm sorry. You're mistaking me...."

He floated backward, then sprang forward, halting within inches of my face. The look of hatred in his eyes frightened me. I pushed Benjamin back another step. "Go away. Leave us alone. You don't have any business here." Not wanting to take my eyes from the ghost, I yelled for Katie over my shoulder and estimated the distance to the front door from where we stood.

The creature moved closer to us. "There is nowhere for you to run."

_Time to wake, Susan._ I pinched myself. Ouch. "Leave us alone," I shouted, stepping in front of Benjamin. At our backs, Katie trounced down the stairs and into the living room. "Don't come any closer, Katie."

"Mom, what's going ... Omigod." My daughter screamed.

The creature giggled like a child. "Hello, Katie."

I grabbed her arm. "Katie, back up very slowly toward the door." For once my daughter didn't argue. "Good girl. Everything's going to be fine, sweetie. Just keep moving toward the door." The calmness of my voice surprised me. My insides were a quivering mess.

"Mom, I can't go any farther. There's a wall or something."

I looked over my shoulder and put my hand out. She was right. The archway was a solid invisible wall.

The ghost laughed, apparently enjoying our dilemma.

I turned and pounded the wall, but the barrier didn't break. I flung myself against the wall and bounced back like rubber. "Somebody help us," I screamed toward the window.

He laughed again, harder this time. "No one can hear you. No one can help you."

I believed him. He held us captive and would do to us whatever he wished. This was it. The End. I looked at Katie and Benjamin. My poor babies. They were too young to die. There were so many things they had yet to experience. Their whole lives lie ahead of them. It couldn't end like this. I dropped to my knees and steepled my hands. "Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name — "

The ghost guffawed. "God won't help you. He didn't help me."

"Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done — "

"You're wasting your time."

I raised my voice. "On Earth as it is in Heaven...." A luminous hooded figure clothed in white floated into the room. "Oh Jesus," I said. "Another one." My head spun. I felt faint.

The figure poised in midair and pointed a finger at the ghost. "Leave them alone."

I pulled myself together and gathered my children in my arms as the figure rose higher.

Bright light encircled her as she swirled in a wide arc and rushed at him. "Through Thy peace, O Christ, Redeemer, which passeth all understanding, fortify us and secure us from evil. Where there is hatred, sow love. Where there is darkness, bring light."

The room darkened.

I tried to open my eyes, but couldn't. Where was I? Was I dead? My whole body ached. Oh God. I died and went to hell. Why was I in hell? I always tried to do the right thing and be a good person. Sometimes I swore in my thoughts and told little white lies and didn't go to church regularly like I should. For that I should suffer the eternal torments of the damned? God, please give me another chance. I would change my ways. I promise.

I was cold. Funny, I always imagined hell as a continually burning incinerator. Maybe I wasn't sentenced to an afterlife of torture, after all.

Someone cursed. People damned for their mistakes would curse. This must be hell.

My head was lifted onto something soft. God or an angel would do something like that. Maybe I went to Heaven, after all. I relaxed and drifted into a lush meadow. It was so beautiful and peaceful here. The rich green leaves of trees ruffled in a breeze. A warm afternoon sun warmed my fevered flesh. In the distance, I heard the rush of a waterfall. Heavenly.

"Mom, wake up."

I recognized that voice. Benjamin. I looked around the meadow. He died, too? Oh God, he was too young to die. Why couldn't you spare him, Lord?

Something slapped me hard across the face. "Mom." I recognized that voice, too. My daughter. The slap I didn't recognize. Both my children died with me? How could you be so cruel, Jesus?

Then I remembered — Christ Almighty — that spirits besieged my house. I forced my eyes open. Benjamin threw himself across my chest. "Mommy, I was so worried. I thought you died."

Benjamin never called me Mommy anymore. He said he was too old for baby talk.

Katie helped me sit up.

"What happened?" I rubbed the back of my head. It hurt like crazy. My face hurt, too. I massaged my cheeks and flexed my jaw. My daughter packed a wallop.

"You passed out and hit your head when you fell," she said.

My daughter failed to mention that she'd slapped me. I know she was trying to make me come to. I just hoped she hadn't taken any pleasure in physically hurting me. "Are they gone?" I couldn't muster the courage to voice the word.

My children nodded.

I looked at Katie. "How long was I out?"

"Not long. A couple of minutes, maybe."

I nodded and immediately regretted it. "Can you help me to the sofa?"

After they positioned me comfortably, Katie went to the kitchen to make me tea.

Moments later, I wrapped my hands around the cup, enjoying the warmth. I took a sip. "This is a good cup of tea, honey. Thanks." I knew we needed to talk about what happened, but not yet.

Katie smiled. "Bet you didn't think you'd be sipping tea ever again, did you?"

I'd reacted like such a wimp. Blood rushed to my face, but I managed to smile. "You got that right."

"We have to talk about what happened, Mom."

She made more sense than I, but talking about the incident would make it real. "In a little while." Of all the things I tried to protect my children from, evil spirits was not one of them.

"Are you ... you didn't get hurt, did you?" I looked from Katie to Benjamin. They shook their heads. I exhaled a long breath. "Thank God."

Benjamin edged closer to me. "It wasn't God, Mom. It was Katie's ghost who made Irwin go away."

"Yes, it was," she said matter-of-factly.

My mother, I realized, our guardian angel. This was all too bizarre. I turned to Katie sitting on the other side of me. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you. Can you ever forgive me?"

She nodded. Her smile, though not terribly wide, made up for her rotten behavior lately.

After a moment, she asked, "Do you think the ghosts are gone for good?"

What did I know about ghosts? Nothing. And up until thirty minutes ago, I didn't believe in them at all. "I think your ghost banished him." Maybe the prayer my mother recited excised it.

That made sense.

They heaved a sigh of relief, as did I. Hopefully, we'd seen the last of Irwin.

The doorbell rang. The sound startled Katie and I, but not Benjamin. He shot from the sofa like a rocket and ran to the door.

He re-entered the living room with Alex in tow. "And then the woman in white showed up from nowhere and made Irwin go away. I wish you could have been here to see it, Alex. She was awesome, man." Benjamin pivoted, slashing his hands through the air. "Chop. Chop. Then she said a prayer and poof, he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. Then the woman smiled at us and disappeared, too."

Alex walked over to me. "You had some excitement, I hear."

I looked up at him. "Uh-huh. Ghosts." I ran a hand through my hair. I must look a fright.

"You're hurt."

Self-consciously, I raised a hand to my face and cast a sideways glance at Katie who shifted uncomfortably beside me. "I fell and hit my face. It's nothing, really."

He looked from me to Katie. "You made it home safely, I see."

"Like it's any of your business."

"Katie." I kept my voice steady, applying, I hoped, the right amount of force to my voice that would tell her I wouldn't abide impoliteness, despite what we'd just experienced.

She studied her fingernails. "I'm sorry, Mom," she said through tightly set lips.

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Alex."

"It's not necess — "

"Yes, it is, Alex." I turned to her. "Katie?"

"I'm sorry."

It wasn't a sincere apology, but it was the best we would get.

"May I be excused now?"

Her sarcastic tone didn't escape me. I smiled, though. "Of course."

She bolted from the sofa and dashed up the stairs.

I turned to Alex. "Not to sound inhospitable, but why'd you come by?"

He shrugged. "I wanted to lend a hand to look for Katie if she hadn't returned home yet."

"Oh. That's so thoughtful of you." So much happened since then. I was still angry with Katie for taking off from the restaurant the way she did, but it seemed a trivial matter now compared to our showdown with ghosts.

I wanted to discuss what happened with Alex but not in front of my son. "Benjamin, why don't you lie down for awhile? You look exhausted." He did. Dark circles framed his lower eyelids and his eyes drooped. "Then we'll have supper."

"What're we having?"

"Oh, I don't know. Fried chicken, maybe."

"And apple turnovers?"

He pushed the envelope, but I agreed.

"Awright." And with no more than that, he left for his room.

As soon as I heard his bedroom door close, I turned and indicated for Alex to sit. He sat and casually placed his arm across the back of the sofa.

I told him everything that happened from the time Katie returned home from her little excursion until I passed out. "So, what do you think? Are the ghosts gone?" I harbored doubts and needed a second opinion. Alex wasn't an expert on ghosts, at least that I knew, but he seemed a irrational and analytic individual, so his view on the subject would count.

He hemmed and hawed for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe."

"But maybe not?"

"Maybe not."

That was what I was afraid of. "Do you have any idea what I should do now?" An exorcism came to mind.

"Leroy might be able to help. Why don't you talk to him?"

I tilted my head to one side, weighing his suggestion and wishing I could talk to Jonathan about this. If I did, my husband would undoubtedly think me fit for the loony bin, which would end in a custody battle in family court. "Kids get over things like this, don't they?" Katie and Benjamin were probably scarred for life.

"Kids are resilient."

True. But how much could children endure before they retreated within themselves?

"God, I have no idea what to do now." I chewed on a hangnail.

"You could always talk to Leroy."

It seemed a wise decision since he had some experience with ghosts. It also occurred to me that Alex pushed Leroy on me. Why, I didn't know. Nevertheless, I considered the suggestion.

"Maybe I should."

"I'll come with you if you want."

"Thanks, but it's not necessary." Something told me Leroy awaited me and would be more forthcoming with information if I went alone.

***

Stepping into Leroy and Clara's house seemed like stepping into the 1950s. Everything from the vintage brocade drapes to the velvet wine-colored four-seater sofa was an heirloom. I loved it. Their house was an antique collector's dream.

The layout was identical to mine, but not only that, it needed refurbishing, too. I imagined the house of a carpenter freshly painted with unchipped moldings and shiny floors. It amazed me, just as a hair stylist's unkempt, needing-a-dye-job hair amazed me.

Benjamin walked ahead of me with his hands looped around the navy suspenders he insisted on wearing. He looked every bit a half-pint lumberjack in jeans, red and blue plaid flannel shirt and tan hiker boots.

I wanted Leroy to tell me everything he knew about my house, its previous owners and the ghost. Benjamin joining me complicated that. I would need to censor my questions. How could I learn the truth if I couldn't make direct inquiries? Leroy and Clara were his new best friends. How could I refuse him a visit? I hoped that somehow Leroy and I would have a chance to talk privately.

Leroy ushered us to the sofa in the living room. "I knew you would come to see me."

I was right. He expected me to come calling. Maybe not at that precise moment, but at some time.

The aroma of freshly baked cookies wafted into the room, making my mouth water.

His wife emerged from the kitchen. "Leroy, did I hear the doorbell?" She stopped abruptly when she saw me. Apparently, she hadn't expected that I'd come calling.

"We have company, dear."

"I'm deaf, Leroy, not blind."

Leroy introduced us.

Clara August was a spry eighty-year-old, judging by her fast step. She wore her long, white hair braided. Her bright blue eyes twinkled when she welcomed us into her home.

"You have beautiful furniture, Mrs. August." I raised my voice, remembering her hearing impairment.

She wiped her hands on her apron and sat beside me. "I'm not really hard of hearing, dear," she whispered. "I just want Leroy to think I am. He rambles on sometimes. You know how it is."

True, I did. But I hadn't pretended deafness. I blocked my husband out. It wasn't effective, though. Jonathan had often called me dimwitted with the attention span of a gnat. He said it teasingly, but I knew he meant the insult. My husband wouldn't get away with today what he got away with when we were married. I was a different woman now.

"And how are you, young man?" Clara smiled at Benjamin.

"Fine, thank you."

She turned back to me. "Can I get you anything? I just made a fresh pot of tea."

"I'd love a cup. Thank you."

Benjamin spotted the birdcage sitting on a corner table. "Wow. I didn't know you had a bird, Mr. August." In two jumps he was kneeling on the floor in front of the cage. He squeezed his fingers through the bars. "Nice birdie. Cheep, cheep. Here, birdie." The parrot turned its beady eyes on him. "What's his name, Mr. August?"

"Pedro."

"Pedro?" His eyebrows formed an inverted V. "That's a funny name for a bird. Does he talk?"

The parrot cocked his head. "Leroy's a pain. Leroy's a pain. Be bop the hip hop."

Benjamin giggled into his hand. He turned and looked at us. "Pedro's bad."

Leroy chuckled while Clara appeared flustered, playing with the hem of her apron.

A bell rang in the kitchen.

"Clara, your cookies are ready," Leroy said.

"You don't have to yell, Leroy. I heard the bell." Clara stood and looked at Benjamin. "Would you like to help me take the cookies out of the oven?"

Benjamin jumped up and grabbed her hand. "Can I have a cookie?"

"If it's okay with your mother," Clara said.

Two pair of blue eyes turned to me.

"It's 'may I' and yes, you can have one. But only one."

"Aw, Maw-um."

"Okay, two." After what he was just put through, I couldn't say no.

"Awright." He dashed off behind Clara.

I studied Leroy a moment. His expression told me he knew the reason behind my visit.

"You expected me," I said, realizing the senselessness of pretense. Leroy struck me as a man who appreciated directness.

"Sooner or later, yes." He stared intently at me. "You believe me now ... about the ghost?"

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

He came forward in his chair and rested his forearms on his thighs. "Has he showed himself to you?"

"Yes."

"Tell me."

Leroy listened raptly, seemingly hanging on my every word as I related what happened moments ago. The appearance of my mother's spirit was too personal for me to tell a virtual stranger. Besides, Leroy didn't need to know.

"Anything else?"

God, wasn't that enough? "Now and then I feel a presence around me. And there's a stench in the house, and sometimes my hair flutters on my neck. These things could have logical explanations, though."

"Vince and Bridget had logical explanations for everything that happened in that house, too ... in the beginning."

"The people who owned the house before me?"

He nodded.

"What should I do?"

"Leave."

I stood. "That's not an option. I will not be forced out of my home." Not again. I folded too many times in the last sixteen years. I would never be that woman again. The thought of losing didn't sit well with me either. I watched him assess me and knew he was wondering if I was strong enough to win this fight.

When Leroy turned his gaze from mine, I sat back down, took a calming breath and asked, "Any other suggestions?"

"Taking a stand is good, but you have to know when to fold."

"I can't fold." I shook my head. "I won't."

"If you stay, you'll be fighting something you have no experience with, something not of this world. How can you expect to win?"

I sighed. That wasn't what I wanted to hear. I wanted a solution, and thought Leroy might help me find it. "I appreciate your advice, but I'm not going anywhere. If I knew something about the ghost, I might have a chance. Will you tell me what you know? Please, Leroy. I really need your help."

He stared into space, pondering my plea perhaps, or perhaps deciding whether I could accept the truth. After several seconds, he huffed a breath and asked, "Are you sure you want to know?"

I responded vehemently and without hesitation. "Yes." Judging from his expression, Leroy seemed pleased with my answer. I said no more. He wasted no time getting started.

"For awhile, Clara and I suspected something sinister was happening in that house, but it wasn't until I went over to invite Vince to a hockey game one night that I knew for sure." He removed his glasses and cleaned them on his shirttail.

"What happened?"

"I saw the creature."

I could see the pain dredging up this memory caused him and hated myself for asking him questions that would make him relive that period in his life. "What did you do?"

"I went to see Father Murphy and told him what happened, then suggested an exorcism."

He chuckled. "I'm sure you can imagine his reaction."

I could and nodded.

"Nevertheless, I coaxed and pleaded with him until he agreed to visit with them. He didn't find anything unusual in the house or with the Simsons, though. Or so he said."

"You think he did?"

Leroy shrugged. "If he did, he took it to his grave."

"He died?"

"Yes. A couple of weeks later. He accidentally fell from his second-story bedroom window."

It took a moment for that to sink in. "He accidentally fell.... God." A chill sped up my spine. Leroy was right. I had no idea what I contended with. "But there wasn't any proof of foul play?"

"No." He glanced toward the dining room and leaned in closer to me.

I met him half way.

"Vince told me the ghost was having sex with Clara," he whispered.

My heart leapt into my throat. "Sex?" I squeaked, remembering last night in the bathtub.

Oh God. I wanted it to be a dream. Why couldn't it have been a dream?

He nodded. "Uh-huh. Sex."

Irwin's image flashed in my mind... it couldn't be true. It had to be a dream. "My apparition is a child. Maybe what Vince and Clara saw is not what I'm seeing." Not so long ago, I didn't believe ghosts existed and now I made it seem they roamed the earth freely and plentifully, many of them apparently taking up residence in my house. Obviously, I would take any answer to explain away my bathtub experience of last night.

"Do you think souls don't age in Heaven? Do you think those souls who have aged on earth spend an eternity as their earthly selves? Speaking for myself, I'd like to think once I pass over to my final resting place, I'll be able to do all the things in life I enjoyed before I became too old to do them."

I never gave that much thought, if at all, but he might be right and told him so.

Leroy smiled, like he'd won round one, then sat back until his head rested against the chair and closed his eyes.

There was more, but he'd told me all he intended for one day, so I took that as my cue to leave and called to my son in the kitchen. Benjamin insisted on staying with Leroy and Clara a bit longer. I didn't have a problem with that. I needed alone time to deal with what I'd learned from Leroy.

Sickened by the thought I had sex with a ghost, the moment I entered my house, my temper got the better of me. "Goddamnit." I sped into the living room and kicked an unpacked box marked 'China.' "I am not leaving this house." I spun in a slow circle, looking upward. "Did you hear me? I. Am. Not. Leaving. This. House. And. I. Am. Not. Having. Sex. Again. With. You."

I used the sleeve of my sweater to wipe the tears from my cheeks.

"Show yourself, you bastard." I waited. The only sound was the tick-tock of the pendulum clock on the mantle of the fireplace.

"Oh, I get it. You only show yourself when it's to your advantage. Well, I know you're here. I feel your presence, so listen up, chicken shit." The room suddenly turned ten degrees cooler. Irwin wouldn't frighten me ever again. "Good. I have your attention. It's time to lay down some rules. One: Leave my children and me alone and that means no more sex with me, free or otherwise."

A fierce wind picked up in my living room, blowing my hair in every direction.

"Don't like that rule? Well, too bad. Get used to it, if you want to stay here." The air settled.

"Two: No more games." Just then, it occurred to me that Irwin had caused Jonathan's discomfort the other night. As much as I enjoyed seeing him jump around in pain, I couldn't let Irwin think I abided his actions. "Three: You will not hurt anyone who comes into this house and that includes Jonathan."

I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. "Follow those rules and you won't have any problems. Break one and, as God is my witness, I'll make you suffer. Comprende? I'll give new meaning to the old saying 'hell hath no fury.' You've been warned." I looked around the room again. Everything was as it should be. "Good boy."

I doubted my threats frightened him, but I needed time to plot a course of action, whatever that might be. I had no intention of sharing my house with a ghost. First thing tomorrow after the salesman from the building supply store left, I intended to get a copy of my lawyer's property search notes and check the library for back issues of newspapers for any information about my house and the previous owners, as Leroy suggested. If I learned the reason for Irwin's presence and told him, maybe he would cross over. How I sounded like someone who knew what they talked about.

I meant business and kicked the box to drive home my point. Irwin needed to know that.

"Geez, take a fit, Mother, why don't you?"

Startled, I turned and stared at Katie standing in the archway. I forgot about her being upstairs. "You probably think I've gone crazy."

"You said it, not me."

"I lost my temper, but I'm all right now."

"If I did that, you'd be all over me."

"Maybe." Maybe not.

"Did it feel good?"

I stepped aside. "Try it for yourself."

Katie crossed the living room and hit the box with the side of her foot. "Hey, imagine that. Nothing broke." She kicked it again. And again.

I wondered what part of her life she was trying to annihilate. Or maybe she envisioned my face on the box. Whatever the case, she appeared to get as much satisfaction in kicking it as I had. It was good for her to vent her frustrations. "Be careful. You'll hurt your foot doing it that way. Take a long swing like this, just like you would a soccer ball." I showed her how it was done. She joined me, pounding, kicking and grunting until we gasped for breath from the exertion. I dropped to the floor and Katie followed seconds later. In that moment, I felt close to my daughter, closer than I had in a long, long time.

"Do you think we broke anything?" she asked.

Not the way I packed. I should be telling her there were more intellectual ways to deal with anger. Truthfully, I didn't feel one iota of guilt. "Maybe. But, you know what, I don't care. It was worth it. I feel great. How about you?"

Katie edged closer to me. I breathed in the fresh fragrance of her shampoo and closed my eyes, committing this moment to memory. Moments like these came around so rarely lately. We would share the closeness we shared before, I promised myself.

The front door slammed.

"Mom, I'm home."

"We're in the living room."

He ran over to us. "Is it time for supper?"

Katie nudged her brother's foot with the toe of her sneaker. "You're always hungry."

"Am not."

"Are, too." She hauled him down on the floor and tickled him mercilessly.

I stood and smiled. This was what it was like before. And that was what it would be like again some day. Amid Benjamin's giggles and pleas for mercy, I looked upward. Irwin didn't show himself, but I felt his presence. I wanted him to know who was boss in this house. I gave him the finger.

Chapter 11

Thunder boomed in the distance and lightning streaked across the cloudy morning sky when Jonathan pulled his car to a stop against the curb in front of Susan's house.

He knew he risked raising her dander again by showing up on her doorstep unannounced.

The desire to see her impelled him out of the car and up the walkway. That and the fact that on Friday evening he sensed that something had frightened her. He still felt the need to protect her and probably always would.

No sign of life came from inside the house. He checked his watch and guessed she already left to bring the kids to school. He leaned against a pillar on the veranda to wait for her.

Until three months ago, he had an answer for any question, a solution for any problem. Whatever life threw at him, he faced it head-on and always came out the victor. But not this time. This time answers failed him. He had no idea how to get out of this situation with Cindy.

She made his life miserable with her demands, wants and whining – so unlike Susan. Why was it we treasure most what we lose?

What would his drill sergeant father's advice be? Get that chin up, get those shoulders back, and suck in that gut, soldier.

Wherever dear old dad passed his eternal life, he would surely be laying down the law in regimental fashion, either testing the Lord's patience or putting the fear of God in the Devil.

Jonathan turned at the sound of a car pulling to a stop and smiled at Susan behind the steering wheel. She looked at him, surprise registering on her face, then her cheeks paled. Suddenly, with a flick of her wrist, she put the car in gear.

What the hell —

"Susan." He leapt down the steps and within two seconds his hand rested on the passenger door of her car. Normally, he would think about appearances – what the neighbors might think.

She seemed prepared to gun the engine.

"Susan, my God, what are you doing?"

She hesitated, as though determining there was nowhere to run.

Jonathan studied her. She looked keyed-up and frazzled, like she spent the night without sleep. Something bothered her, something more than their divorce. Why wouldn't she open up to him?

She put the gearshift into park and got out of the car. "Jonathan," she said resignedly. "What do you want?"

"I hoped we could talk."

"We have nothing to talk about." She clutched her purse against her chest and walked around the car with her head bowed.

The pain that stabbed his heart wasn't from the hostility in her voice. It came from knowing he was the cause of it. For sixteen years, he'd told her he loved her, and when he slept with another woman, he told her the complete opposite. She probably didn't know who he was anymore — sometimes he wondered about that himself — and now she was too stringent to give him a chance to explain, something he should have done long ago. She would have understood. Then they could have dealt with Cindy's pregnancy together. He understood that now. Maybe it wasn't too late.

He stepped aside before she bulldozed him into the ground, then followed her into the house and into the living room. "Susan, why are you acting this way?"

She jerked her head up at him. "Are you saying I don't have the right after what you did to me and the kids? And what business is it of yours how I act?"

"You're right. I've put you through a lot in the last few months. I'm sorry."

She huffed a breath.

For the first time since they entered the room, he looked around. "You've been busy."

"What?"

He splayed his hand toward the walls. "You removed the wallpaper. It looks better already."

"The kids were a tremendous help."

"The kids helped?"

"Of course, they helped. Why does that surprise you? When we were a family, we did everything together, or don't you remember how it was?"

He remembered. In fact, those remembrances prompted his visit today. "Why are you twisting around everything I say?"

"If I am, it's because you taught me well."

"I don't ... didn't ... do that."

She scoffed.

This wasn't going well at all. Certainly not the way he envisioned. "I'd really like to get on some middle ground with you, if only for the sake of the children."

"Now you think about Katie and Benjamin? How nice. You should have thought about them and me before you hopped into bed with another woman. You betrayed the children, me and our family, Jonathan, and the children hate you for it."

He deserved that. "I'm sorry." He was. Sorry for ruining a good thing, sorry for hurting her and the kids, sorry that his girlfriend was pregnant. He would try a different tack. She'd always liked to discuss the children with him. "How are the children doing?" He immediately became suspicious by the startled look that crossed her face. Something happened with the kids, but judging by the tight set of her lips, she wasn't about to tell him.

"Nothing. Why do you ask?"

When she ran her fingers through her hair, it surprised him that her fingers shook.

Something had happened, something she didn't want him to know. "What's going on?"

"What do you think is going on, Jonathan? That I'm bringing men home to my bed? Oh wait, I'm sorry, I confused myself with you."

He watched her lips twist into an expression somewhere between a sneer and a sly grin.

"So, aside from Katie and Benjamin thinking I betrayed them, they're fine?"

"Uh-huh," she said, looking everywhere but at him.

"And that's it?"

"Well, other than they're adjusting to a zillion changes all at the one time, they're fine."

The look in her eyes told him something different. For now, he wouldn't push the issue.

"Okay, I get it."

"Get what?"

"Get that I ruined your life and our children's lives. What did you think?"

"Nothing."

Was she acting weird, or was he?

"And don't you ever, ever accuse me, or so much as intimate that the children are not being properly looked after. They are. And as long as they continue to live with me, they will be. I'll make sure of that. Unlike you, Katie and Benjamin are my first priority."

How did she jump to the conclusion that he thought the children weren't being well looked after? Maybe he should be concerned. "I'm sorry — "

"You damn well should be."

"I didn't come here to fight with you."

She cocked a hip and crossed her arms against her chest. "Then why are you here? Without calling first again, I might add."

He felt run over by a steam roller. "Have you thought about professional help for them? And professional help for you?"

"Professional help for me?" She threw her hands into the air. "God, Jonathan. Do you think divorcing you is something I'll never get over?" She narrowed her eyes, as though just realizing something. "Or is it because I'm expressing how I feel that you think I'm crazy? You're a real piece of work, you know that." She inhaled deeply, as though his question needed aeration.

"As far as getting help for the children, how do you think they'll react to you after that? Don't you think they'll hate you even more because they have to see a therapist because of what you did to them?"

That never occurred to him. "I'm sorry."

"You should be. Children should never suffer because of the mistakes of their parents."

He considered a rebuttal and changed his mind. She had a point. "Well, if you need anything — "

The doorbell rang.

Her hesitation and the flush of her cheeks told him what he needed to know. "Expecting someone?" He watched her sprint toward the door. There was more going on in this house and with her than she wanted him to know. What was it?

"Alex."

Her voice carried to him from the front entry. Jonathan jammed his hands in the pockets of his trousers, walked softly to the entrance of the living room and eavesdropped.

"Oh, you shouldn't have, but thank you. They're lovely."

"Did you already take the children to school?"

"Yes."

Jonathan peeked around the doorway in time to see the fellow she called Alex brush a strand of hair from his ex-wife's face.

"You look upset," Alex said. "Everything all right?"

Jonathan cleared his throat and entered the foyer. They turned and stared at him like he was an intruder. Actually, he felt like one. He waited for Susan to make the introductions. When she didn't, he extended his hand. "Jonathan Turner. Susan's ex-husband." An awkward moment followed.

"Alex Cowan."

They shook hands and Jonathan sized up Susan's friend. Alex Cowan. Jonathan heard that name before. Where?

"What do you do for a living, Mr. Cowan?'

Alex crossed his arms against his chest. "I'm between jobs right now."

"What is it that you do when — " A sharp pain stabbed the back of Jonathan's neck. He stifled a yelp and absorbed the pain.

"You're flushed, Jonathan," Susan said. "Something the matter?"

Of course, she would notice. He didn't relish a repeat performance of the other night.

"No. Everything's fine. Well, I'd better be going. Susan, I'll see you on Friday when I pick up the kids."

"Fine."

Jonathan nodded at Alex and left.

Sitting behind the wheel of his car, he made a mental note to check out Alex Cowan. He'd run his name through the computer and see what Susan's boyfriend was trying to hide. Jonathan would also make an appointment with his doctor. Maybe Susan was right. Maybe he was about to blow a gasket and the pains he experienced were a prelude to something nastier, like a heart attack.

***

I watched Jonathan leave. Grateful to see him gone, I turned my eyes from the door and looked at Alex.

"Uptight, isn't he?" he asked, chuckling.

I laughed. "You have no idea." I had a lot to learn about how divorced couples managed to be in each other's company without feeling hostile. I did a good job of picking up the pieces of our shattered lives. Now if only I could find a solution for wanting to gouge out my ex-husband's eyes every time we came face to face.

Alex pulled a slip of paper from the inside pocket of his leather jacket. "Here's a list of electricians, plumbers and carpenters."

"You're a man of your word." I looked down at the bouquet of wild flowers in my hand. "I have to warn you. Being nice to me might be harmful to your health."

"Your ex?"

I nodded.

"I'll take my chances."

I liked that. Jonathan intimidated most people, including me. But not so much anymore, I happily noted. "He has a big gun."

"I saw that." He shrugged.

"Jonathan's suspicious by nature. He'll probably check you out and has the resources to do it."

"I'm an open book. I have nothing to hide."

"Good, because if you did, he'll find it."

He hesitated a moment, then shrugged. "Nothing to find."

I smiled. "I'll put these in water." He followed me into the kitchen. "I haven't unpacked any vases yet." I filled an eight-ounce glass with bottled water, arranged the flowers and stepped back to admire them. "The flowers are lovely, but the glass doesn't do them justice. They deserve crystal."

"I'm sure they appreciate the bottled water, though. I can't take credit for them. They're your flowers."

"Mine?" I didn't understand.

"From the flower garden along the side of the house. You probably haven't had a chance to walk the grounds, yet."

"True." I wondered what other gems I might find out there.

He moved closer to me. "You look nice."

I ran a hand over my hair. "You're too kind. I must look like the Bride of Frankenstein."

"Not at all." He glanced around the room. "This isn't so bad."

I laughed.

"It's my positive side."

"Maybe I should try that on my ex-husband." I tilted my head. "You know, it just occurred to me you know so much more about me than I do you. Tell me about yourself."

He continued to stare at me. "There's not much to tell."

"Okay, now you have me thinking you're a serial killer who puts divorcées out of their misery." I loved his laugh. "Do you have children?"

"I've never been married."

"You don't need to be married to have children."

He smiled. "I'll rephrase. I don't have any children that I'm aware of." He leaned against the counter next to me and crossed his arms against his chest.

Our bodies brushed against each other. I looked up at him. "What do you do for a living?"

"I dabble a little in some things, but don't do a whole lot of any one thing."

"That must be nice."

"A few years back, I stumbled onto an investment, and it affords me my lifestyle today."

"Did you always live here?"

"Born and bred. After I graduated high school, I took business admin at UMaine and after that moved to Portland where I managed a small but lucrative business for a few years." He paused.

"And?"

"Then I moved back here. I always missed this town. It's home to me."

I shoved off the counter and stood a few feet back from him. "You can take the boy out of the town but you can't take the town out of the boy."

"Something like that."

There was more to Alex than that, but I decided not to press the matter. "Any brothers or sisters?"

"No. Or at least none that I know about."

"What do you mean?"

"I was raised in foster homes."

Remembering the love of my parents and my happy childhood, my heart went out to him.

"I'm sorry." An awkward moment passed between us. "Have you ever tried to locate your birth parents?"

"I did years ago, but didn't get lucky."

"It's not as difficult as it once was to find birth parents. With the Internet and the numerous websites — "

"I'm not really interested."

The cold look in his eyes shut me up.

"Did you learn anything useful from Leroy about your ghost?"

"Not too much." I thought about that for a moment and realized I'd learned nothing at all from him.

"What do you intend to do now?"

Good question. It crossed my mind to sell the house, but only flittingly. I was not a quitter; not without a fight, at least. I might give in to a person's demands too easily, but I did not quit. "First of all, I'm going to get as much information as I can about the previous owners of the house. Maybe there's a clue in there somewhere why Irwin chose this house to inhabit." The doorbell rang. "That must be the fella from Home Building Supplies. Can you wait?"

He glanced at his watch. "I have an appointment." He brushed his lips against my cheek. "Take care. I'll call you tonight and see how you made out." He left through the kitchen door.

I touched my cheek where he kissed me and smiled. The doorbell rang again. "Hold your horses. I'm coming."

Chapter 12

Every day this week I drove the children to their schools, then returned home and worked at removing wallpaper until my hands refused to scrape, pull or rub. Afterward, I showered and walked to the library. Exhausting my anxiety through physical labor relaxed me, but the time I spent doing research exhilarated me. Truthfully, I had no idea what I was doing or what poking into the past would uncover, but it seemed as good a start as any to learning why Irwin inhabited my house.

After four days, I had mapped out a history. In 1908, a man named James Allen, a widower with two children prior to his marriage the year before to Bernadette, built the house. According to the records, it was the first house on the street. There had been a previous house on the property and I thought it might have been destroyed by fire, although I couldn't find any newspaper articles relating to that happening. The details became a little sketchy at that point. It didn't pertain to my house, but I still wanted to learn about it, too, but left it for another time.

James Allen was a poor man. He, like many others in town, worked as a logger running logs down the Bekksid River to the local saw mill. Five years and four children later, the same river that provided his livelihood took his life.

His widow supported herself and their six children after her husband's death by cooking, cleaning and sewing for the affluent in town.

In 1917, Bernadette married Joseph Smythe, a widower with two children. They now had eight children between them. But, alas, Bernadette seemed destined to be a widow. In 1932, Joseph died from what the doctor called "the grippe." Pneumonia, I surmised.

After her death in 1965, the children sold the house to Anthony Cabrini and his wife, Dorothea. They had one six-year-old son, Rocco, who was killed two months later by a dump truck hauling bark from the paper mill to the dump.

That same year, the Simsons bought the house, and for the following fifty-six years lived there until their deaths last year. They had no children. They willed their estate to the Catholic Church.

I caught a glimpse of the past and the tragedies surrounding the house. Owners. Dates. Occupations. Deaths. Every fact and every detail I uncovered made me understand the house and the owners a little more. It bothered me there wasn't more information on Dorothea and her husband and why they sold their house. Maybe it was because the house reminded them of their son's tragic death.

I checked my watch. It was time to pick up the kids from school, then get them packed and psyched for their weekend with their father. I stuffed all my notes in my oversized bag and left the library, wondering what purpose, if any, they would serve.

***

Friday morning, Alex called and invited me to dinner at his house. He promised a home-cooked meal. After seven days of restaurant food, it didn't matter whether he could cook or not. Anything resembling home cooking made me nearly delirious with delight.

I'd accepted the invitation eagerly, but now I was having misgivings. It sounded too much like a date. Actually, I didn't have a problem with going out with him. My dilemma was with what might follow at the end of the evening. Plain and simple, I wasn't ready for sex. Maybe I might never be. I enjoyed the friendship developing between us. Bad sex would ruin that. Jonathan once said there wasn't such a thing as bad sex. He'd be the authority on that subject, wouldn't he?

I stared into my clothes closet, feeling melancholy. I missed my girlfriends. They abandoned me after Jonathan moved out. Not right away, of course. But little by little, one by one. Maybe they feared I'd go after their husbands. Fat chance of that happening.

I experienced a tremor of guilt. Instead of wondering what to wear or if Alex and I would end up in bed, I should be listening to my kids, asking them how their day had gone, whether there were any problems at school. Oh, I knew I didn't have to be with them or available to them every minute of every day, and it wasn't as though I handed them off to Jonathan tonight because of a date. It was his scheduled weekend with them.

The children were not excited about spending the weekend with their father. They both made good arguments why it shouldn't happen: I would be left all alone. I might need help. You know ... then they'd eye roll the ceiling, indicating the ghost. When that failed to convince me, they pointed out there was still more wallpaper to tear down and they could only help me with that on the weekends. It thrilled me Katie preferred my company to Jonathan's, but I didn't relent. They both needed to spend time with their father, whether they realized it or not. And another thing. I should talk to the children about Irwin. I felt guilty about that, too, but the thought of doing so frightened me more. It would make him ... it all that more real.

I decided on my navy jumpsuit.

"Mom."

The knock on my bedroom door sounded like a blast from a howitzer. The door swung open and Benjamin sprinted across the room, stopping only when his feet landed on mine.

"What?"

"Katie's doing that thing with her eyes again."

I knew what he meant. The thing where she sucked in her cheeks and rolled her eyeballs back in their sockets until only the whites showed.

"And she repeats everything I say."

"Just don't look at her, Benjamin. Just don't look at her, Benjamin."

"Maw-um." He knuckled my arm, grinning.

It wasn't a good idea for me to get on Katie's case right now, so I manipulated the situation. "What would you have me do?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Would you like me to spank her?"

He grinned. "She's too old for a spanking."

"Kids never get too old for their mommas to spank."

"No?" he asked on an intake of breath.

"No, and you're right. She does deserve a spanking." I dashed across the room, hoping Benjamin would stop me before I made it to the door. At this gallop he needed to intervene soon. Maybe I put too much faith in his compassionate nature. Four feet away ... three ... two... _Stop me, Benjamin._

"Mom, don't."

I stopped, turned and feigned surprise. "You don't want me to spank your sister? But didn't we agree she deserved one?" I watched as he lowered his eyes and his long, dark lashes rested on his lower lids.

"She doesn't really."

"No? Why not?"

His lower lip trembled. "Cuz ... cuz ... maybe I made faces at her first and maybe I repeated everything she said first."

"Ah." I could always count on Benjamin to tell the truth.

"But her faces are scarier than mine."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Some of your faces are pretty scary, too." I tweaked his nose.

"You think so?"

Benjamin lost a top front tooth this week. His toothless smile had me grinning. "I know so."

He hugged me. "Mom, can I go with you to Alex's tonight?"

I saw that coming. "You don't want to disappoint your father, do you?" A long silent moment passed.

"No." But he wasn't pleased about it. His clenched fists told me so.

"Do you know where my gold hoop earrings are?" I rummaged through my jewelry box.

Benjamin giggled into his hand.

"What?"

"Irwin's wearing them."

He had to stop doing things like that. This morning I found the teapot sitting in the toilet. Yuck. That found its way into the trash in a hurry.

"They're not happy campers," I warned Jonathan when he arrived to pick up Katie and Benjamin promptly at six o'clock.

He looked over my shoulder and watched them trudge down the stairs. "They seem okay to me."

God, how I hated that. Whatever I told him, his opinion differed. It ... he never changed. If he told me that, I'd take him at his word. But not Jonathan. Sometimes I wondered whether he disagreed with everything I said because he could.

"You look nice, Susan."

Months ago that smoky look in his eyes would have made me dizzy. I handed him a slip of paper with Alex's telephone number. "Here's where I'll be tonight in case you need to get in touch with me."

"They'll be fine." He frowned. "Where are you going?"

Like that was any of his business. "Nowhere."

"Nowhere? What's this telephone number for, then?"

Busted. I needed to fine-tune my lie-making skills. Fudging the truth seemed an imperative part of divorce. "Alex invited me to his house for dinner." I looked away from his face, the face I loved so dearly a few months ago, and pasted a joyful smile, hugged my kids and wished them a great weekend.

I left for Alex's house at seven o'clock. I took my time, enjoying the brisk air and the sounds of my new neighborhood.

Within two minutes, I stood on the sidewalk and faced his massive story-and-a-half house, a rose among weeds. It looked like he replaced the original cedar clapboard siding with matching siding. He had painted it a soft beige with Wedgwood blue-colored shutters. Double-hung windows with white grilles completed the look. It told me so much about him. He liked the old, but accepted the new, different from his neighbors, yet very much alike. I couldn't wait to see inside and wondered if my house would ever look so visually appealing.

"May I help you?"

Distantly, his voice broke through my thoughts. He must have been watching for me. I smiled and opened the gate in the white picket fence and walked toward him where he stood on the veranda. I remembered asking him that same question the night we met. "I was just admiring your home. It's beautiful." Just as he stared at my house that first night, I stared at his, but for different reasons. He had been interested in knowing whether mine housed a ghost while I'd appreciated the beauty of his.

He grinned. "Would you like a tour?"

I smiled and climbed the steps. "An offer I can't refuse."

He leaned over and brushed his lips across my cheek. "You look great."

Alex looked pretty good himself. He wore black dress pants and a black turtleneck in a lightweight material. He'd shaved and gotten a haircut. I liked this look, but I liked the old one, too, the one where his hair curled at the ends and his face sported an evening shadow. "You don't look half bad yourself."

He whisked me inside, obviously anxious for my reaction. I didn't disappoint him.

"Wow. This is amazing." I tried to take in everything at one time. It was impossible. There was too much to appreciate. "This is magnificent." The curving staircase directly ahead, the gleaming hardwood floors beneath my feet, the expansive rooms on either side of me virtually took away my breath. The living room — parlor as my grand-mama would say — boasted furniture probably as old as the house.

To my right sat an even larger room. I pictured Alex sitting in one of the two black leather wingback chairs on either side of a roaring fire, smoking a pipe. The wainscoting, which I deduced by the polished luster, had been redone. The walls were painted a cranberry color. Velvet drapes held back by matching tiebacks in the same color framed the living room window and the two long windows on either side of the fireplace. The room was very masculine, but a woman could get comfortable in it.

He helped me out of my jacket and followed my finger as it went from the cornice moldings to the wide baseboards.

"You redid this all yourself?" I asked.

"Inch by painstaking inch."

I didn't do the math, but I guesstimated it took months to do. The man must have the patience of Job.

"Do you like it?"

"Like it? I love it. I can't wait to finish mine now."

We walked into the kitchen. I marveled at the marble counter tops, stainless steel side-by-side refrigerator and microwave, countertop stove, built-in oven and dishwasher. The twelve-by-twelve beige ceramic flooring surprised me. I expected oak flooring, maybe parquet, but never ceramic. An archway from the dining room led to a glassed-in semicircular wraparound veranda overlooking the back yard.

"So, what do you think?"

"Running water through copper pipes had me salivating, cabinets and countertops have me positively covetous. You have impeccable taste." I settled on a stool at the butcher's block while he opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses.

Our fingers touched when I accepted the glass from his hand. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

He took a stool across from me. Tendrils of dark, curly hair fell across his forehead.

"What does?"

"Doing all the work yourself. A sense of accomplishment. The thrill of having something metamorphose before your eyes. At least it does for me. Our houses will really belong to us once we're finished, don't you think?" Judging by the look on his face, I said something that surprised him. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Most people can't see past the work that needs to be done."

I nodded. "I might be one of those people if I hadn't needed something to occupy my time when I house searched. It started out as therapy for me, but now I find I'm really enjoying it. Maybe I'll go into business renovating old homes. I can use my house as a model."

"How did that list of names I gave you work out?"

"Great, thanks. According to the plumber and electrician, my old pipes are a flood waiting to happen and the wiring is an inferno waiting to ignite. They're both going to start on Monday, and on the following Thursday, my new cabinets and countertops will be installed." I rubbed my hands together. I couldn't wait. Something dawned on me. "You're handy with a scraper. Maybe your father was a carpenter and you came by working with wood and your hands honestly."

He smiled. I loved the overlap of his front tooth. "You're not going to let up on it, are you?"

I put on my wide-eyed innocent look. "Let up on what?"

"On me trying to locate my birth parents."

"I'm sorry. I can't imagine not wanting to find them, not wanting to know. If I had a chance to get my parents back, I'd jump at it."

He gave me a long, steady look. "How long ago did your parents die?"

"Dad died twenty-five years ago. He was a supervisor at the mill and was killed in an industrial accident." I shuddered at the memory. "I don't know quite how it happened or why. He shouldn't have been anywhere near the machinery he was. And depending who you asked, the story was always different.

"My mom took his death really hard. A few years later, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was operated on, but there were complications.... she didn't last very long afterward. I nursed her at home." My eyes filled with tears. I still missed her, even after all this time. Maybe I would never stop grieving.

"How old were you at the time?"

"Nineteen."

"That must have been hard on you."

It was. I'd do it again, though, without question and without hesitation. "A little."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"An older brother and sister, Elizabeth and Ryan. They both live in town."

"Are you close to them?"

"I was once, but not now." I stared at the wine in my glass, then gulped the remainder.

He refilled my glass. "What happened?"

I shrugged. "It was over my mother's estate. She'd willed everything to me. I didn't know she'd changed her will. I told Elizabeth and Ryan I'd split the money evenly among us, but they took me to court instead. They contested the will and accused me of coercing her into signing a new will. Can you imagine? I was nineteen years old. How would I know anything about wills? How would I know enough to do that?" I closed my eyes for a moment against that unpleasant memory. "I nursed her because I wanted to. I loved her. All along I thought it was about the money, but it wasn't. It was about their guilt and jealousy." I stared into his eyes and realized how easy it was to talk to him. I never told anyone this story, not even Jonathan. It wasn't because it shamed me or that I felt guilty. Their behavior embarrassed me.

"They didn't win?"

I shook my head. "No. After my dad died, my mother bought my sister and brother their homes and new cars. The judge said they already received their share of my mother's estate."

"And now you're alone again."

I stared at my wine, thinking how true that was. "After my mother died and what my brother and sister did to me, I thought I'd die from the hurt. I was brought up to believe my family would always stand by me, always love me no matter what. I had no one to turn to. I cried for six months, then one day I woke up and vowed I wouldn't look back. I haven't. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger, right?" I raised my face into the air, aware of how Alex hung on my every word. "Now that I think about it, that happening helped me cope with my divorce. And I can't believe I'm airing private matters with a stranger."

"I'm not really a stranger, am I?"

He was right. A stranger wouldn't know the things he knew about me. "No, you're not."

"Tell me about your ex-husband."

I took my glass and cradled it between my palms. "He's a bastard." I smiled to soften my words. "I'm sorry. He's not really. I just like to think he is. He's a good man and a good father and he was a good husband, despite his faults. We all have them, don't we?"

He propped his elbows on the block and rested his chin in the palms of his hands. "So, you're past the divorce?"

The question called for a witty answer. I didn't have one. "Not yet, but I will be. I hardly think about it anymore, and I try hard not to think about Jonathan at all." I leaned over and peeked into the glass door of the oven. "Dinner smells wonderful."

"Meat loaf, baked potatoes, peas and baby carrots from my garden last year," he said, as though reading my mind.

My mouth watered. "I haven't had meat loaf since ... I can't remember when."

"Well, you're in for a treat tonight. My meat loaf is magnifico." He kissed his fingertips and sent the kiss into the air.

I laughed. He had that effect on me.

"How's your research coming along? Unearth anything interesting?"

I didn't know Alex very well, but there was something underlying in his eyes. Intensity, maybe. It unnerved me a little, but that didn't stop me from telling him what I learned so far. He was an intent listener. Something just occurred to me. "How did these men avoid being drafted?"

"Drafted?"

Sometimes my thoughts ran ahead of me and I jumped into the middle of a discussion in my mind. "The first World War. I thought every man over eighteen was sent to fight."

"Not every man. If there were extenuating circumstances, or if a man had health problems, he wasn't drafted."

I remembered reading something along those lines.

"Now that you know the history of your house, do you know why the ghost is there?"

In my mind I went over everything I learned. After a moment, I answered, "No idea. But I'm sure there's a clue in there somewhere. I just need to find it."

Chapter 13

It neared midnight when we called it a night. Alex insisted on walking me the short distance home. Snow fell heavily, our first snowfall of the season. I couldn't stop my enthusiasm.

"It's snowing," I exclaimed, fastening my jacket. I bounded down the steps, raised my face into the air and closed my eyes. Snowflakes, perfect and pure, cooled my face. With my hands splayed at my sides, I turned, embracing Nature's beauteous splendor. "Isn't it wonderful? Don't you just love it. There is nothing more beautiful than falling snow." I hugged myself and looked at Alex standing beside me. I couldn't tell if he shared my passion, but that wouldn't stop my excitement. I loved snow and wasn't ashamed that I did.

We made our way onto the sidewalk. "Look." I grabbed his arm with one hand and with the other pointed to the streetlight across the road. "Look how the light reflects the snow. It's like a rushing waterfall in bright sunlight."

His generous laugh swept me back to the present.

I stared at his red face. "What?"

"Do you always get so excited about snow?"

"No. Yes. Don't you?" I couldn't understand anyone not getting excited about snow.

He shook his head. He still smiled, though. "I can't say that I do."

"I suppose when you see snow, you see a shovel."

"Maybe." He bumped my hip. "What do you see?"

"I see white woven blankets and purity and serenity. I see snow angels, children building snowmen and forts. I see rosy cheeks, sparkling eyes and innocent smiles." I paused to cup a hand around my ear. "Can't you hear their laughter? What a glorious sound." Alex hooked his arm around my waist. Something else occurred to me. "Christmas is coming." Caught up in that thought, I wrapped my arms around his midsection and hugged him. A second later, I stepped back, embarrassed. "Do you decorate for Christmas?" I stared at the sidewalk.

"Of course. Don't you?"

I chuckled. "Not as much as I'd like. Jonathan had more conservative ideas about decorating. I wanted lights strung everywhere, wreaths with big red velvet bows and candles in every window and Santas and snowmen perched among the evergreen trees." Without conscious thought, I remembered the dream. It sobered me.

"What is it?" Alex asked.

"Nothing." I shrugged, then decided why not tell him. He knew so much about me already.

"Every year starting in August I'd dream Jonathan decided we wouldn't decorate for Christmas that year. I'd wake, gasping for breath with my hair plastered to my head and my heart jumping like jacks."

He took my hand and clasped it tightly. "You shouldn't have any more dreams like that now."

"True." Now I was in control, not Jonathan. I could decorate for Christmas any damn way I pleased.

We strode down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, side by side, as couples do. It seemed we'd known each other for years rather than a couple of weeks. Conversation came easy. And the man could cook. He would make some woman a wonderful wife one day. Role reversal. I liked the logistics of that.

We arrived at my house. I expected more than a sisterly peck on the cheek tonight, but after I unlocked the door and noticed how rigid he stood, a handshake wouldn't have surprised me. We said our good-byes and he feather-kissed my cheek as he always did. Damn.

Throughout the evening, from one minute to the next, I'd expected Alex to throw me over his shoulder — he didn't seem the type to tenderly sweep a woman into his arms — dash upstairs to the master bedroom and make savage, erotic love to me. But that never happened. Bummer.

Funny I should think that, considering my earlier views on the subject, but true all the same. I locked the door and performed a quick surveillance of the house. Everything appeared in order, or more accurately, in disorder.

My legs trembled as I walked toward the staircase. Maybe I should have taken Alex up on his offer to spend the night in his guest bedroom.

I climbed two steps, stopped and looked over my shoulder. Satisfied no one or nothing lurked behind me, I ascended two more steps. A chill filled the air and wisps of hair on the nape of my neck fluttered. My heart raced like an engine. I clutched the banister with one hand and rubbed my neck with the other. I forced composure.

"So you are here, Irwin. You don't frighten me, you know," I said with more bravado than I felt. Staring straight ahead, I clambered up the remaining steps, knowing instinctively he would follow, and stopped only when I reached my bedroom.

My queen-size bed with my mother's hand-stitched quilt beckoned me, but the thought of undressing made me shy. Ghosts saw everything, didn't they? If so, then Irwin saw it all before and maybe had done much worse than peek. I hadn't forgotten that night in the bathtub.

Should I change in the closet? Or should I change as I would any other time? I opted for the latter.

I took a flannel nightgown from a dresser drawer, threw my jacket over the wicker chair and slipped out of my shoes. I undid the side zipper of my jumpsuit and clasped the bodice tightly against my chest with both hands. "Close your eyes." I winked. Where did this cavalier attitude come from? I didn't understand it. Twenty years ago I might not have survived seeing a ghost. Obviously, my courage swelled proportionately with my ego if I thought I could win a fight against a ghost. In two swift moves, my jumpsuit fell to the floor and I donned my nightgown.

If I survived the night, my first stop in the morning would be at the library. I imagined a plenitude of literature on the subject of the paranormal. Besides, it would take me out of the house. The idea of spending as little time alone with Irwin as possible appealed to me. I'd put the history of the house on hold for the time being.

I hopped into bed, turned off the bedside lamp, pulled the covers to my chin and snuggled against freshly laundered sheets. In the moonlight filtering in through the gossamer curtains, I stared at the cracks in the ceiling, my mind spinning like a whirligig.

My divorce would be final soon. A few short months ago, I couldn't have visualized myself with any man besides Jonathan. The time had come for me to find out who I was besides the ex-Mrs. Jonathan Turner, taken-for-granted-woman.

My mother taught me never to be cruel to people or animals, never to believe my way was the only way and to trust until someone gave me reason not to. Though a lot of good it did me, I bore that in mind always. Now, for the first time in sixteen years, I was free to make decisions. Like whether I'd sleep with Alex. My face grew feverish at the thought. If our relationship took that turn, the choice would be mine to make. I was the boss of myself now.

Many years had passed since my dating years, and I might be out of practice and mistaking the signs that tell a woman a man was hot for her, but it seemed Alex wanted me. I always thought when a man cooked for you he was trying to get you into bed. Not so with Alex.

Maybe he didn't want sex with me. Maybe our friendship satisfied him. Or maybe he wanted something else entirely. That had me thinking. What could he want besides friendship and sex?

Since the divorce, I often wondered whether Jonathan had truly loved me, or whether my half million dollar inheritance had been the attraction.

Irwin was awfully quiet. Was he up to something? Could Irwin read my thoughts? Irwin, if you can, go fuck yourself. It took me all of my forty years to say the "f" word. It filled me with triumph. No, that wasn't correct, either. I felt liberated.

I giggled, thinking I pushed the envelope with Irwin, but I didn't care. My mother would protect me. The room breathed the delicate scent of lilacs, her favorite flower. "Good night. I love you."

"I love you, too, Mommy."

Christ almighty. His voice jolted me upright. "I told you before, Irwin. I am not your mother." I peered around the room and found him standing at the foot of my bed.

"Do you know where my mommy is?"

"No." I wondered if his mother was living. If I could find her, maybe she could convince him to cross over.

"Can you take me to her? I miss her. I want to be with my mommy." The room filled with the sound of a child's broken heart.

"I'll try to find her for you." The words surprised me. Just like that I added him to my ever-growing list of things to do. Now, in addition to being a divorced mother of two, a homemaker, a homeowner, a contractor, an entrepreneur, a researcher, I took on the part of spirit detective. It struck me then how out there a conversation with a ghost looked.

The sobbing stopped.

"You will?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Do you promise? Cross your heart and hope to die?"

"Yes." I hoped I could deliver. "Can you tell me anything about yourself?"

Silence fell on the room. I waited a moment, then another. When he didn't answer, I called his name.

"I'm trying, but I can't remember."

"How long has it been since ... er ... you ...?"

"Eons."

That told me a lot. God. How was I to help him without a starting point or a reference of some sort?

"I've always been a part of this house."

Of course. Why would he inhabit this house if he hadn't lived here at one time? Or died here? My house must be the key.

I remembered the night when Jonathan paid me an unexpected visit and the pains he'd experienced. Irwin caused those pains. It appeared he didn't like Jonathan but liked Alex, otherwise he would have hurt him, too. Did I miss something? Did Irwin feel I needed protection from my ex-husband?

"I wish I could help you. I want to help you. If I knew what happened to you, what your name is, it would steer me in the right direction."

Irwin came closer to me. My hand trembled when I held it out to him. His sad eyes met mine. My hand passed through him.

"Where's Benjamin? I like him. We have fun together."

Shouldn't he know where Benjamin was? Maybe he wasn't here all the time. "Benjamin and Katie are with their father for the weekend." First thing Sunday night after they returned home I intended to talk to the children about these ghosts. I couldn't put it off any longer. It was clear they weren't going away, not without assistance, anyway. I hated including my mother in that analogy. I liked to think of her not as a ghost but guardian angel. Wouldn't those who loved us and left watch out for us from beyond? I truly believed they would.

The sound of Irwin's wails pierced my heart.

Then there was silence.

I was alone.

Chapter 14

The next morning I puttered around the house, brooding. I missed Benjamin and Katie. Not even the idea of uncovering the reason for Irwin's presence could lure me from the doldrums.

Midmorning, I took a break from doing nothing and admired the view from my living room window. It was a picture postcard. Snow clung to the branches of the elms, a perfect backdrop for the azure sky and bright sun. A red baseball cap floating along the veranda railing caught my eye. Leroy was paying me a visit.

I opened the door and invited him in, but he refused to budge from his position on the stoop.

"How'd you know Alex?" he asked.

For Leroy to know that, he'd been watching my house again. I didn't take offense. Actually, it comforted me. His terseness didn't bother me, either. Obviously, my haunted house frightened him, and he dispensed with the cordial banalities he might normally extend at the onset of conversation.

"Leroy, wouldn't you be more comfortable inside? It's freezing out there." I knew he'd refuse the invitation again, but I had to ask.

He vigorously shook his head. "This'll only take a minute."

"Okay." Since he brought up the subject, I figured on sucking dry this fount of information, even if it meant freezing my toes. "I met him the first night we moved in. Why? Is there something I should know about him?"

"No." Leroy pulled a blue and white polka dot hankie from the back pocket of his denim coveralls and mopped his brow. My house caused him a great deal of anxiety and yet here he was wanting to help.

"What can you tell me about him?" I asked, wrapping my arms across my chest to ward off a chill.

"He's a successful businessman."

At first, that came as a surprise, then I remembered my earlier chat with Alex. "Oh, you mean the investment he stumbled onto."

He stared at me blankly a moment before asking, "Investment?"

"Y... yes." Goose bumps broke out on my forearms as I repeated what Alex had told me. "The investment that affords him his lifestyle today." Leroy continued to look at me in the same vacant way. I couldn't determine whether he'd had a momentary lapse from reality or if he thought I had. Alarmed, I couldn't outwait him.

"If there's something I should know about him, I'd appreciate knowing." Mug shots of rapists, murderers, child molesters and thieves flashed before my eyes. Alex could have a rap sheet an arm long and I not only spent time alone with him, but also enjoyed myself, which had me questioning my good sense. Maybe I wasn't sane. Maybe I wasn't fit to raise children.

"You have nothing to fear from him, Susan," Leroy finally said.

"No?" I asked around a catch in my throat.

"No."

Leroy would know. He seemed to know everything. So would Jonathan, I realized now that my heartbeat wasn't pounding in my ears and could think straight. Jonathan would have already checked out Alex. If there had been anything to find, my cop ex-husband would surely have found it. Since Jonathan hadn't confronted me, I assumed there was nothing sinister in Alex's background. I relaxed.

"Why didn't Alex ever marry?"

"I can see you think of him more than just a friend."

I bit the inside of my cheek. "Maybe. He likes women, though?" What a stupid question. Of course he liked women.

"Aye, that he does."

"Is there anything else you can tell me about him?"

"Only hearsay and the suspicions of an old, old man."

Gossip had never interested me more. I opened my mouth to ask what he'd heard and what his suspicions were but he was already waving me farewell and dashing across my lawn.

At noon, Alex dropped by with Chinese take-out, enough for four. The bag overflowed with chicken chow mien with mushrooms, breaded shrimp with lemon, chicken fried rice and fortune cookies. The delicious aroma reminded me of my empty stomach.

"I hope you like Chinese," he said, smiling.

"I love Chinese."

Like an old friend, he kissed me on the cheek. The gesture was so familiar it occurred to me he might greet all of his friends that way — a peck on the cheek that would befit anyone from casual acquaintance to a lifelong friend. I felt a little put out until it entered my mind the reason behind those thoughts. Then I simply felt sheepish.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, I did. Very well. Why don't you build a fire, and I'll lay out a blanket. We'll pretend we're having a picnic." I guided him around boxes and stacked furniture and into the living room. "There's more kindling in the back porch if you need it. I'll get the plates."

A fire blazed in the hearth when I returned. "I hope the chimney is sound." Though I'd already made a fire, the size of the flames shooting up the flue from Alex's fire caused me concern.

He grinned and winked. "We'll soon find out."

"I don't want the house to burn down." It occurred to me that I didn't have a fall-back plan. I needed one now that I was the sole caregiver of Katie and Benjamin. Who could I turn to in a time of need? A hand patted my arm. I looked at Alex's slender fingers, then into his eyes.

"The chimney's fine," he said. "I checked."

"Oh, okay." I relaxed and spread a throw across the floor.

We sat cross-legged and spooned food onto our plates.

Around a jumbo shrimp, I said, "Leroy came by a little while ago."

"Oh?"

Unable to hold back, I laughed at his stunned expression. "Don't look so surprised. This is a small street in a small town and everyone likes to know everyone's business. You told me so yourself. Besides, Leroy and I are friends. Is it so surprising he'd pay me a visit?"

"It is, given how he feels about this house." Alex peered at the ceiling.

I answered his unasked question. "Irwin's not here. Probably otherwise occupied."

"Ah."

Leroy's cryptic response to my query about Alex made me even more curious about the man sitting aside me. Men loved to talk about themselves, especially their accomplishments and successes. Alex didn't. The little I'd learned about him I virtually had to drag from him. He seemed almost bashful about his self-worth. Why? Had something happened in his past that made him less than forthcoming?

"How would you describe yourself, Alex?"

He gave the fried rice his undivided attention before answering. "As a man who appreciates the little things life has to offer. I'm an ordinary man, Susan, leading an ordinary life." He looked around. "I should have brought wine."

Clearly, talking about himself made him nervous. The effects of his discomfort pervaded the air, making me antsy. "I have a bottle. Somewhere." I looked around, too.

"Bottled water is fine."

So much for plying him with alcohol to loosen his tongue. I returned with two bottles and handed him one. I clinked my bottle against his. "May you never forget what is worth remembering, or remember what is best forgotten."

The color drained from Alex's face. I became alarmed. "What is it? Did I say something wrong? It was one of my father's favorite sayings. It just popped out."

He coughed, sputtered and shook his head. "I ... I swallowed the wrong way." He coughed again.

I stood and pounded his back. "Better?"

"Yes, much."

I sat back down, feeling unnerved by his reaction to a simple saying. I hadn't meant anything by it, but the adage had obviously struck a chord for Alex.

He raised his bottle in salute. "May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest day of your past."

"That's so sweet. Thank you." I smiled, the moment leading to this one already forgotten. Without further conversation, we finished eating and set our empty plates aside. "Tell me about yourself."

"I'm an open book. What would you like to know?"

I stretched out before the fire, my head resting on a throw pillow and my legs crossed at the ankles. "I know we're the same age, but on what day were you born?"

"November 1st."

I turned toward him. "All Saints Day."

He nodded.

I made a mental note to check newspaper articles around that time on our birth year for an announcement. Taking a look at the society pages seemed a good idea, too. First though, before I hit the library, I'd interrogate Leroy more. This time on his own turf where he wouldn't run like a frightened banshee.

"When's your birthday?"

I took a sip of water. "December 25th."

"Poor you."

"Poor me? Why? I share my birthday with Jesus. I got double the amount of gifts Christmas morning and turkey with all the trimmings every year. What more could a child ask for?"

"You're glass is always half full, isn't it?" He brushed a strand of hair away from my eyes.

We stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. Oddly, words failed me. Unlike last night, this lapse in conversation grew more awkward with each passing second.

Alex broke the silence. "What're your plans for tonight?"

I turned on my stomach and faced him, resting my head in the palm of my hands. "No plans." Like I ever had any.

"Then I have a treat for you."

"What do you have in mind?" Images of our sweat-slicked bodies, his legs entwined around mine, long slender fingers shivering my fevered flesh flashed before my eyes. Being this close to him inspired those thoughts.

"It's a surprise."

I hugged myself. "I love surprises." Something occurred to me. "Is this a date?"

"No way."

My spirits plummeted. I wanted this man and to know he wanted to date me would do wonders for my self-esteem.

"Legally, you're still married."

He did want to date me. Yay. "Right." A fact I forgot more and more in his company.

"And you're pretty traditional, right?"

"Right." But less and less.

A smile poised at the corner of his mouth. His sensual mouth. How would his lips feel against mine? I envisioned the two of us leaning in toward each other. Preparing to kiss, our mouths parted. Just as I was about to learn what it would be like to kiss him, fingers snapped before my face.

"What?" I asked, feeling annoyed by the intrusion.

"Where were you just now?"

"I ... I ...." Aie-ya-ya. Before I could make a complete buffoon of myself, Irwin appeared and ruffled the curls on the nape of Alex's neck. I feared what Irwin might do. He hadn't hurt Alex in the past, but I couldn't take the chance that wouldn't change. Alex needed to leave and right away.

"How should I dress for our non-date tonight?" I stood and held out my hand to him.

"Casual and warm." He clasped my hand.

I helped him to his feet. "Should I bring anything?"

"Just yourself."

We walked toward the door.

"I guess I'm leaving."

I laughed. "I'm giving you the salesman's rush. Do you mind? I really have a lot to do this afternoon."

"Not at all. I have some things to do, too." He leaned forward and planted a we'll-do-lunch kiss on my cheek. "I'll pick you up at seven."

"I'll be ready."

When the door latched, I scooted into the living room. "Irwin?" I spun in a slow circle.

"Irwin?" Still no response. Damn. I needed to make sure he remembered my rules. "Okay. Have it your way." I snatched a fortune cookie out of the bag, cracked it open and read: The answers you seek are yours to find. "Harrumph."

I grabbed my jacket from atop a packing box and dashed from the house. Within two minutes, I rang Leroy and Clara's doorbell. Footsteps sounded from within, then the door swung open.

"Hiya, Leroy. I decided to take you up on that offer of tea."

"Clara," Leroy said over his shoulder. "We've got company."

Leroy's excitement made me cringe with shame. I was there for one reason — to pump him for information — and he was treating me like royalty. I slipped out of my shoes and followed him into the living room where he ushered me toward the sofa. They probably didn't get many visitors. The thought saddened me. I vowed to stop over more often for no reason other than to sit and chat with two people whose company I enjoyed.

Clara came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. "Susan, what a pleasant surprise. It's so nice to see you again."

Okay, on my lowlife meter, I hovered near ten. They were so excited about my visit and I hadn't really come to visit with them. I was such scum. "Hi, Clara."

"Where's Benjamin?" She looked around.

"Benjamin and Katie are with their father this weekend." The look of disappointment that swept her face made me say, "I'll bring him by Sunday night."

She beamed. "We'd like that. Would you care for a cup of tea, dear? I just brewed a fresh pot."

"I'd love a cup. Thanks." And that was the God's truth. Better than Prozac, which I felt I needed from time to time. "Can I help?" I half stood.

She shook her head. "Sit and keep Leroy company. I'll just be a minute."

Clara's spry step amazed me. Truthfully, so much about these people amazed me. I relaxed against the luxurious cushions and turned to Leroy sitting in the lazy-boy across from me.

"She likes to do things herself. I let her. It makes her feel in charge."

The twinkle in his eyes made me smile.

"I heard that."

He laughed and shifted positions. "She's not as deaf as she lets on."

I wouldn't argue that.

"So, what would you like to know?"

His directness caught me unaware. "You know why I'm here? Am I that transparent?" I fiddled with the buttons on my jacket.

"When you live to be my age, you learn a little about reading a person's expressions. For instance, I know you feel guilty because you're not here only to have tea with us."

I nodded and studied my white-stockinged feet. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Clara and I enjoy company however it comes to us."

Was it possible for me to feel any crummier? I didn't think so. I decided to get right to the point, but first Leroy needed to be put at ease. "This is not about the uninvited guest in my home."

He leaned forward. "It's not?"

"No. This is about Alex."

"Oh." He reclined against the back of his chair.

"You mentioned this morning about some rumors?"

"Aye. That I did."

"Would you tell me about them?"

He deployed the footrest and took his time placing his feet on it. Then he leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling.

Clara appeared carrying a silver-plated tray and set it on the coffee table.

I expected tea, maybe cookies, but not the spread she'd laid out. Sandwiches, cream puffs, strawberry and raspberry jam — home preserves — biscuits and cookies. Oh God. My stomach was full. I mustered a smile. "This looks wonderful, Clara."

"We were just about to have lunch." She filled a plate. "Bridget used to join us like this all the time. Isn't that right, Leroy?"

"Back when she still knew who she was." He grunted and took the plate Clara handed him.

I helped myself to one of everything and spooned jams on biscuits. My stomach cried out in protest. I'd force down every last speck of food on my plate if it killed me. Since Clara went to so much trouble, I could at least appreciate her effort.

"What happened in Alex's past that was so awful?" I bit into an egg salad wedge, chewed and swallowed, taking a cream puff in my hand.

"Such a sad story." Clara shook her head.

Leroy held up a finger toward Clara and stared into my eyes. "Do you really want to get involved in Alex's problems?"

He had a point — my cup runneth over in that area — , but I nodded.

"You've had your share of problems," he said.

My surprise must have shown because he laughed. "I'm not a wizard. I can see the pain in your eyes, though you do a good job of covering it up with a smile."

I swallowed the last bite of cream puff. "I'll get over it."

"Susan, do you believe in a purpose in life?"

"I never thought about it, but I suppose so." I chomped a biscuit to bits and swallowed.

"Good. Do you see the move to this street as a belittlement, an anticlimax to how you envisioned your life?"

"No." He looked at me over the rim of his bi-focal lenses and I gave that answer more thought. "Maybe a little."

"Do you think you were destined to take the path of the last few months?"

Now that I believed in ghosts, I could believe in anything. "Maybe."

"Life has all sorts of twists and turns." Clara sipped her tea. "That's what makes it so exciting."

"Have you researched your house?" Leroy asked.

"Yes." I told him what I learned.

"Good. You're on the right track. Keep following the path."

"Can you give me some ideas about what I should be looking for?"

He gazed into space for so long I thought he'd fallen asleep. "Check the birth announcements around the time Alex was born."

"I planned to do that. Anything else?"

He cast his eyes upward and to the right. I knew what he was about to say would be the truth. If he'd cast his eyes upward and to the left, he would be formulating a lie. At least, that's what lie experts say.

"Check the obits for the next day."

"The obits for the next day? Why? Alex didn't die." At his stern expression, I said, "Okay, got it. Anything else?"

"If I tell you everything I know now, would you come back for tea?"

***

When Leroy returned to the living room after showing Susan out, he found his wife dabbing tears from her cheeks. He rushed to her side. "Clara, honey, what's the matter?"

"Did you see the way that poor girl ate?" she asked against his chest. "She must be starved."

She sat back and dried her eyes on her apron. "Those poor children." She shuddered. "She must be having a hard time, divorced, buying that house ... she can't have much money ... Leroy, we must make it a point to invite them to dinner every chance we get."

He smiled. "I think that's a dandy idea, sweet pea."

Chapter 15

At seven o'clock, just as I came downstairs, Alex was letting himself in. The liberty didn't bother me, but his tight-fitting jeans and how they outlined his hips and crotch did. He wore a dark green, long-sleeved polo shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders. That bothered me, too. I jumped from the second last step and landed within inches of his chest. He put out his hands and steadied me.

"You left your door unlocked," he said.

A locked door provided security. Of course, that was when evil was on the street and not in my house. In my present circumstances, an unlocked door made a quick getaway easier, if one became necessary. I couldn't tell Alex that, though. He'd want to spend the night on my sofa and the temptation to join him would be too great. I wanted that, but not yet.

"Well, hi to you, too," I said.

He stood fixed in position for a moment, then smiled. "Hi." He brushed his lips against my cheek. "You really shouldn't leave your doors unlocked."

I felt like a chastised child. "I'll remember from now on. Okay?"

"Okay."

I grabbed my leather jacket from the coat rack, noticing his attention to my little derrière. I wore my good butt jeans and was happy I did.

He turned his gaze to my coat. "Do you have anything warmer than that?"

"Like?"

"A parka."

My curiosity overcame me. "What'll we be doing tonight exactly?"

He mimed zipping his lips.

"Okay, okay." I draped my jacket over the newel post. "I have a parka, but it isn't pretty."

"Tonight is about having fun, not making a fashion statement."

Fun. I could use some of that. "Where're we going again?"

He grinned. "I'm not that easy."

God, how I knew that. I pulled my parka off a hook in the closet and held it up for inspection. That old mustard stain on the pocket hadn't disappeared. The rips and frayed cuffs hadn't repaired themselves, either. I swung the coat around my back. Feathers escaped from the tears and flew into the air.

Alex fanned his face. "That jacket's seen better days."

I chuckled. "Didn't I say it wasn't pretty?" I slipped my feet into sneakers.

"Any snow boots?"

Strange, but I unpacked the winter footwear that afternoon after I returned from Leroy's.

"As a matter of fact, I do." I searched the back of the hall closet and found mine. "Voilá."

He examined them. "They'll do."

I donned the parka and boots. "Anything else?"

"Hat, scarf and mittens."

I rummaged around on the shelf of the closet and came out holding all three items in my sweaty palms. "Ta da."

"Good."

Parka, snow boots, mittens, scarf, hat — That could only mean one thing in my mind. "Oh, you sly devil. We're going ice fishing." I jabbed his chest playfully. "I used to go all the time with my father. You need to be warned though. I always catch the most fish."

He shook his head.

"No?" My spirits dipped.

"The strait's not frozen yet."

Why didn't that occur to me? "Right." I stared at Alex's sneakered feet. "Aren't you coming to the North Pole with me?"

God, I loved his laugh. The warmth in his hazel eyes made me reconsider my decision to snoop into his past. Maybe I should mind my own business. There was certainly enough of it. Wouldn't it be nice, though, if I could reunite him with his biological parents and free him of the sadness that sometimes plagued his eyes?

"My gear's in the car."

"Car?"

His brows formed an inverted V. "Are we having comprehension problems tonight?"

"Don't ask me why, but I pictured a horse and sleigh or ... that's it. We're going snowmobiling."

He shook his head again. "Good guess, but no."

Bummer. I enjoyed that winter activity, too.

"All set?"

"Like gelatin."

I grabbed my keys and turned out the lights. It unsettled me not knowing our destination or what he planned for this evening. Nevertheless, I followed him out the door.

"Your chariot awaits, Madame." He swept his hand toward the vehicle idling at the curb. I stepped onto the veranda and gasped. "You own a Lincoln Navigator?" In answer to his surprised expression that I knew anything about cars, I said, "When I shopped for a car, it was a toss-up between a Volvo and a Lincoln. Since Volvos are supposed to be the safest and most reliable car on the road, I opted for safety rather than luxury what with the kids and all." And if he believed that a Lincoln was within my budget ... well, he could be sold on anything.

"Oh. Okay, I believe that."

His grin told me otherwise.

We walked to the car.

He opened the passenger door and helped me onto the seat. I settled on the heated leather and stared at the colored lights on the dash, feeling like I sat in the cockpit of a jet. I resisted the urge to press buttons.

Alex got behind the wheel, put the vehicle in gear, checked for traffic, then pulled onto the road. "Have you eaten?"

"Have I ever. I went over for tea with Leroy and Clara and got a banquet." Another partial truth, but I couldn't tell him I went to them looking for information about him. I wanted finding the location of his biological parents to be a surprise.

He stopped at a red light at the intersection and looked over at me. "That was nice of you." Make me feel worse, why don't you? "Uh-huh."

"They don't get many visitors. After what happened when they tried to help Vincent and Bridget, they're still shunned. Everyone thought they were crazy with all that talk about ghosts and haunted houses. People have long memories."

I suspected that was the reason for Leroy's sudden philosophical bent. After the humiliation they suffered when he tried to help Vincent and Bridget, he obviously wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. He trod carefully this time, guiding me toward the answers rather than giving me the answers.

Alex turned onto the by-pass and headed west. "Where're we going again?"

"It's a surprise, remember? Sit back and relax." He popped a CD in the player.

I trusted him, but didn't understand why. I snuggled into the seat. Whether it was all the food I ate today or the satisfaction from believing all my questions about the house and Alex would soon be answered, I drifted off to Beethoven's Fifth.

When I woke an hour later, I was mortified. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep." What he must think of me.

"It's okay. You were tired." He looked at me and smiled. "You have drool on the corner of your mouth."

Oh, God. I'd drooled. Wiping my mouth, I looked out the window and saw that we traveled up a mountain. I immediately knew our destination. "We're going to Dhoon Mountain." I perked up. "I've never been before."

"Really?" He took his attention from the road. "That surprises me."

It didn't surprise me. "I wanted to take the kids, but something always stood in the way — Jonathan's work, bad weather, bad timing ...." My voice trailed off. "Don't you need a membership to get in here?"

"You don't need one, but I have one, though."

For all I knew about him, he could own the resort.

He pulled into a space between two cars in the well-lit parking lot in front of the building.

Outdoor enthusiasts like myself milled about, dressed in the finest outdoor apparel — unlike me — in a wide array of vivid colors, taking skis from racks atop their cars, entering and exiting the building, all with happy smiles. I heard their excited voices from inside the car and grinned. I understood how they felt. The first snowfall, the wind whipping through your hair, the rush from speeding down a ski slope —

"Did you want to go in for a drink or do you want to do what we came here to do and have a drink later?"

My stomach somersaulted, but I managed to squeak, "What did we come here to do?"

His grin made me feel so misguided.

"Why tobogganing, of course."

Judging from the flickering brightness in his eyes, he knew I'd jump to the wrong conclusion.

"Of course." I hoped my words sounded upbeat and not disappointed — what I truly felt.

"So, which is it? Sliding first, then a drink?"

"Sounds good to me." I didn't drink much. The thought of barreling down a mountainside half-looped terrified me.

"As you wish, madam." He smiled as he opened the power window of the cargo hold and got out of the Lincoln. He donned a ski jacket, removed his Nikes and pulled on snow boots. Clutching leather mitts in his hands, he went in search of a toboggan while I leaned against the vehicle admiring the sights and enjoying the bustle around me.

I didn't know what exhilarated me more — the clear mountain air, the freshly fallen snow, Alex's company or that he planned this excursion knowing my love for snow and wanted to do something just for me. Jonathan never put my wants or needs before his. I grew so accustomed to never being thought about that toward the end of our marriage I didn't know my own likes and dislikes anymore. Did Jonathan do special things for me when we dated and during the first years of our marriage? I couldn't recollect if he had.

Dhoon Mountain Resort, built a few years ago, was cedar and glass construction with windows overlooking a huge lake, the mountains, and a view of forever. A stone chimney the width of my house took up a minute part of one side of the building. What sat before my eyes was fabulous under a canopy of a star-speckled sky and a full moon, but I ached to see it under a bright sun and clear blue sky.

Alex returned hauling an aluminum toboggan behind him.

"It's as beautiful here as I envisioned it." I hugged myself and sighed.

"I spend a lot of time here. In the summer there's hiking along the nature trails, hay rides, swimming, tennis, biking, horseback riding, fishing." He pointed to his right. "Just beyond that ridge, surrounded by pine trees, there's a pond that's stocked with trout. This place is particularly beautiful in the fall when the leaves are changing."

"It must be."

"It reminds me of where I grew up."

I remembered an earlier conversation of ours. "Didn't you tell me you were born and bred in Sheffield?"

He shook his head. "No, I was raised in Portland."

"Oh." Funny, I thought he told me differently. In fact, I know he did. Why did he lie?

"Shall we?" He motioned toward the sliding hill.

I pulled on my hat and mitts. "Let's do it." Already my thoughts turned to after — a hot toddy in front of a roaring fire and, then .... well, time would tell.

Hand in hand, we strolled across the parking lot. We hadn't touched once since we left the house. I appreciated the closeness so much more now. For not pushing me for intimacy and for not exploiting my vulnerability, he scored more points. Alex was a wonderful man.

He aligned the toboggan. A little to the left, then a little to the right, and we were set to go. He sat at the back and stretched his legs on either side. I sat between them and took hold of the rope. We pushed off and descended the hill. The wind rushing at me and the powdery snow dusting my face felt exhilarating. "The last time I had this much fun I had to be in bed at seven thirty," I said over my shoulder.

The tension of the last few months washed from my body. I gazed up at the full moon and the stars. No one else existed. It was just the two of us.

Midway down the long slope, a northerly gale picked up at our backs, propelling us faster. Puffs of snow blew at us as the toboggan accelerated faster and plowed through drifts.

We hit a patch of ice and the speed of our descent increased even more. Before long, we spiraled out of control. I clutched the rope in a death grip, feeling my life depended on it.

"Susan."

"What?"

"Tree."

I followed the direction of his outstretched hand. Oh my God. A fifty-foot Scotch Pine loomed directly in our path.

"Use the reins."

Reins? I never heard the rope referred to that way before.

"Steer."

"I'm trying."

He reached around me for the rope, but I was already jerking it to the left. The toboggan turned a little, but not enough. We still maintained a collision course with the tree. I estimated ten yards separated us. Oh my God. Nine yards. I leaned my weight to the left, but nothing happened. Eight yards ....

"Bail."

The next thing I knew, strong arms yanked me from the toboggan. We landed hard in the snow, then flipped over, the wind carrying away my screams. One of my snow boots whizzed past my head, taking my knitted hat with it.

Down the hill we went, tumbling, body clinging to body, until we stopped with a thud beneath the gigantic bottom branches of the pine alongside a badly dented toboggan. Alex's weight on top of me made breathing extremely difficult.

He placed his hands on either side of me and raised himself. "Are you hurt?"

I inhaled deeply. "I don't think so." I flexed my legs and hands.

Our eyes met and held. For an instant, the world around me stilled. In the next moment, he leaned forward and kissed me. He took me by surprise, but only until I remembered this was what I wanted. When the kiss ended, I drew an alarmed breath, thinking that this was the defining moment for us. We could never go back to being just friends. The thought frightened me. I couldn't lose Alex. He'd become an important and wonderful part of my life. Then the desire that simmered in my thoughts these past few weeks burst to life. I lifted my head from the ground and kissed him, hungrily, greedily, as though we lived our last moments. I inhaled his masculine scent, the scent of pine needles and the musky odor of a wood fire.

He groaned and abruptly broke away from me. "This isn't the place."

I looked around. We were alone. The moment was now. I grabbed his jacket, pulled him to me and shamelessly kissed him again. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. Like I was going anywhere. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to feel like a woman who was loved. Now wasn't the time for prudence. Tomorrow I'd deal with the consequences of my weakness. I needed to feel like a woman again. I ... Susan. Oh God, what was I thinking? This can't happen. Not yet. We didn't know each other long enough or well enough. Something terrible lurked in his past. I sensed it. Maybe something that could hurt my children. My children. They needed my primary attention. They needed to come first. What I wanted came second.

As though discerning my inner conflict, he muttered a curse. "This isn't right. You're vulnerable. I can't take advantage of that. You're not divorced yet." He stood and helped me to my feet.

"Right." I brushed myself off. "It's too soon. I'm not divorced yet. We should get to know each other better. Once we do, if it happens, it happens. If it doesn't, we'll still be good friends." I stared up at him. "Right?"

"Right."

Then why did our voices sound so deflated, like the wind blowing threw the trees had sucked the vitality from our existence?

Under the moonlight, he gave me a long, steady look. "Have you had enough fun for one night?"

"Not as much as I would have liked."
Chapter 16

I woke to the sound of pounding on the front door. I threw back the covers, donned my chenille robe and ran down the stairs.

"My God, where were you?" Alex asked when I swung open the door. "I've been knocking for five minutes." He gathered me in his arms, lifting me off the floor. "I thought Irwin carried you off to his netherworld lair."

"I'm fine. I overslept."

He set me down and looked at me. "I'd say. It's eleven o'clock."

"Eleven o'clock?" I said around a yawn.

"Are you sure he didn't hurt you?"

I smiled. "Irwin wouldn't hurt me or the children. We came to an understanding. I promised to help him and in return he agreed not to hurt us."

"Uh-huh. And you can take the word of a ghost?" He shook his head. "Your naiveté may be your undoing."

"Maybe." I looked at the brown paper bag in his right hand. "Whatcha got there?"

"I came bearing gifts — hot croissants from MacKay's Bakery and freshly brewed coffee."

I could easily fall in love with this man.

When I came downstairs after brushing my teeth, washing my face and dressing, he had pillows spread across the Oriental rug and a fire blazing in the hearth.

We devoured the pastries and coffee, then lounged lazily across the carpet.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

I looked up at him and smiled. "You know I did. Did you? Not everyone appreciates winter like I do."

"I had a good time."

"Are you sure? Because you don't have to do things you don't enjoy just because I like them."

He ran his hands gently up and down my forearms and looked deeply into my eyes. "Even if I didn't like barreling down a mountaintop like a whirlwind, or rolling around in the snow with you in my arms, the pleasure I got from your enjoyment would have made it all worthwhile."

"That's so sweet." And maybe a crock. The man knew what to say. I gave him that. But was it true? What would it take to convince me?

Alex stared at the wall separating the living room from the kitchen. "Why don't you tear down that wall and the wall dividing the kitchen from the dining room?"

I followed the direction of his eyes. "Are they in the way?"

He smiled. "No, but it would open up the space."

I gave that some thought. "It would."

He stood. I watched him stride through the hallway, admiring his nice buns and long, lean legs until he disappeared around the corner. A moment later the back door leading to the porch opened and closed.

I stood and stared out the living room window. Snow fell steadily again. Half a foot of powdery snow sat atop the already heavily snow-laden ground, but I couldn't take delight in the wondrous sight. Our righteous behavior last night disheartened me. It shouldn't, but it did. I should find relief in the fact that we handled our emotions like responsible adults, not like two curious teenagers with raging hormones. I wanted him like nothing I ever wanted before.

I always played by the rules, and if I didn't follow advice given to me, I listened. Just for once I wanted to experience the feeling of doing something naughty, something that, when tomorrow came, I would berate myself for, then giggle and tell myself how wicked I'd been.

Since my divorce, I questioned my sexuality. Jonathan found love in another woman's arms. What did that say about me? That I didn't satisfy him in bed? Maybe that was it. Alex seemed to want me, though. No, I corrected, he definitely wanted me. The perpendicular swelling between his legs when we laid beneath the pine tree last night told me so. Or maybe it was just sex he desired and nothing more. Men wanted sex from anyone they could get it, didn't they? It would take someone a lot more worldly than I to know. Maybe I should ask him. I imagined how a conversation like that would go and shuddered. What would he think of me then? That I was a girl masquerading as a woman, that's what. If only I could react spontaneously in the moment and damn the consequences. But no, I needed to analyze, scrutinize and plunder every ounce of fun out of everything. Well, no more.

Once we took that step, would he come back for more, or would he run in the opposite direction from me? Maybe. I liked his company and hated the thought of ruining what promised to be a wonderful friendship.

"Susan?"

I looked up and realized that Alex had spoken to me. "I'm sorry. I spaced out for a moment."

"Were you thinking about whether or not to tear down these walls?"

Yes, of course, that's what I thought about. Uh-huh. "It would open up the space, wouldn't it?"

He nodded. "You could have a peninsula separating the two areas. It'd give you extra cabinet space."

A woman could always use extra cabinet space. "And the sofa could stay where it is. A long, rectangular table would look great at its back." I envisioned it and liked the idea. It would mean less walls to repair and paint, also. That idea appealed to me even more.

"The walls aren't load-bearing. There wouldn't be a problem taking them down."

"So, they don't serve any purpose except separating the two rooms," I said more to myself than him.

He stepped back. "So, is it a go?"

"Huh?"

"Up or down?"

What a question to ask when my mind focused on erections. "Down, I guess." And before I could say another word, he took a swing at the living room wall with the sledgehammer that I never noticed in his hand until now. Dust clouded the air. I coughed and fanned my face. "I'll get masks."

I returned and handed him one. After donning the other, I opened the windows.

The sledgehammer disappeared inside the wall again. He yanked and twisted the handle until he freed it. A ragged hole about a foot wide revealed splintered slats that held the plaster in place. I took a step back and watched through clouds of plaster dust as he performed his windup and slammed the hammer against the wall again. Then again and again until every slat was broken and the plaster crumbled to the floor. He was so kind to do this for me.

After a short water break, he repeated the procedure on the opposite side, then I helped him tear off what plaster and slats clung to the walls. Only the studs remained. Once the dust settled, I stepped across the debris-covered floor and looked between the two-by-fours.

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

"I don't know. A front page of a newspaper back when this house was built or a dollar bill from that time." I shrugged.

He frowned. "Why would you think those things would be inside the wall?"

"When Jonathan and I built our house, I saw one of the carpenters putting an empty beer bottle between the studs. He said he always left something behind for someone to find later. And ..." I noticed him smiling. "What?"

"He probably said that to distract you from saying anything about him drinking on the job."

That made sense, more sense than the carpenter's explanation, for sure. "Oh." God, I was so gullible.

He shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. "It's true, though. Sometimes you do find interesting things between the walls of these old homes. For instance, did you know they used horse hair for insulation back when?"

I watched his face, waiting for those delicious dimples of his to form. They didn't. "You lie." I grinned and cocked a hip.

"No, it's the truth." He held up a hand. "Scout's honor."

"That's probably why houses back then went up like haystacks when they caught fire."

"Could be." He bent and picked up the twenty-one ounce hammer that Benjamin insisted I buy to prepare for every contingency. "It would have been interesting, though, to find a newspaper from 1965."

Something occurred to me. "How do you know when my house was built?"

He looked at me with a quizzical expression. "You told me."

"I did? When?"

"The night I cooked dinner for you."

"Right." Would anyone remember a detail like that? Maybe. Maybe not. I recalled the night I found him leaning lazily against the lamppost staring at my house. Maybe his interest was more than a morbid curiosity in ghosts.

"Now, what do you say we take down these studs and attack the other wall?"

"Go for it."

When the last stud was removed, I stood back and looked things over. He was right. Removing the walls opened up the space. The area seemed so much larger now.

While he carried the two-by-fours and bags of plaster to the back yard, I mopped the floor. Just as I finished, Jonathan arrived with the children. I rushed to the front entry.

"What's all this dust?" Jonathan asked, fanning his face in broad, exaggerated motions.

I ignored him. Benjamin dashed past him and leapt into my arms. "I missed you soooo much," he said against my face.

He hugged me so tight my spine creaked. "I missed you sooo much too, honey."

"Why's it so dusty in here?" Benjamin fanned the air and coughed.

"Alex and I tore down a couple of walls in the living room."

"Alex's here? Cool. Where is he?"

"He's outside. He'll be back in a moment."

Over his shoulder I looked at Katie trudging up the stairs. "Hi, Katie. I missed you." She stopped, grunted, but continued to look straight ahead.

"Did you have a good time?"

Another grunt.

"Mawum, you're hurting me," Benjamin complained.

"Oh. Sorry." I released my hold, but kept him close. My daughter took advantage of the moment and scooted up the remaining stairs. We'd talk later. I turned my attention to Benjamin.

"Did you have a good time?"

He cast his eyes downward. "I missed you the whole time."

I choked back a sob. Benjamin spent the whole weekend unhappy. God, what kind of parents were we to destroy our children's happy home? Why couldn't Jonathan continue to pretend to love me until the children were adults? Why couldn't he have put his son's and daughter's needs before his? I would. I did.

The back door opened and closed. Benjamin peered past me, then shook himself free. He dashed through the hallway and only stopped when the toes of his sneakers hit Alex's. "Alex. My man. Good to see ya."

They did the hip handshake, the one where they hit knuckles and slapped palms.

"I wish I would've been here to help you tear down those walls," Benjamin said, beaming. "I coulda helped. I know a lot about tearing things down cuz I watch home improvement shows all the time."

Alex smiled and ruffled Benjamin's hair. "Next time, okay?"

"Awright."

They high-fived.

No more tearing down walls for me. I'd probably still sweep up plaster dust in July.

"What wall did you take down?" Benjamin stood on tiptoes and peeked into the living room.

Alex swept his hand to the side. "Come on and I'll show ya." He nodded at Jonathan on his way by.

"Yay." Benjamin followed close behind on his heels.

I stood and turned toward Jonathan, who peered around the corner to see what we'd done in the living room. "How were they?" I asked to get my ex-husband's attention.

He turned, spread his legs and crossed his arms against his chest. I recognized the stance and knew instinctively I wouldn't like what would come next.

I stood rigid as he told me about our daughter's subterfuge Friday evening.

"I confronted her and she lied. She said the clerk was mistaken. She wasn't at the store and certainly didn't get in a car with two boys."

"Maybe he was mistaken." For whatever reason — to take my daughter's side or to ease my guilty conscience — I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Jonathan shook his head. "The clerk knew her by name, said he wanted to ask her out. He was sure it was Katie."

"And you believed him?"

"Yes."

Jonathan would know. Police work taught him how to read people. "How did you know in the first place she didn't go to Phoebe's?"

"She forgot her backpack so I went over there to bring it to her. When Phoebe said Katie hadn't arrived yet, I drove around looking for her, couldn't find her, so I went into the store to see if anyone had seen her. When I got back to Cindy's, Katie was there. She said she'd changed her mind about spending the night with her friends and took a walk instead." He looked at me. "We can't let her get away with this, Susan. I thought we'd talk to her together."

"I'll talk to her." I didn't want Jonathan involved. Katie rebelled. Jonathan disciplining her would only cause her to rebel more. "Okay?"

He agreed, but the doubt that I could manage it capably was clearly etched in his face. He gave me so little credit. "How's Cindy?" I didn't mean to spit her name.

"She's fine."

"That's good." I didn't mean to spit those words either. I looked down and tossed an invisible pebble around with my foot.

"I checked out your boyfriend."

I'd thought he might, but I asked anyway. "Why'd you do that?"

"Since he's spending time with my children, I want to know everything there is to know about him."

I doubted that reasoning prompted him to investigate Alex. Jonathan collected ammunition to use against me one day. "Maybe I should check Cindy out." I tilted my head and pretended deep thought. After a few seconds, I said, "No, wait. There's no need. I already know. She's the town mattress. With nothing between the ears but space."

"Susan."

He said my name with such pity, my bravado deserted me. No. I would not cower. I took a deep, soothing breath and returned his stare, forcing the same measure of pity in my eyes as he did his. He looked away first. Hooray for me.

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"My God, Jonathan." I bent at the waist and spun in a circle. When I stopped, I could only shake my head.

"Did you know your boyfriend didn't exist until he was two years old?" He shoved his hands in the pockets of his dress pants.

I despised that smug look on his face. How I'd love to scrape it off. "He's not my boyfriend. We're just ... oh, what's the sense? You wouldn't believe me, anyway." I threw my arms in the air. It still escaped me what I'd seen in Jonathan beyond his blond-haired-blue-eyed handsomeness.

"You're missing the point."

"No, I got your point. You investigated Alex, hoping to find something you could throw in my face. You don't want to see me happy, and you can't stand the thought I'm not withering away to nothing without you. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for what you found."

"Susan." He took a step toward me. I moved out of his reach. "I don't want to see you get hurt."

I crossed my arms against my chest, not believing that for a minute. "Why don't you just go."

He shook his head. "Not until you hear what else I found out about — "

"I don't want to hear it, Jonathan." Truthfully, I did, but not from my soon-to-be ex-husband. It would give him too much satisfaction. "Just go, Jonathan."

"No, I will not. Not until you hear what I have to say."

"Keep your voice down," I whispered. "You'll frighten the children."

Then everything happened so quickly — the sound of rapid footsteps, Benjamin and Alex charging into the front entry, a haze swirling around Jonathan's head — it seemed to all occur at once. I clutched Benjamin tightly against me.

"Is there a problem here?" Alex directed the question at Jonathan.

The two men stood head to head, like rams ready to charge. Alex's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. I thought he might take a swing at Jonathan. Benjamin couldn't see his father in a fistfight.

Benjamin moved with me when I stepped between them, facing Alex. "Everything's all right," I said softly and turned to Jonathan and narrowed my eyes. "Isn't that right?"

A moment passed, then another. He nodded, but kept his gaze on my face. "No, there's no problem."

He wasn't happy. I recognized that. "You'd better go, Jonathan." I smoothed my hair, sure it stood upright.

Noticing the frightened expression on Benjamin's face, I leaned in close to him.

"Everything's all right, sweetie." I kept my voice calm. "Daddy and I just had a difference of opinion." I shooed him back to the living room, waited three seconds, then looked up at Jonathan. "Well?"

Without turning, he grabbed hold of the doorknob, then clutched his behind and screamed for Jesus.

Unable to stop myself, I giggled. Irwin was up to his old tricks. "What's the matter, Jonathan?" I asked sweetly.

He looked at me like I'd caused his pain, then without a word, he left.

Alex looked at me. "What was that about? What happened to him?"

"Irwin likes to hurt him for some reason. You gotta admit the ghost knows an ass when he sees one."

***

Jonathan slammed his hand against the steering wheel. "Damn it." He damned himself for his lack of diplomacy, for his lack of self-control and lack of foresight, but most of all, he damned himself for his infidelity because that was what caused his life to go to Hell.

Why wouldn't she listen to him? She was angry. Rightly so, and altogether typical for an ex-wife. But she couldn't make the same mistake he did and end up with someone she didn't love. He'd thought she would want to know all she could about Alex. If only he'd known what kind of person Cindy was. If only someone had told him. That was what he was trying to do just now. Alex was not someone Susan should become involved with. She would be making a terrible mistake if she did. He didn't know how to get through to her.

Perhaps she resented him, resented his intrusion in her life. He should have been more diplomatic. Now she thought he wanted to ruin her life. No matter what he said, she twisted it around. Ex-wives were like that, he was told.

He was well-intentioned. Why couldn't she see that?

He envisioned her as she stood her ground, her eyes dancing with fire. A lump rose in his throat. God, how he loved her. If only he had realized that before Cindy. That's how he referred to every miserable thing that happened in his life lately. BC-before Cindy.

Starting the car, he took one last look at her house and vowed he would make Susan see that Alex was not the right man for her. He'd do whatever was needed to convince her.

Chapter 17

I sat on Katie's bed with my arms crossed against my chest and watched Katie sneak back into her bedroom. After she shut the window, I said, "Hello, Katie. I see you found your way back home."

I watched the expression on my daughter's face turn from surprise to fear. Good. That meant I held the upper hand. I should. It didn't always feel that way, though, and it might be only a temporary advantage, so I needed to run with it.

"Where were you?" I asked sternly. "And I want the truth, Katie."

"I snuck out to get you a cheesecake from the bakery. After your fight with dad, I wanted to do something nice for you."

I swung my legs over the side of the bed so swiftly, my daughter flinched. Never once had I raised a hand to my children. My heart bled that my daughter thought I might. "That's a whole lot of hooey, Katie." I shook my head. "Do you honestly think I'm that dense?"

My daughter was wise enough not to answer, but not wise enough not to smirk. Smirks normally triggered my temper, but a smirk on the face of my daughter angered me even more. It took all of my resolve not to do something about it.

I composed myself, then strode over to her and looked into her face. "On second thought, maybe I'm not being fair," I said softly. "Maybe I should give you the benefit of the doubt. What do you think?"

She raised her eyes and looked at me. "Yes, I think you should."

I nodded, turned and walked a few steps before pivoting. "Where's my cheesecake?"

Her startled eyes told me the question took her by surprise, but only momentarily. She regained her equilibrium quickly.

"The bakery was closed."

If this were a movie and a character had said that, I'd think, good save. But it was not a movie and I couldn't give my daughter points for deviousness. I checked my watch. Since I didn't know exactly when she left or when the bakery closed on Sundays, that might be the truth, but the reason for her excursion was not. I knew that because doing something nice for me wouldn't be high up on her to-do list these days. "Okay, I'll give you that one. But it doesn't explain why you snuck out a window."

"Sheesh, try to do something nice for you and you twist it all around."

"Don't try to guilt-trip me." I narrowed my eyes. "I'm asking you again, where were you and what were you doing?"

"I just went for a walk. Okay? I needed some fresh air. Geez. Make a federal case out of it, why don't ya."

"Why didn't you just tell me you wanted to take a walk?"

She jutted her chin. "Because I didn't think you'd let me go. You're acting all weird lately."

Was I acting weird? God, maybe so. I sat back down.

"So, am I under house arrest?"

"Come sit." I patted the bed next to me.

With hesitant steps, she walked over to the bed and sat as far away from me as she possibly could and still be on the bed.

"Where did I go wrong with you, Katie?" I asked softly. "Where did you learn it was okay to lie and manipulate people and situations? Did your father and I teach you that?"

For the first time since she climbed through the window, my daughter looked at me, really looked at me.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Friday night when you told your father you went for a walk instead of going to Phoebe's and where you ended up in a car with two young men you don't know." The stunned expression on her face proved how little credit she gave me and Jonathan. But again, she swiftly recovered her balance.

"How do you know I don't know them?"

"Do you? And before you answer, remember your father has ways of finding out." I bluffed her. Given her lack of confidence in my intuitive judgment, it just might work.

She bowed her head. "No."

"So, these boys picked you up." I stood and flung my hands in the air. God, when did my daughter forget my talks to her and think it was okay to get into cars with strangers?

"Why didn't Dad say anything to me if he knew?"

I sat back down and faced her. "Katie, that is not the issue here. Your behavior and fabrications are." More harshness braced my words than I intended. "Lies weigh you down and get you in trouble. Somewhere down the line, the truth always comes out." When all my daughter did was stare down at the floor and bang the heel of her shoe against the leg of the bed, I asked, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

A moment passed, then another. "Well?" I prompted.

"I'm sorry. I'm just so mad all the time. I'm mad at you because you weren't a better wife to Dad and because you let on like nothing has changed, like you never loved him and I'm mad at Dad because he left us and because the two of you aren't getting back together and because I know it'll never happen. Not now. Not with Cindy expecting Dad's baby. Most of the time I don't know — "

"Cindy's pregnant?" I exclaimed.

My daughter stared at me. "Didn't you know?"

I didn't like the gleam in her eyes or the slyness in her voice. She'd manipulated the situation and me and enjoyed doing so. That angered me. I took a deep breath and gave myself a quiet moment.

"No, I didn't know." I fixated on the spot on the floor my daughter stared at moments before. Jonathan's behavior made sense now. He felt trapped. And if I knew anything about him, I knew he liked choices. Cindy's pregnancy forced him into a relationship and a situation he probably didn't want. "How do you know? Did they tell you?"

She shook her head. "They didn't have to. I could tell."

"Is she showing?"

"No."

What did my daughter know about these things? Oh God, I hoped it wasn't from experience. My gaze immediately traveled to her abdomen. "Then how do you know?" I asked around a catch in my throat.

"Because Dad patted her belly a couple of times and something in Cindy's eyes when she looked at him told me they shared a special secret. I put two and two together." She shrugged.

I breathed a sigh of relief. My daughter wasn't pregnant. Hallelujah.

"I don't want to spend any more weekends with them, Mom. I'm not comfortable there."

"I know your father wants to spend time with you. He'll miss you."

"I won't miss him."

"Yes, you will, honey."

"No, I won't." She jumped up from the bed and dashed to her desk. "You're always putting words in my mouth. And you always think you know what I want." She picked up a pen and flung it against the wall.

I let my daughter have her temper tantrum. She was in a lot of pain and angry with her life, with Jonathan and me and with the way things turned out. I understood that. But I needed to put a stop to her rebellion before I lost my daughter forever or before she ended up in juvie court.

Either might happen if this continued.

"You think you know everything, Mom."

"Harumph. I wish I did." Wouldn't that be nice?

"You don't know me anymore."

"Maybe so." Truthfully, she was right. I stared at her. The sadness in her eyes ripped through my heart. I closed my eyes over the tears and took a soothing breath. "I have to be honest with you, I want my daughter back — that young, vibrant, sweet girl, the one who is compassionate, truthful and forgives mistakes."

"Yeah, well, I'm not that naïve girl anymore who believed her parents would never hurt her."

I couldn't deny that Jonathan and I hurt her. "It wasn't our intention to hurt you. I'm truly sorry we did. If I could change the way things worked out, I would, but I can't."

She threw her arms up in the air. "Shoulda, woulda, coulda."

I was at a loss. I had no experience dealing with this Katie, this rebellious teenager.

I couldn't say I didn't see it coming, and obviously my method of handling her behavior by appealing to her better nature hadn't worked. Maybe I should enlist Jonathan's help. God, how I hated the thought of doing that. But whatever the admission cost me, if it helped my daughter, I would do it. Still though, laying down the law, as I suspected Jonathan the captain of the Sheffield police force would do, wasn't the way to deal with her. Wouldn't it cause her to rebel more?

"Bad things happen in life whether we like it or not, but how we handle them is what's important. How would you have liked it if I chose to handle the divorce the way you have?" I gave her a moment to think that over. "That young woman who listened to reason, who looked at both sides of a situation, still exists." I pressed my hand against her heart. "In here. It's not too late to change your ways. Things can be good between us again, like they were. Will you at least try? If not for yourself, for me? This is tearing me apart, honey."

Katie pulled out the desk chair and sat.

So much time passed I wondered whether it was her volley or mine.

At long last, she said, "Okay, I'll try."

Her answer made me so happy I jumped up and hugged her. "I'll talk to your father about the weekends you're scheduled to spend with him. Maybe we can work it out that you spend time only with him, without spending the entire weekend."

"You'd do that for me?"

"God, Katie, the divorce didn't destroy my love for you, or my need to protect you or the desire to help you when I can." Was my willingness to help her really such a surprise?

"Okay."

"Have you learned anything from this, honey?" I needed to know whether I got through to her, whether she understood what she'd done was wrong and whether she grasped there would always be consequences to rebellious actions.

"Yes. What I did was wrong."

"And?"

"And I won't do it again."

My daughter didn't sound sincere, but it was the best I would get. "And do you give me your word you'll never get into a car with strangers again?"

She swung her leg back and forth through the air. "Yes."

"There's just one more thing. Your punishment." Judging by her facial expression, I'd say my daughter thought I'd forgotten. "Do you think I should punish you?"

She lowered her head. "Yes."

"What was that?" I cupped a hand around my ear. "I couldn't hear you."

"I said yes." She yelled.

That I heard. "What do you think it should be?"

She shrugged and avoided looking at me.

"If you had a daughter and she acted out and lied, what would you do to make her understand it is not acceptable behavior and that you wouldn't tolerate it any longer?"

"I dunno know."

"Well then, since you're not going to give me any advice, I'll decide. You're grounded for one month. To school and back home and that's it. I won't board up your bedroom window. I'll trust you not to sneak out again. Don't make me regret that decision. Do I have your word you won't get into any more cars with strange men?" She nodded. I didn't know whether to believe her or not.

The words came easy. That my daughter made the punishment necessary, didn't.

"I love you, Katie."

Chapter 18

Katie's punishment was a first for both of us. Maybe one day she would understand it was necessary. I hoped that time came soon. Maybe I had been too hard on her. But when I thought about rape, pregnancy, STDs, HIV, abduction, death, I went too easy on her. Maybe I should lock her in her room and never let her out.

From the sofa I stared out the living room window, squinting against a stream of sunlight. Around me, workmen — an electrician and his helper, a plumber and his helper and a carpenter and his helper — worked hard to keep my house from catching fire, drowning in a flood and making it visually appealing.

Irwin didn't mind the renovations. Quite the opposite, in fact. He enjoyed it. Taking their tools from one place and setting them in another and turning the water back on was particularly funny to him. He nearly caused a fatality, though, when he threw the main switch for the power. I had no choice then but to step in and reprimand him, despite that it looked like I told the ceiling moldings a thing or two.

The men ran up and down the basement stairs, the main staircase and the attic stairs with pliers, wrenches and hammers dangling from the loops of their painter-style coveralls. I supposed the sorry state of the wiring and water pipes in the house warranted fast steps. Why the carpenter and his helper traveled the stairs was beyond me, since I hired him to frame the opening for the walls Alex had torn down. But I wouldn't ask. It didn't matter really. They worked by the job. Watching them tired me, though, especially after a night where sleep had eluded me.

I found it odd that one trade would allow another trade on the same job at the same time, but when Jack, the plumber — the shortest of the three and the one with most hair — told me they were all brothers and their helpers, cousins, that explained it. They gave new meaning to family-owned businesses. They probably held shares in each other's companies.

When they'd pass through the hallway, they'd turn, nod, and say, "Ma'am." I'd return their nods and say, "Bob," "Joe" or "Jack," depending on who did the nodding.

Joe, the electrician — the tallest of the three and the baldest — asked one time on his way by, "Have you thought about putting in an alarm system?"

"No, I haven't." But I liked the idea — armed and dangerous — and told him I'd think about it. My daughter might get the wrong idea, though, if I had one installed. So much I did lately revolved around how it would affect Katie. What would she think if I did this? How would she react if I did that?

Katie weighed heavily on my conscience. Her grunts in answer to my attempts at conversation that morning said she was displeased with me. My husband's adultery. The divorce. Her rebellion. This house. The fault was all mine.

Did bad things happen to good people, or did bad things happen to bad people?

Or did bad things happen because we, the good or bad people, made them happen?

Was it my destiny to buy this house? I could just as easily have bought something else, somewhere else. It didn't even need to be in this town. Family didn't keep me in Sheffield. Jonathan would put up a fuss, though — one thing I needed less of — nor did I want to relocate, not really.

Why did a mother get to keep the kids in a divorce? It seemed unfair I did all the heavy lifting — discipline, monitoring their friends and activities, supervising homework, proper nutrition, seeing they slept on clean sheets and that their clothes were freshly laundered and ironed — and Jonathan reaped the benefits of my hard labor. He got to do the fun things with the children — popping popcorn and watching movies, roasting marshmallows, playing board games and going out for pizza and just hanging out with them. Though that wasn't true in Katie's case lately.

The whir of drills, the banging of hammers, the clang of wrenches and the sound of heavy footsteps kept me from thinking. I wanted to think. No. What I really wanted was a drink. I wasn't a drinker, but felt I needed one ... or two.

The grandfather clock chimed nine o'clock. I seriously considered spiking my Carnation Instant Breakfast with Kaluha. I had liberated the bottle last night from a packing box. It sat on the coffee table, inches away from me. All I needed to do was lean forward, extend my arm and grab hold of the pretty-shaped bottle with its pretty label and pour a dollop into my vitamin and mineral enriched breakfast. What harm would one drink do? And more than a dollop would take the edge off. No. One drink would lead to another, then another. I knew that from experience. That night after Jonathan told me he wanted a divorce, I opened a bottle of Chardonnay and didn't stop drinking until the bottle was empty.

Something soft, like a feather, brushed across my ear. Irwin was up to his old games. I swatted him away. "Not now. I haven't forgotten my promise to you. I'll go to the library the next chance I get."

Jack, who happened down the main staircase at that moment, turned to me and asked, "Did you say something, ma'am?"

I shook my head, staring at the bottle of liqueur. "Just talking to myself." I looked at him and smiled. He continued on his way with another nod.

Out of my line of vision I heard him say something, then came the sound of chuckles.

Footsteps sounded and I looked over to learn the identity of the one who laughed at me.

"Bob," I called out to the carpenter.

He stopped, his face red from laughter, but managed a "Yes, ma'am."

"Do you know anyone who does hardwood floors?"

"A-1 Flooring."

A man of few words. I liked that. "Let me guess. The owner is another brother of yours."

A hand touched my shoulder. I shrugged it off. "I said not now." Irwin was an impatient little bastard. He probably wouldn't give me a moment's peace until I found his parents.

The carpenter bowed his head and made a hasty move to leave.

"Hey, where're you going?" He stopped abruptly and looked at me as though I needed counseling. Maybe I did. "Who should I ask for at A-1 Flooring?"

"Eugene."

"Thanks. I'll give him a call."

Bob hurried up the stairs.

My thoughts turned to Christmas, then. The occasion I loved as much as snow was just around the corner. I looked around the room. There was so much work undone. The walls needed to be plastered and painted and the floors needed to be redone. The kitchen cabinets would be installed on Thursday. If I could arrange to have a plasterer finish the downstairs walls, I could paint. I never painted before, but how hard was it? Then the floors could be sanded and varathaned. If everything fell into place, it could all be finished in two weeks, with two weeks to spare before Christmas arrived.

Someone here must know someone who did plaster work, but for the first time since I arrived home from driving the children to school, I found myself alone. "Harrumph." The workers were probably gathered around the upstairs toilet having a great laugh on me, the crazy woman downstairs.

Before I chased one of them down, there was something that needed to be done, a promise that needed to be fulfilled. I reached for the cordless phone and punched in Jonathan's office number. After three rings, his secretary answered. "Captain Turner's office."

"Hi, Linda. Is my hus ... is Jonathan handy?"

"Sure, Mrs. Turner. I'll patch you through."

Jonathan came on the line a moment later. "Susan, what a pleasant surprise."

I immediately became wary. He was too nice. "It is?"

He chuckled. "After the way we left things last night, I thought you'd never want to speak to me again."

"Oh, that. I already forgot about it. Jonathan, I need a favor." I was being cagey. If he thought I would owe him, he'd be more willing to accommodate.

"Sure. What is it?"

I inhaled deeply. "It's about Katie and her weekend visits with you." About now, that vein in his forehead would be throbbing like a pulse on crack.

"Go ahead."

I heard the suspicion in his voice and gulped. "She thinks she's too old to be spending a whole weekend with her father. It isn't that she doesn't want to spend time with you. She does. It's just that she's old enough to baby sit, yet she's being baby sat. I know it's not that way, but that's how she sees it. I'm sure you can appreciate how she feels."

"What do you suggest?"

God, that was a first. Jonathan asking me for a suggestion. "I thought maybe you could take her out for pizza, a movie, spend a couple of hours together, spread out over the weekend."

"Sure, I have no problem with that."

That was easy. Maybe too easy. My earlier feeling of wariness resurfaced. "Good. I knew you'd understand." Uh-huh.

He sounded so receptive the thought entered my mind to tell him about Katie's excursion last night. No, that would only lead to accusations. I decided to leave well enough alone and end this conversation on a pleasant note. "Well, good-bye, then and thanks for understanding."

"Susan?"

"Yes?"

"Is it too late for us? Is there any chance we might get back together?"

For so long I had yearned to hear those questions. Now that I heard them, they angered me.

"No chance in hell."

***

Alex stood and paced the length of the den. He couldn't deny what had happened between them when they'd kissed. He'd been in love and in lust before and knew the difference between chemistry and love. There was a vast difference between the two.

He loved Susan, an occurrence he had vowed never to let happen again, but here he was — in love and perturbed with himself for falling for Susan, yet happy that he had.

The fault was hers. If she weren't so damned cute, if she didn't have such a quirky sense of humor and wonderful personality, it wouldn't have happened. This was a complication he hadn't anticipated.

What about Susan? Was she in love with him? Yes. She didn't realize it yet, but she was. Her love for him radiated in her eyes.

Like nothing he wanted before, he wanted to marry her, to make her his. But she might not want to marry, not so soon, maybe not ever. She had more to consider than herself. She'd put her children ahead of her own happiness. Her life revolved around them. He understood that.

If they married, he'd center his life around all of them. In time, love for Benjamin and Katie would come. Certainly faster in Benjamin's case. Katie might take a little extra work.

But that was okay. He enjoyed a challenge.

He already liked Benjamin, and even Katie, though she made it difficult at times. Maybe she'd tow the line with him now since he promised to keep her secret. Secret. How he despised the word. He wouldn't rat her out, but somehow he'd convince her to tell her mother the truth.

Katie was lucky he walked past that alleyway yesterday when he did. Anger had gotten the best of him when he'd seen that guy sneak his hand inside her sweater. Katie had no experience with boys. The sleaze he'd hauled off her and thrown to the ground was hardly a boy, though. He was at least four years her senior. She hadn't been hurt, but if he hadn't happened along when he had, she might not have been so lucky.

He stopped pacing to stoke the fire, thinking back to his proposal to Naomi. Marriage had been something they'd both wanted, but once he told her his true identity and that he was that little boy, she'd not only broken off their engagement, she'd fled the state.

He'd expected there would be some surprise and that she'd need time to accept his past, but never that reaction. He wouldn't make that mistake again. But would that be a mistake, too? Susan was nothing like Naomi, but Susan could still react to the truth like Naomi had. No, he wouldn't tell Susan his secret. Some things were better left unknown, some things better left untold. Still, though, he found himself at odds with what he knew in his heart — that he should tell Susan the truth.

He leaned the poker against the bricks of the fireplace, then sat in the wingback chair. He stared at the ceiling, cursing the sins of his parents. But he wasn't like them, certainly not anything like his father. Like father, like son? No, he was not.

Things happen because they were meant to happen. Though he couldn't understand why what had happened to his family needed to happen. He decided to make good things happen and knew right where to begin.

He grabbed the cordless phone from the desk and punched in the number of his good friend, Ollie Driscoll, the person who everyone called who wanted to know something about someone.

Fifteen minutes later, after a quick shower, he navigated the snow-packed streets toward Greenwood Lane.

Chapter 19

Alex pulled his Lincoln to a stop close to the snow bank on the side of the street and shut off the engine. He studied the Cape Cod-style house.

White smoke billowed in a straight plume from the flue. Sheer drapes, as white as the snow swirling in tufts around the shrubs edging the house, draped the windows. A wreath decorated with sprigs of holly and a large red bow hung on the front door. Icicle lights were strung neatly across the eaves. Silver spruce and Scotch pine trees sat sporadically across the front yard, their branches heavily laden with snow. The paved driveway leading to a double car garage was clear of snow and ice. Though snow covered the grass, he imagined it as meticulously kept as the house.

He hopped from the Lincoln, strode up the cobblestone walkway, and thirty seconds later rang the doorbell. From the front stoop he heard the melodic chime sing through the house.

A tall, brown-eyed blonde answered the door. She wore her hair pulled back in a neat bun and was dressed in black silk Capri pants, a white silk blouse and black low-heeled sling backs.

"Yes?" she asked in a perfectly modulated voice.

"Elizabeth Palmer?"

"Yes." She frowned and in that moment, he recognized a resemblance between the two women.

"My name is Alex Cowan. I'm a friend of Susan's."

"Is she all right? Has something happened to my sister?" She placed a hand across her heart and inhaled.

"She's fine." He smiled to reassure her.

She exhaled.

Her reaction pleased him. Obviously, she still cared about her sister. Maybe all was not lost between them. "May I come in? There's something I need to talk to you about." Alex noticed her white-knuckle grip on the door did not relax. "I'll only take up a few minutes of your time, or if you'd feel more comfortable, we could talk here. It's about Susan. It's important."

She hesitated a moment, then stepped aside. "Come in."

He crossed the threshold and entered a spacious and expensively furnished foyer.

Beneath his feet, an Oriental rug in deep shades of red and gold stretched across the breadth of the doorway. Opposite an antique settee, a gilded mirror hung on the wall above a mahogany console. Overhead a crystal chandelier sparkled in the sunlight streaming in through the sidelights at the door. If he remembered correctly, her husband was an orthodontist.

She closed the door behind him. "We'll be more comfortable in the living room."

After wiping his shoes, he followed behind her.

She took a seat on an ivory brocade Provincial sofa and indicated for him to sit in a wingback chair across from her. He unbuttoned his black wool topcoat, loosened the cashmere scarf around his neck, and sat.

"I'm expecting company in a few minutes." She glanced at her watch.

He wondered if that were a warning. She didn't look like the easily frightened type. "I promise I won't take up much of your time."

She searched his face, seemingly trying to determine what he was about to say but was too polite to ask.

He decided to get right to the point.

"This is about what happened between you and your brother and Susan years ago."

"This conversation is over." She made a move to stand.

He leaned back in the chair. "I'm going to ask Susan to marry me when her divorce is final." It occurred to him she might not know anything about her sister's life. "You know she's in the process of getting a divorce?"

She sat back down. "I may have heard something about that. What does that have to do with me? I'm sure you aren't here to ask for my sister's hand in marriage."

He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. "No, I'm not. I'd like all of Susan's family to attend the wedding, and I'm here to ask you to end this feud. I know it would please Susan if it were over." That was true. He had seen the pain in her eyes when she'd told him what happened between her siblings and her.

"I have a right to my anger. What Susan did was inexcusable." She crossed her arms against her chest and stared at the fire burning in the hearth.

"Susan told me you thought she coerced your mother into changing her will."

"She did."

Only a short while ago she worried something had happened to Susan, and for that brief moment she hadn't thought about the hurt of the past. This was not a woman who forgave or forgot easily. "Mrs. Palmer, would a nineteen-year-old know enough to do something like that?" He shook his head. "I'm not so sure." He kept his voice calm, hoping she would see the good sense behind that question.

"She's very smart."

He smiled. "I agree with you there. But coercion spells deviousness to me, and I don't see your sister as devious." A moment passed, then another.

"I have a right to be angry."

"Maybe so, but isn't it time to bury the hatchet? Twenty-one years is a long time to be angry." When she didn't answer, he relaxed against the back of the chair and crossed his legs.

"Do you have children, Mrs. Palmer?" He knew she didn't. The information Ollie gathered on her and her husband was comprehensive.

She shook her head.

"Susan has two. Katie is sixteen. She's growing into a wonderful young lady. She reminds me of you. She's beautiful and intelligent. Benjamin is seven going on thirty. He's a great kid, has these big brown eyes that light up a room when he smiles and this mop of blond curly hair — "

"I know."

Though the anger she felt toward Susan hadn't abated with time, she kept up with the happenings in her sister's life. That was a good sign. Maybe there was hope for them yet. "I'm not asking you to make a decision now. Think about it. Think about all the years wasted, all the things missed. You were close once, and you can be again. Talk it over with your husband and your brother."

She gave him a long, steady look. "Why should I make the first move? Why can't it be Susan?"

He stood. "I'm sure Susan would if she knew you were receptive to a truce. What does it matter really, though, who makes the first move? As far as I'm concerned, you've both missed out on too much in each other's lives as it is and allowing it to continue is a ... well, it's just not right." He dug a business card from the inside breast pocket of his coat, wrote Susan's address on the back and handed it to her. "In case you change your mind."

"What if she slams the door in my face?"

She didn't know her sister at all. But he could see that would concern even the most confident, self-assured person. He shrugged. "At least then you can say you tried. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?" He extended his hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you." The warmth of her hand surprised him.

"I'll see you out."

At the door, he turned. "For the first two years of my life, my aunt looked after me. When she died, I was tossed from one foster home to another. I never experienced a parent's love or the love of siblings." He stared at the gleaming hardwood floors a moment. "Maybe because of that I can't imagine any rift that would cause me to be apart from my siblings." He nodded. "I hope you'll do what's right."

Behind the steering wheel of his car, Alex reconsidered his decision to make things right with Susan's family. He didn't know what he expected Elizabeth would be like, but he hadn't expected an ice princess. The thought gave him chills. Maybe it had been a mistake to interfere and maybe he should take his own advice and tell Susan about his past. Wasn't she forgiving, understanding and compassionate?

***

I answered the phone on the first ring.

"Hi, Mom, it's me."

"Katie, is something the matter?"

"No, everything's fine. I'm calling to ask you if it's all right if I tutor someone in Math for an hour at her house after school?"

"You're grounded. Remember?"

"I haven't forgotten. I can tutor her at home if you want."

"Oh God, honey. The house is such a mess." I shouldn't even consider the request, but I did. My daughter wanted to do something good, to help someone. I didn't know how I could refuse. What I didn't want to do was give in too easily. "I don't know, Katie."

"It's okay, Mom. Really. Don't sweat it. If you don't trust me ...."

"What's her name?"

"Veronica Burns."

"You never mentioned her before. Is she a new friend?"

"Uh-huh."

"Where does she live?"

"In an apartment above the barber shop on Main Street." She rhymed off the telephone number. "There won't be anyone home now, though. Her mother works during the day and her father works out of town. You can call there at four o'clock when we're there if you want. That's if you'll let me tutor her."

Katie really wanted to do this. I couldn't disappoint her. "Okay, Katie. One hour, then you come straight home."

"Got it."

"This is a good thing you're doing, honey."

Chapter 20

I ran my fingers along the new countertop. "Isn't it nice?" I asked Katie, who sat on a stool at my newly-installed island.

My daughter turned her attention away from her studies and looked at me. "Forest green goes nice with the white cabinets. You couldn't have chosen better, Mom."

"Thanks, honey."

"And," she shifted positions, "the island is a better idea than the peninsula."

I agreed and wished I could take credit for it, but the salesman at the home center had suggested it. I swept my hand softly across the surface of the upper cabinets, feeling terribly pleased with myself.

"I think I'll paint the walls a soft beige. Almond, maybe."

"That'll look nice."

Keeping my mind off my troubles wasn't a problem for me this past week. The contractors ran me ragged cleaning up after them. I did my fair share of putting them through their paces, too, though. Like when I decided the kitchen faucet wasn't to my liking after the plumber installed it and making him wait while I exchanged it for another type — not once but twice. Like asking the electrician to install pot lighting in the ceiling above the cabinets and to put more outlets in the living room when he had one foot out the door.

Every contractor had done a professional job, but the carpenter impressed me the most of all. The opening between the kitchen and living room seemed like it was always there. He matched the wood trim with that in the rest of the house and thanks to Alex and some extra hardwood flooring he had milled to replace some stained pieces in his own home, the floor matched perfectly, too.

I strode over to the sink, lifted the lever of the faucet — one-arm bandit as the plumber referred to it — and watched clear water flow into my new stainless steel double sink.

Katie giggled. The sound was ambrosia to my ears. "What?" My hands instinctively went to my hair. "I'm too old for braids, huh?"

"That's about the hundredth time you turned on the tap."

"It is? I guess I still can't believe we have taps that work right or water we can drink from them." These were both treats for me, but what I appreciated more was the kitchen cabinets and drawers. I no longer needed to rifle through cardboard boxes. "Did I tell you that the guy who's going to repair the walls will be here on Monday?"

"Yeah. Three times. But who's counting?"

I returned her smile. "Did I tell you that he agreed to prime them, too, as part of the contract?" It pleased me immensely to wangle a deal.

"Uh-huh. And that Vinnie something-or-other is finishing the floors next weekend and that we can't be here when he does because of the dust from the sanders and the noxious odors from the varathane."

"Right." I thought about taking the kids to Dhoon Mountain for that weekend. They would enjoy skiing, skating and sleigh rides. I'd also enjoy a weekend with nothing to do but play. I considered asking Alex if he would like to join us. Katie might resent his presence, though. But wasn't she her old self again? She seemed sincerely contrite for her recent bad behavior. Or was it acting? Only someone schooled in manipulation and deceit would know for sure.

The front door slammed. "Mom. Mom."

"We're in the kitchen, Benjamin," I called out and opened the oven door to check on dinner — baked ham and scalloped potatoes. Our first prepared meal since we moved in.

"Mom, I helped Mr. August put up their Christmas tree. A Scott's Pine. Eight feet tall. He said this was the first time they put up a tree in years and years and years. Hey, sis. Whatcha doing?"

"Math homework."

"It's Friday. There's no school tomorrow."

"I know. I just wanted to get it out of the way."

"I hate math," Benjamin said, crossing his eyes.

"But you always get A's."

"Don't mean I like it."

I tweaked his nose, then leaned back against the counter. Judging by the twinkle in his eyes and the flush of his face, he had something to ask me.

"When we putting up our tree, Mom? It's not too early. Mr. August said if you put molasses in the bowl that the trunk sits in, the tree'll live to be a hundred."

"I think we'll stick to tradition and dress it Christmas Eve."

He swatted his leg. "Bummer."

"How are Mr. and Mrs. August?"

"Fine. We popped popcorn to string on the tree, but we ended up eating it all. And I got to use a hand saw to cut off some branches. At first Mr. August said no, but when I told him I watch home improvement shows all the time, he said that was a different kettle of fish and that I should have told him before that I had experience because he shuuure could've used my help when he was building shelves in the pantry last week." He paused only long enough to take a quick breath.

"Look what he gave me for my hard labor." He dug in the pocket of his coveralls and handed me his payment. "It's a medal. It'll protect us from evil. It's blessed by the Bishop and everything. So there's no need to be frightened in the house anymore, Mom. The Blessed Virgin Mary will keep us all safe. She's the mother of per ... per ...."

"Perpetual help."

"And lost causes." He bobbed his head. "That's what Mr. August says."

I clutched the medal in my hand and crouched until my face leveled with his. "Sweetie, I'm not frightened living here, and you shouldn't be either. Irwin and I came to an understanding. He promised not to hurt us if I find his parents for him, remember? That's why I'm doing research at the library."

"I never break a promise, but...." He bowed his head.

What he was too diplomatic to voice was that since this was a ghost, could we trust him?

"The Virgin Mother will make him keep his promise." I forced certainty into my voice.

"How are you coming with your research, Mom?" Katie asked.

"It's coming, but slowly, since I don't know what I'm looking for. I think I'll check newspaper articles for around the time this house was built. There must be a specific reason for Irwin to inhabit this place and not another on the street."

Katie tilted her head, appearing deep in thought for a moment. "Maybe Irwin's body is buried in the house."

"Cool." Benjamin said.

I covered my heart with my hand. Perish the thought.

"Or maybe," she paused a moment, her face taking on the look of someone having a revelation, all bubbly and flushed, "or maybe this house was built over a graveyard."

"Cooler."

Katie watched too many horror movies, and Benjamin made me wonder again which branch of the family tree he stemmed from. "I don't think that's it," I said, so hoping that weren't the case, mainly because it wasn't unique. I wanted spectacular. I wanted something unheard of, like I'd wanted the reason for Jonathan divorcing me to be something different than the usual adultery or irreconcilable differences.

"It could be, though. Think about it. The Micmac Indians were the first settlers, so there must be an ancient Indian burial ground somewhere."

"Yes. On the reservation."

"They didn't always live on the reservation, though. Remember the history of Sheffield? All of this land belonged to the Indians until the white man," she stopped to make quotation marks in the air, "fought them for it. What happened to their dead?"

Good question. I had no answer.

***

While Benjamin went upstairs to get the Chinese Checkers from his room, Katie and I cleared the table and put our dinner dishes in the dishwasher. "Do you have time for a game, Katie?"

She checked her watch. "Sure."

"When did you tell Veronica you'd be there?" In a moment of weakness and because Katie was so good all week, I gave her a four hour reprieve from house arrest for tonight on the condition that she spend it at Veronica's. She agreed without argument, saying they were just going to watch videos and hang out anyway.

"Around seven, but it doesn't matter if I'm a little late."

"You have to be in by eleven, don't forget."

"I won't."

She seemed so anxious to have a stay of execution, as she put it, and now she seemed indifferent about it. Why? Maybe I was being too suspicious. Hadn't I earned the right, though?

Studying her didn't give me any insight into her thoughts. Her face was as impassive as a head of lettuce. "Would you put those empty boxes next to the door in the back porch for me, please, honey?"

Benjamin lumbered down the stairs. "Alex's here."

My heart sang yay. I sauntered into the living room, realizing I must look a fright.

Alex walked over to me. A wide grin spread across his face.

I must really look silly. If I knew he'd drop by, I would have fixed my hair. And put on a little blush and a lipstick and changed from coveralls into something sexy looking. No, I couldn't do that, either. The closest thing to sexy in my closet was Snoopy underwear.

He fingered a braid. "I like 'em." He bent and kissed my cheek.

"Gross." Benjamin slipped between us, looking up at Alex. "Wanna have a game of Chinese Checkers with us?"

"An offer I can't refuse."

The back door closed.

"Hi, Katie." Alex nodded at her. "How's everything?"

Katie paled. Was it my imagination or was there something going on between her and Alex? I shook off the thought, chalking it down to paranoia.

"Mom, I think I'll go to Veronica's now."

"Okay, honey." That, too, puzzled me. First, she seemed eager to spend time with her new friend. Then, after she had permission to go, she seemed indifferent to the idea, wanting to stay and play checkers with Benjamin and me. Now, she seemed she couldn't get out of the house fast enough. What wasn't I getting?

She kissed my cheek. "I'll be back by eleven."

"I'll set up the game," Benjamin said.

"Katie's not grounded anymore?" Alex asked.

"Only until eleven o'clock." When he frowned, I said, "I'm a pushover, aren't I?"

"Not at all."

"You don't think so?"

He tilted his face. "Well, maybe a little."

I poked him in the ribs.

"The game's all ready, Mom."

"I guess that's our cue."

Alex's smile turned into a frown, and he worried his bottom lip. What was with everyone tonight?

After four games of Checkers, I told Benjamin it was time for bed.

"Aw, Mom, it's still early."

"It's nine o'clock. Now get a move on, mister. I'll run your bath."

He hopped off the chair and went over to Alex. "Will you read me a bedtime story?"

"Sure."

Later, after Benjamin was asleep, Alex and I curled up on the sofa. It was the most relaxed I felt all week. "That was fun, wasn't it?"

His smile caressed my hair. "It was."

In that moment, I felt our spirits move closer together. I turned and kissed him softly on the lips. His lips were warm and inviting. The kiss ended. I stared at his lips, wanting more than another kiss, but that couldn't happen, not with my son upstairs. "That was nice."

"Hmm. I'm not sure. Another would help me decide."

The telephone rang.

I groaned. "Someone has terribly bad timing."

He chuckled.

The telephone rang again.

"Would you get that, Alex, and I'll get us something to drink."

"Sure."

When I came back from the kitchen, Alex was writing furiously on a coiled pad. "I'll be right there. Hang tight."

He turned to me. "I had my calls forwarded to your number. I hope you don't mind."

I shook my head, perplexed by his frenzied breathing.

"I've got to go. A friend needs my help."

Recognizing the urgency in his voice and the serious look in his eyes, I curtailed questions for later. "Okay." I set the tray on the end table. "Will you be back?" I wanted to continue where we left off.

He grabbed his jacket from the chair and gave me a quick peck on the lips. "I shouldn't be long. Keep my spot warm."

I nodded, not liking his troubled expression.
Chapter 21

Alex parked in front of a dilapidated building on Main Street and compared the number with the address Katie gave him. Inside, he jogged up the stairs to the third floor and rushed through the hallway until he came to apartment 3C. He tried the knob, but the door was locked. He knocked and shouted, "Katie."

A muffled cry for help came from within.

"Katie." He stepped back and gave the door a solid kick. It sprung open. The apartment was dark. He followed the sound of her cries and entered a bedroom. In the light filtering into the room from a streetlight he saw Katie struggling with a man on the floor. He grabbed him by the hair, yanked him upright and slammed him against the wall.

"Hey, man, whadda ya think yer doin'?"

Alex recognized him. Rob from the alley, the sleaze who was putting the moves on Katie.

"You."

"We didn't do anything, man. Just fooling around. Nothing happened."

Alex smashed Rob's head against the wall. His eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled back.

He released him and Rob fell to the floor. Alex rushed to Katie. "Did he ... did he hurt you?"

She threw herself against his chest and whimpered.

He held her tightly and stroked her hair. "It's okay," he soothed. "Everything's okay." He didn't know if that were true or not, but he hoped so for her sake and her mother's. "We have to call the police," he said softly against her hair.

She jerked out of his arms. "No. No police. My father. He'll kill me." She sobbed as though realizing for the first time the consequences of her actions. Throwing herself back against his chest, she sobbed harder.

"Okay, no police, but Katie, honey, you have to tell me what happened." She cried so hard now he doubted she could talk. "Did he rape you?"

She shook her head. "He ... he ... said ... he was ha ... having a ... party ... but when I ... I got here ...." She shuddered and hugged herself. "He ... took ... some drugs and got real ... mean, th ...throwing me around and ...." She gulped. "He tried to ta ... take off ... my clothes. I fought him. His h-hands were all over me, t-touching me ... I-I told him ... no, but he j-just kept on grab ... grabbing me ...."

"Then what happened?"

"I k-knocked him over the h-head with a l-lamp. He f-fell. I-I thought ... h-he was dead. I ran to the ... phone and called Mom. You ... you answered."

"Wasn't that a stroke of good luck?" He didn't think she would, but she smiled. He took a hankie from his pocket and dabbed the tears from her cheeks. "And then?"

"Rob woke up. He called me all kinds of ... of names and hit me across the face. I fell and he ri-ripped open my shirt and unzipped ...." She pointed to her jeans.

He nodded.

"T-that's when you ... you came in."

Behind them, Rob came to. "Fucking bitch. Fucking cock teaser."

Katie covered her ears and cried louder.

Alex sprang forward, grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him to his feet. Rob took a swing at him. Alex ducked the punch and rammed him against the wall and held him there with an arm across his throat.

The overhead light came on.

"Hey, what's going on here?"

"Who are you?" Alex asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Greg. I live here."

Alex released Rob and faced Greg. "Your friend tried to rape a sixteen-year-old girl, is what."

"Sixteen?" Greg looked at Katie. "She told us she was eighteen."

"Yeah," Rob said. "Sixteen. That little bitch." He lunged toward Katie.

Alex tripped him. Rob crashed to the floor. Alex turned to Greg. "Get him out of here while he can still use his legs." He walked over to Katie and knelt beside her.

"It's all my fault. It's all my fault." Katie strengthened her hold on Alex.

He stroked her hair and comforted her with reassurances while Greg hustled Rob out of the apartment. He couldn't deny some of what happened was Katie's fault. She'd lied to her mother, to him, and to Rob and Greg and the truth caught up with her. That didn't give Rob the right to do what he had, though, and Katie was too naïve to realize saying "No" didn't always work.

When she calmed, he put on her shoes while she fixed her clothes, then he grabbed her jacket from the floor and helped her stand. "Can you walk?"

She nodded. "I'm a little shaky, but I think I can."

"Lean on me."

She clutched him around the waist. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Shh. What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?"

"That's so cliché."

"Glad to have you back, Katie." He gave her a quick squeeze. "All set?"

They made their way slowly through the apartment and down the stairs.

"Are you going to tell my mom?"

"You know I have to. I should have told her about what happened in the alley, too."

"Mom doesn't need to know about that." She looked up at him. "You'll get in trouble because you kept that from her. I know you like her and she likes you. I won't tell. I promise."

He recognized that Katie saw him in a different light now, but what she suggested wasn't possible. "You're going to tell her everything, Katie, including the incident in the alley." When he found her and Rob in the alley, he had suspected Katie knew Rob and that she went willingly with him. But he'd given her the benefit of the doubt. He was sorry he had. If he hadn't, what happened to her tonight might not have occurred.

"Mom's going to go ballistic. She'll never trust me again."

"Your mother's not going to go ballistic." Susan's trust in her daughter was another matter.

Outside, he guided her toward his vehicle and after he fastened the seat belt around her, she smiled and whispered, "Thanks, Alex. Thanks for everything."

At Susan's, he ushered Katie ahead of him into the house.

Susan waited for them in the front entry. "I heard your car pull up and ...." She looked at Katie and gasped. "Oh my God, what happened?" She turned to Alex. "What happened?"

Katie sobbed and stumbled toward Susan with her arms outstretched.

Susan hugged her. Over Katie's shoulder, she mouthed, "Is she okay?"

No, she wasn't okay. But she would be in time. "She had a close call," he said. "She was almost raped."

Susan let out a mewl and hugged Katie tighter. "How'd this happen, Katie? You were supposed to be at Veronica's."

Alex touched Susan's elbow. "I'll tell you all about it." He turned to Katie. "Why don't you take a hot bath?"

Katie sniffled and looked at Alex. "Will you be here when I'm done?"

"If you want."

She nodded.

Alex watched her walk up the stairs.

Susan stared into Alex's face. "She was supposed to be at Veronica's. She's been lying to me all along, hasn't she?"

He nodded.

"I wanted so much to believe her. I wanted so much for our relationship to be like it was. I suspected she was lying to me. I suspected her good behavior was all an act, but I closed my eyes and pretended I didn't see."

"Don't be so hard on yourself." He brushed a strand of hair from her face. Katie fooled him, too. He told Susan what he knew and what Katie told him in the car. How she thought she'd get her parents back together if she rebelled. How she was sure they would because they loved her and didn't want to see her unhappy. How she had resented him because he was trying to take her father's place in her mother's life.

Susan shivered and hugged herself as though doing so would warm her. "Katie's been through so many changes in so short a time. I keep thinking that if Jonathan and I would have been at each other's throats all the time, she would have seen the divorce coming. She would have had time to prepare herself."

"You're such a wonderful mother. Anyone else would be livid."

"Oh, I'm furious. I want to throttle her." She sighed. "I also want to beg her forgiveness."

"You still feel responsible and guilty for the divorce."

She nodded. "Sometimes. Times like these."

"You should be thanking Jonathan."

"I should?"

"Sure. Otherwise, we probably would never have met." And they would never have fallen in love.

"That's true." She smiled. "God, what was that Rob guy thinking? I know Katie acts and looks older than sixteen, but she's so inexperienced ... and to do what he did to my daughter and get away with it ... he should be punished. I want him punished, Alex. It was assault and attempted rape. He should be charged."

"Yes, he should." If he believed laws protected the innocent, Alex would agree to pressing charges against the s.o.b.

"The look on your face tells me you don't think the police should be involved. Why not?"

"I'm thinking about Katie. How will a trial affect her? Look at it from the defense's point of view. Katie misrepresented herself. She went willingly to his apartment. Defense could argue she looked for what she got. She'll be discredited and every aspect of her life will be dissected. The end result could be that he walks and Katie is left looking like the one who did the wrong."

"God. I never thought about that. So, what ... I should just do nothing?"

"I didn't say that."

"What are you saying then?"

"Jonathan is a cop. Why don't you let him handle it?"

"He still has faith in the judicial system. He'll want to bring charges against the guy."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Because it's his daughter, it might be a different matter. He might handle it differently."

"What are you suggesting? Vigilante justice?"

"No, but I'm sure your husband has ways of dealing with someone like Rob. Katie said he took some drugs, so ...." He gave her a long, steady look. "You know you're going to have to tell him about this."

She nodded and cringed. "That's something I'm not looking forward to doing."

He ran his hands slowly up and down her arms. "I'm sure he'll understand you aren't to blame for Katie's actions."

"Maybe." She threw her hands into the air. "I was so wrong. The way I handled Katie was wrong. I thought if I showed her how much I loved her and if I was patient with her, she'd eventually come back to me. In my heart and in my mind I knew her behavior would end in something like this. I guess I wasn't willing to believe my daughter was capable of such deceit and self-destructiveness."

"Katie should be so thankful she has a father and mother who care about her so deeply and who'd do anything they could to protect her. She behaved recklessly, but I think she learned a lesson from this experience. And for what it's worth, I think you handled her behavior the right way."

"No." She shook her head. "No, I didn't. She lied to me time and time again, but still I trusted her. I'm a terrible mother."

He wiped the tears from her cheeks. "No, you're not. Katie told me in the car how much you love her and how sorry she is for hurting you and betraying your trust and how lucky she is to have a mother like you."

"She did?" she asked between sobs.

"Uh-huh." He took her in his arms. She laid her head against his chest.

"Will I ever learn that people are not as I see them, as I want to see them, as I want them to be? I trusted my family that they would love me no matter what, that they would never hurt me. But they did. And still I placed that same trust in my daughter and look what that got me. Every day I teach my children the same values my parents taught me, but that isn't enough, is it?"

"A parent can only teach their children right from wrong. How they apply those teachings is up to them."

She looked at him. "How'd you get so smart, anyway?"

He shrugged.

"After I realized the divorce was inevitable, I tried to accept Jonathan's decision with humility and grace and vowed I wouldn't be like those other women who fought with their ex-husbands about every little thing. As it turns out, I'm no different. I hate myself for it. I liked that I could punish Jonathan. I liked that I had the children and he ended up unhappy. And he is unhappy, you know. He asked me if there was a chance we could get back together."

Alex stiffened. "What did you tell him?" He held his breath, refusing to imagine his life without her.

"No chance in hell."

He exhaled. "Good for you." And good for him.

"If you weren't in my life, I might have jumped at the chance." She wiped her nose and eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.

"I'm glad I am. Going back to your husband would be a mistake. You know that."

She nodded.

He looked at her red eyes and nose and disheveled hair. "You've never looked so beautiful."

"How can you say that? I must look a wreck."

"Never."

"I'm so glad I have you. Which reminds me, you lied to me about having your calls forwarded. I know why you did, but don't try to protect me, even if you think it's for my own good. Okay?"

"You have my word." He saw her love for him in her eyes just before he kissed her. Her lips were warm and inviting. She pressed her body against his. The kiss ended. He took a step backward, knowing he could not keep his past from her any longer. Susan deserved to know the truth. Tonight seemed a night for confessions and forgiveness. A better moment might never come.

"Susan, I — "

Katie trudged down the stairs.

Chapter 22

"Hold that thought," I told Alex and rushed to Katie. "Feel better now after a hot bath?" Her chin quivered and a tear slipped down her cheek. I guided her toward the sofa. "Everything's going to be okay, honey. You'll see. This, too, shall pass." I smoothed back her hair. She had a terrible experience, but she was strong and would get past it.

Alex cleared his throat. "Maybe you should call Jonathan."

Katie whimpered beside me. "I can't keep this from your father. You know that, don't you?"

She nodded.

"And you know, too, how much your father loves you?"

"He's still going to get really mad."

I took the cordless phone in my hand. "He'll understand." Eventually. Jonathan saw on a daily basis what happened to young girls who put themselves in situations like Katie had, ending up victims of assault and rape, victims of their own naiveté. He would know, too, how close she came to being killed or scarred for the remainder of her life. And for those reasons he would be furious with her and, as illogical as it sounded, with me for allowing it to happen.

"Was Daddy mad?" Katie asked after I disconnected the line.

"A little. But he's relieved you're all right." Truthfully, he was livid. Once again I shielded her from the truth. I couldn't seem to stop myself from doing that. Maybe he'd cool off on the drive from the police station. I looked at Alex. "Maybe you should go."

Katie let out a cry. "Why can't he stay?"

At the moment Alex was her rock and her protector. I understood that, but Jonathan was angry enough at the moment. Alex's presence and involvement in something Jonathan would consider none of his business would only anger him more. Then Irwin might intervene. That worried me more than Jonathan's anger. Irwin took every opportunity to hurt him, whether it was because he didn't like him or whether he protected me, I didn't know. Where would Irwin stop?

That was something I intended never to learn. "It's better that he goes, Katie."

"I can stay. It's no problem."

Images of Alex, Jonathan and Irwin duking it out like bad boys flashed through my mind.

"That's so nice of you," and courageous and foolhardy, "but it's best if you go." A moment passed, then another where he obviously decided whether to comply with my request.

"I'll go. But if you need me, I'm just a phone call away."

"I know." I stood and walked him to the door. "I can't thank you enough for everything you did for Katie tonight and for being here for me. If it weren't for you ...." My voice caught in my throat.

He cupped my face in his hands. "I meant what I said. If Jonathan gives you or Katie a hard time — "

"You're just a phone call away." He would be the only person I'd call. I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

He brushed his lips against my cheek. "You're a strong woman, Susan. Don't let Jonathan intimidate you."

"I won't. I promise." At his skeptical expression, I added, "I can be Attila the Hun where it concerns my children."

He chuckled. "Now that I would like to see."

"Well, you can't. Now go." I shooed him out the door.

Ten minutes later, Jonathan arrived, eyes blazing and red-faced, just as I expected he would.

"Jonathan, I'll explain everything."

He ignored me and stomped to Katie. She visibly shriveled.

"Tell me what happened." His voice was stern, his posture rigid.

Katie looked at me. The fear she experienced was clearly inscribed in her eyes. "It's okay, honey. Tell your father." I nudged her on with a nod.

She took a deep breath, stared down at the floor and related the story to him. When she neared the end, I inched closer to Jonathan. He never struck either Katie or Benjamin before, but since neither of them ever gave him reason to lose his temper, I couldn't trust this wouldn't be the first time.

"What were you thinking, Katie," he screamed.

Despite my intention to field any blows, when he threw his arms into the air, I flinched. Perhaps I overestimated myself.

Katie curled into a ball, her arms shielding her face.

A sob raced up my throat seeing her like that. "Jonathan, calm down. Please. You're frightening her. She's fine. What happened wasn't her fault. It could have been a lot worse, and we should be thankful for that."

"Thankful?" He arched a brow. "Thankful? It's not as though fate placed her in that situation."

"True, but she learned her lesson, and I'm sure she won't let it happen again." I forced softness into my voice.

"I certainly hope so. She was almost raped." He threw his arms into the air again. "I still can't believe you would act so irresponsibly or be so stupid, Katie."

I wanted to scream, 'You're a fine one to talk', but a remark like that would only antagonize him.

"Daddy, I didn't think — "

"You're damned right you didn't think."

Her wails lanced my heart. "Jonathan, please."

He turned toward me so swiftly, I took a step back.

"And you... how could you let this happen, Susan?"

I hadn't prepared myself well enough for the accusation. Though I anticipated it, it still angered me. It almost slipped out about Katie's deceit and deviousness and that she lied to me time after time. I inhaled deeply and composed myself. "Jonathan, how was I supposed — "

"It wasn't Mom's fault," Katie yelled. "I told her I was going to Veronica's to watch videos."

My mouth fell open. My daughter protected me. Tears slipped from my eyes. "Oh, Katie — "

"You lied to your mother? Why you — " He made a move toward her.

Quickly, I regained my composure and blocked him like a defensive guard. "Jonathan, please don't do something you'll regret."

"Get out of my way. Let me handle this." He shoved me aside.

I stumbled a few feet and almost fell before righting myself. Peripherally, I saw Irwin materialize. I squinted hard, shook my head vigorously, praying he would take heed, and sprinted back to Jonathan. "Handle it how? The same way your father would? No, you won't. Lay one hand on her and as God is my witness ...." I eyed the nine-millimeter pistol in his shoulder holster. At that moment, I could have shot him. When I looked up, my eyes must have told him I meant business because he raised his hands in air, palms out, and backed away. I took a soothing breath, forcing composure I didn't feel.

"Jonathan," I said softly, "please. Hasn't she been through enough? She knows she shouldn't have gone to that boy's apartment and won't do something like that again." I turned to my daughter. "Right, Katie?"

She bobbed her head. "I promise."

My heart leapt to my throat as Jonathan clenched and unclenched his hands while he studied her, seemingly deciding whether to believe her or backhand her. I suspected the latter was about to happen and searched the room for Irwin. He was nowhere to be seen. But that didn't mean he wasn't here. Jonathan needed to be calmed before it was too late. "Take a deep breath, Jon," I said softly and rested a hand on his arm. "Katie's fine. She didn't get hurt."

After a moment, his breathing returned to normal and the flush on his face disappeared. I never wanted my children to see this side of their father. He should be one of the two persons they could always turn to. In his work, he stayed objective and never allowed the atrocities that was part of his job get to him. But this was different. This was his little girl.

"Feel better?" I asked.

"Uh-huh."

"Good." Maybe now we could discuss the situation rationally and calmly, like two parents who loved their children and understood how mistakes happened.

He drew in a deep breath. "Katie, why didn't you call me instead of Alex?"

"I didn't. I called Mom. He just happened to be here and answered the phone."

The look that crossed his face told me another storm was blowing in. It needed deflecting. "What should we do now?" I asked, hoping to distract him from the subject of Alex.

He stared at me like I just sprouted horns. "You're not going to do anything. I am."

Alex was right. Jonathan wouldn't handle this by the book. I wanted that bastard to pay for what he did to my daughter, but not in the conventional way. I didn't want Jonathan to get into trouble, though. He was my children's father, and despite how I thought of him from time to time, I didn't want him to ruin his life or his career. "Please don't do something crazy."

"I won't do anything crazy, Susan. I'm not stupid."

"No, you're not, just don't let your emotions rule your actions." His quizzical look puzzled me. How could he think his well-being wouldn't concern me?

"Katie, what's this Rob's last name and where does he live?"

She looked at me. I nodded. She gave the information to him.

I wouldn't ask what he intended to do. All I needed to know was that the scum bag would not get away scot-free. And he wouldn't. The look in Jonathan's eyes told me so.

I sat with Katie in my arms and we talked for a long while after Jonathan left. For the first time in many months, she was forthright with me. She purged herself of her demons.

Katie would heal now.

I would, too.
Chapter 23

On Saturday, we went to the zoo, watched rented movies and played computer games. On Sunday, we slept late, drove to the country and had supper at Ozzie's, a seafood restaurant in neighboring Durham, a small community bordering the Nashwaak River. By Sunday night we bickered like old times.

Though I enjoyed the last two days with my kids immensely, I missed not seeing Alex. He had become a part of our lives. My life didn't seem whole without him. When he called last night inviting me to breakfast, I shouted with glee.

I rushed Katie and Benjamin out the door and off to school and walked the short distance to Alex's.

"Knock, knock," I sang from the foyer.

He peeked around the corner from the kitchen. "Hi."

"Hi, yourself."

"Good timing. Breakfast is ready."

When I entered the kitchen, the smell of bacon, sausages and eggs reminded me I hadn't eaten anything since dinner last night. "I'm famished."

"Good, because there's more than enough for the entire street."

I angled my cheek for a kiss. "You said it would be just the two of us."

I could never get enough of his throaty laugh.

We ate in the glassed-in porch, sitting on the floor with our plates balanced in our laps.

Outside, snowbirds ate from feeders hanging from the branches of the apple and cherry trees. The December sun shone brightly, sharing its warmth and glistening the mantle of snow covering the ground. A gust of wind sent puffs of white haze fluttering across the windowpanes.

"This coffee is very good." I tipped my cup. "A special ingredient?"

"It's a family secret."

"I thought you had no family."

He settled against the wicker settee and smiled. "Okay. A trade secret."

"Uh-huh."

"Did you hear from what's-his-name over the weekend?"

"Jonathan? No, and I didn't expect to. He'll give me time to forget his behavior on Friday night." I chuckled. "And as if you forgot his name."

"Did he always have such a wicked temper?"

I nodded. "Fraid so."

"Did he ever lose his temper with you?"

"Once. When we were first married. I dented the fender of his car." I shuddered at the memory. "But he never lost it with the kids." Why did I insist on not making him an ogre?

"Why did you stay married to him?"

I inclined my head. "I wonder that, too, sometimes." My voice became a whisper. "But two wonderful things came from the marriage. Katie and Benjamin. And something as wonderful came from the divorce. Freedom." And you. "It took me a long time to realize that."

He looked at me steadily for a moment. "How's Katie?"

"Still a little shaken, but on the mend. I think she's finally believing what happened was not her fault."

He patted my hand. "She'll be fine."

A man never patted my hand before. I didn't know whether I liked it. "Yes, she will."

"How about her mother?"

I drank the last of my coffee and smiled. "She'll be fine, too."

He draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer to him.

Jonathan's enraged face and condescending attitude surfaced in my thoughts. It left me feeling doleful. "Jonathan always makes me feel as useless as tits on a bull."

He guffawed.

I covered my eyes with my hand. "I said that out loud, didn't I?" My cheeks burned. "Oh God. I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be," he said, though he didn't stop laughing.

I poked him in the ribs, trying to keep a serious face. "Stop laughing."

"That's one of the things I love about you. Whatever's on your mind, you say."

I was only that way with him. "What's another one?"

"Another what?"

"Another thing you love about me?"

He shook his head slowly, squinted and scrunched his face as though deep in thought.

"No, that's the only thing."

"You're so bad." How had we arrived at this place? This place of silly banter, lazy smiles and playful teasing, this place where I felt I knew Alex forever and could say anything to him.

"Tell me, Alex, do you need a woman who is needy? A woman who indulges your every whim and agrees with everything you do and say?" I wondered if that was his attraction to me. I had no intention of being that kind of woman ever again.

"Where's the fun in that?"

His answer broadened my smile. "Exactly. Where's the fun in that?" I couldn't seem to take my eyes from his lips. "Do you ever look back on your life and wish you could turn back the clock?"

"Yes, all the time. Do you?"

It showed itself again — that sadness haunting his eyes. Something dreadful happened in his past. "Yes, and there's not too many things I wouldn't do differently." I looked into his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"For?"

"For reminding you about something you try hard to bury."

He uncrossed his legs, but didn't make a move to stand as I thought he would. "You're very intuitive."

But obviously not someone he could trust to tell his secrets. I stared at the floor. Fine cooking, fine company, pleasant conversation, sunshine warming our faces, birds singing their happiness from their perches on the trees outside, the feel of his fingertips trailing up and down my arm — only one thing would make this moment more perfect.

"Vinnie make it to your house this morning?"

"Who?"

"Vinnie. The plaster man."

"Oh. Yes, he did. He's working his magic on my walls as we speak."

"Good."

"What are your plans for today?" The question made me sound like a wife.

"The usual. Pipes to unclog, investors to smooze, a primadonna computer wizard to cajole. How about you?"

"I thought I'd go to the library."

"Ah. You haven't given up on the idea that your house is the key to Irwin's presence?"

"No." I was feeling exhilarated again, but this time it came from feeling that I might learn not only Irwin's identity but the identity of Alex's biological parents. Today would be a day of revelations.

"Maybe there's nothing to find."

"Leroy seems to think there is."

"Remember, Leroy might have been a little loony at one time. Maybe you shouldn't put too much stock in what he says."

"I won't ... Oh, before I forget, Benjamin told me to thank you for that book. He said," I made quotation marks in the air, 'It's awesome, man.'"

He laughed. "He's a great kid."

"You would have made a great dad." His expression made me grin. "Why so shocked?"

"I ... I ... Really? You think so?"

"Of course. You're wonderful with Benjamin and Katie."

"They're easy to like. Well, Ben is." He laughed.

I laughed, too. "Katie will be easier to like from now on, too. I can almost guarantee it."

He had work to do, but I didn't want this moment to end.

As though on cue, he stood.

I took the hint, but it left me feeling melancholy. The same way I felt at the end of my marriage. Why did I feel this way? Alex was not my husband. We were not lovers, and this was not an end to a relationship. We were simply parting until we met again. One part of me admired him for not pushing intimacy while another part damned the gentleman in him. A week ago, it frightened me to think about taking that step with him, but not anymore.

I took his outstretched hand and he helped me from the floor. "I should be going if I want to get to the library and get some work done at home."

Hand in hand, we walked to the front door. I grabbed my jacket from the newel post. Our gazes met and held. He pulled me to him with a practiced twist of his wrist. My jacket slipped from my fingers and I was in his arms before I could draw a breath. His lips were just as I remembered — full and soft and curious. The desire that had been brewing in me percolated in a sensation of such force I could never have imagined it. Any moment he might decide this wasn't right. It was, and he needed to be convinced of that.

"Susan."

I silenced him with my lips. Rationale, manners or technicalities had no business here. Worry about the consequences of our actions would come later, if we wanted.

He swept me into his arms and carried me up the stairs.

We tumbled onto his bed, kissing, touching and groping each other. He undid snaps and buttons, his fingers as deft as a magician's. My sweater flew to the floor. My jeans unzipped.

The rough material of my Levi's scraped my legs as he pulled them off. I yanked the shirt off his back and unbuttoned his jeans.

I desperately wanted to be with him. How effortlessly I arrived here when desire denied me the time to analyze the life out of it. From desperation would come hope. From hope would come life.

No words of love were spoken. Love didn't have anything to do with what was happening between us. At least not for me. I needed him. I wanted to feel like a woman who knew a man wanted her. And Alex wanted me. That was clear.

He covered me with his naked body. "You're sure, Susan?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck and drew him closer. "God, yes."

Oyez. Oyez. Oyez.

I was happy, so happy I wanted to scream it to the neighborhood from Alex's widow's walk.

We lounged naked in bed, our legs entwined, our fingers interlaced.

It never once entered my mind during any of the times we made love that I was still a legally married woman and had just committed adultery. I felt no guilt. How could I when I never felt more loved?

My actions and my response to him surprised me no end. Normally, I would have approached this methodically, like I would if I prepared dinner menus for the entire week. I would have approached it more carefully, too, like asking for a written declaration that he was free of transmittable infections and imagined myself saying when I held it in my hand, "Okay, let's do it." I placed my trust in him and somehow knew he would never cause me pain in any way.

I would never doubt my attractiveness again. How could I when a gorgeous man like Alex couldn't seem to get enough of me? I'd been wrong earlier to think there was only one thing that could make this day more perfect.

"Susan?"

I stretched. "Hmm."

"Do you need to pick up the kids from school? It's three-twenty."

"My kids." I shot off the bed. "Oh my God, I forgot about my kids. Christ Almighty, how could I forget about my kids."

"I'd like to think I had something to do with it." He crooked his arm at the back of his head, a wicked smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

I squinted, tilted my head and looked out the corners of my eyes. "No. No, I don't think that was it." I winked, blew him a kiss, wrapped the sheet around me and ran around the room picking up my clothes. "I'll see myself out," I yelled over my shoulder and headed for the bathroom.

***

After Susan left, Alex quietly wrestled with his personal demons — the truth about his true identity and the truth about his mother. He rarely allowed himself time to think about how the consequences of her actions still affected him or how they dictated the path his life had taken.

He returned to Sheffield to get answers. Answers would not excuse what his mother did or erase the shame of her actions, he knew. Even so, he wanted to discover the truth, the truth about what compelled his mother that day. He supposed he hoped that with the discovery would come forgiveness. But the answers he sought could only come from the grave. And the dead didn't talk.

Why hadn't he told Susan the truth? Every opportunity presented itself to him today, yesterday and the day before that. On some subliminal level, he felt she'd walk — no, run — from him. The risk was too great. He couldn't lose her.

If she learned his secrets, would she still consider him good father material? Would she want to marry him? He doubted it.

Jonathan had abused her emotionally, and, he suspected, if she hadn't seen and done things his way, he would have abused her physically. He wondered again why she'd stayed with him. When he asked her, she looked on the positive side of her marriage instead. Perhaps she had no answer. Or perhaps she felt she had nowhere to turn and staying was better than facing life on her own. Or perhaps she thought she might be stepping from the frying pan into the fire, as the old saying went. Maybe Jonathan would make her life even more miserable in separation than he had in marriage. If that was the case, then God should be thanked for His intervention.

She really didn't know what a wonderful woman she was. Elizabeth, Ryan and Jonathan made her form a lowly opinion of herself. She was changing, though. She came into herself more each day.

He remembered what Susan said about turning back the clock and doing so many things differently. He heard the cliché many times, but never with such conviction or honesty. It was truly an emotionally stirring response.

Tomorrow he would tell her the truth about his past.
Chapter 24

Alex was called out of town on company business late Monday night, something to do with the computer guru.

For the following three mornings, I opened the Sheffield Public Library. Not literally, of course, but I arrived long before any employee or patron. Today was no exception. I was desperate to learn Irwin's identity and how he'd died. Maybe then he would find the way to his final resting place. Maybe he was caught on the earthly plane because he hadn't turned toward the light when it was time for him to make the transition. Why hadn't he? Maybe his mind had been filled with negative things or death took him by surprise. Listen to me. I sounded like someone who knew what they talked about.

There was a lot to be learned from reading old newspapers. How else would I have known that on Halloween of 1965 the police discovered a newborn baby in a dumpster behind the Sheffield High School. Dorothy Melvin, a forty-five-year old spinster, gave birth to a stillborn baby girl and placed her where she hoped the police would think it belonged to a high school student.

How would I have learned, too, that on that same date the mayor's wife had been admitted to the hospital "for a much needed rest" after she sang O Canada at the graveside of dearly departed alderman, Kenneth Waters.

I made a list of everything even remotely connected to my house and its prior owners and cross-referenced the births with the deaths, but no connection jumped out at me.

I was about to call it a day when a small article in the lower right-hand corner of the Sheffield weekly newspaper caught my eye: Wife shoots her husband, then turns gun on herself.

Detective Thomas McArdle investigates.

What made her lose it like that? Was it something like what happened to me Friday night when I eyed Jonathan's gun in his shoulder holster? Would I have used it on him if he had hurt Katie? Without a doubt.

I wondered who the woman was and what happened to her. If I really wanted to know, I could call Jonathan and find out. I would love a peek at the police file. Curiosity almost made me pick up the phone. If I could stand the sound of his voice right now, it might have happened.

Growing frustrated with my findings and the lack of progress, I decided to pay a visit on Leroy and present him with everything and let him sort through it. And maybe, just maybe ....

After making photocopies of the birth announcements and the obituary columns, I decided on impulse to photocopy the article about the shooting. I stuffed everything into my oversized handbag, hurried from the library and to my car. I made it home in seven minutes.

I grew terribly fond of Leroy and Clara over the last few weeks and went over for tea three times a week, sometimes more if time allowed. The tidbits of information Leroy sometimes fed me about the previous owners of my house intrigued me. Once I learned the whole story, maybe I'd write a book about it.

I walked in without knocking — Leroy said friends don't ring doorbells. "Hello, hello, anyone home?"

"We're in the kitchen, dear," came Leroy's whiskeyed voice.

I shrugged out of my jacket and draped it over the vacant chair at the kitchen table and looked from Leroy and Clara. "How've you both been?"

"We missed you on Monday."

"I'm sorry, Clara. I should have called. I got tied up." Now that was something Alex and I didn't do. Maybe Jonathan would loan us a pair of his handcuffs. I pictured shackling Alex to the bedpost, ripping his shirt open, pouring wine down his chest and following the trail with my tongue. I came to his navel —

"Susan."

Distantly, I heard Clara's voice. "What?" I looked at her. "Sorry. My mind drifted for a moment. What did you say?"

She looked at me strangely.

Was I drooling? "What's the matter?" I wiped the corners of my mouth, just in case.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're in love."

Love? No way. In lust, maybe. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm just excited about what I uncovered at the library." A little white lie. How would these ol' folks know? I patted my handbag and risked a peek at Leroy, hoping he didn't share his wife's observation. He would tease me relentlessly.

"I think you're right, sweet pea. Our dear Susan is in love."

"No, no ...." It was true I had never been happier in my life. But was this feeling love or was I loving the fact that I discovered the joy of sex, something I never experienced with Jonathan?

Clara giggled, that sweet silly laugh that never failed to make me chuckle.

Both Leroy and Clara questioned me mercilessly. The dirty old man in Leroy asked if Alex lived up to his size twelve shoes. I could only stammer. The romantic in Clara, on the other hand, preached the wonder and beauty of true love. Take her and Leroy, for instance. Their love was as strong today as the day they married sixty-five years ago.

"Have you two had enough fun?" I asked at the first pause, forcing a serious tone.

"Clara, I think we embarrassed her."

I wiped sweat from my upper lip. "I'm not embarrassed. Not in the least. No sirree. Surprised, maybe." Who would have thought eighty-year-olds would think about sex, much less discuss it. Not me.

Anxious to get off the subject of my love life, I shoved my notes and photocopies in front of Leroy. Clara placed a cup of tea and a raspberry danish in front of me. I stared at the sweet pastry and considered refusing it. "I shouldn't." I took a generous bite, chewed and swallowed.

"I'm going to have to start exercising. I gained five pounds in the past month. My good butt jeans are fitting my butt a good deal better than they should. Wow, that was a mouthful." Okay, Susan, shut up.

I pushed the papers closer to Leroy. "Here's everything I found."

"How did your kitchen turn out?" Clara asked.

"Like I pictured it. Once I send my unwanted house guest to his final resting place, maybe you'll come see it."

"Maybe."

The lack of conviction in her answer told me neither of them would ever set foot in my house again. That saddened me.

"What do you want me to do with these?" Leroy raised an eyebrow and pointed at the articles.

I stared at him, waiting for him to grin. He didn't. "Are you serious?"

He crossed his arms against his chest. "Yes."

"Leroy, how can you do this to me? I did everything you told me to do. I was patient. You said you'd help me put the pieces together."

Leroy and Clara erupted into laughter.

I stared at them quizzically.

"What can I say?" he said. "We're old and get our kicks any way we can."

The old coot put one over on me. I wouldn't forget it. "Happy to oblige." I scratched my head. "I guess."

Leroy pulled his chair closer and cleaned his glasses on his flannel shirt. "Now tell me what you know."

"There were eight births that day — six girls and two boys — and three deaths, two men and one woman. The time frame's right, but I can't link them to each other or to my house. That's odd, considering what you told me, don't you think? But what's even odder is that there's no birth announcement for Alex. There should be an announcement even if he was given up at birth."

"There is. You're just not seeing it." He sifted through the photocopies and aligned four articles on the table.

The first was the death of the little boy. I fought the image of a six-year-old being struck by a pulp truck and mentally blocked my ears to his mother's anguished screams.

The second was the article I deemed irrelevant, but copied it anyway.

The third was the obituary column.

The fourth was the birth announcements. Leroy circled in red the last announcement.

I studied it, then the articles. My eyes darted back and forth across the sheets of paper, my mind desperately trying to put everything together. Then it hit me. I leaned back in my chair.

"Leroy, are you saying that ...." The truth was too horrible for words.

He closed his eyes. "Uh-huh."

"Then that means ...."

"Uh-huh."

"And that would explain Irwin's presence. Oh my God."

"You wanted to know."

I wanted to know.

Those words kept repeating in my head.

I had wanted to know.

I had wanted to find Alex's biological parents.

Now I wished I'd minded my business.

***

It was late — nine thirty — but what I needed to tell Alex couldn't wait until morning. I entrusted Benjamin with Katie and walked the short distance to his house. I didn't announce my visit and when he opened the door and saw me standing on the doorstep, he was momentarily taken unaware.

"Well, hello," he said. "What a wonderful surprise."

I remembered the reason for this impromptu visit and could take no pleasure in the excitement in his voice or the smile that spread across his face. After I told him about his roots, he might never want to see me again. He'd probably curse the day we met and curse me for not minding my own business. He'd be justified in thinking the latter. Some things were better left buried. But not something like this. Why couldn't I mind my own damn business? "May I come in?" I asked, cordial-like.

His smile turned to a frown. "If you can't, no one else can." He stepped aside. "Are you all right? Something hasn't happened to Katie, has it?"

I shook my head.

"Benjamin?"

"He's fine." I mustered a smile.

"Jonathan?"

"No."

He studied me. "You're pale. Are you sick?"

"Yes, with regret."

"Susan, you're not making any sense, and you look like you're about to pass out. Come into the den, and I'll get you something to drink."

I let him lead me to a chair beside the fireplace. The tenderness in his voice and his concern made me feel all that more guilty. "I don't want anything to drink. I have something to tell you."

"Okay."

"You might want to sit down."

He sat on the sofa facing me. "What is it?" He sat forward, rested his forearms on his knees and linked his fingers together.

"I learned Irwin's identity — "

"You did?"

I tried to look him in the eyes but ended up looking over his head. "Yes. You know the research I've been doing?" He nodded. "I found some articles and brought them to Leroy. He pieced everything together for me. It was easy for him. He already knew the story."

"Who is Irwin?"

"We think he's your brother."

"My brother?" He stood, ran his hand through his hair and paced the length of the room.

"In 1965, your biological parents, Anthony Cabrini and Dorothea Cabrini, bought the house I'm living in now. Shortly after they moved in, your six year old brother, Rocco, was struck and killed by a truck hauling pulp from the mill." I paused and waited for his reaction. He urged me on with a nod. There was no nice way to say what came next. "Your father was the driver of the truck who hit him. A week later, your mother shot your father, killing him instantly, then turned the gun on herself. She was pregnant with you at the time. She lived long enough for the doctor to save you." The truth about his past rushed from my mouth. "I'm so sorry, Alex. If I had known, I never would have inter ...." He stood so swiftly, I faltered.

"Did Leroy tell you my father was drunk at the time?"

I stared at him, dumbfounded. "You knew?"

He nodded.

"How long have you known?"

"Since I was twelve."

I couldn't believe it. He kept silent while I went on and on about the history of my house, digging into a past he knew intimately. I stood. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think you would understand."

That saddened and disappointed me. He didn't know me at all. "I would have, or at least I'd like to think so."

"I know that now."

Pondering that a moment, I understood how he might think that. Something else occurred to me. "Is what we have real or did you pretend to be interested in me and my children just so you could be close to your ancestral home, hoping it might give you some insight into why your mother did what she did?"

"What we have is real, Susan. Make no mistake about that. True, I wasn't looking for a relationship, but I found one."

"That's why you tore down those walls in my house. You were looking for a clue, something — "

"That doesn't make sense. My parents didn't build the house. What could I have hoped to find?"

I gave him that. "And that night — the night I found you outside staring at my house? Why didn't you tell me the truth then?"

"My past is not something to tell a stranger."

True. I would have thought him loony had he said, 'Hi, my name is Alex Cowan, but my real name is Joseph Cabrini, and I'm the son of the woman who shot her husband in your house then shot herself when she was nine months pregnant with me'? "But you could have told me after we became friends."

"I never planned any of what happened between us, Susan. I swear. At first, I admired your courage for moving into a haunted house. Then I worried the ghost would hurt you and the children."

"So, you really did believe the house was haunted, and you took it upon yourself to protect us." His silence gave me my answer. "Did you suspect that the ghost was a relative of yours?"

He hung his head. "I had my suspicions, but it was too incredible to believe."

I should be mad, but felt only sadness that he hadn't trusted me enough to tell me the truth.

"When I began to care about you and the kids, I wanted to tell you, but then I thought you might think I set everything up. I was afraid to lose you."

"Jonathan lied to me. I hate him for it. Now you lied to me. I might trust too easily, and I might be a little slow, but eventually I learn."

"I didn't want to lose you. I can't lose you."

His whispered words told me how much he cared and the swell in my heart told me I couldn't end the relationship. I wanted to understand, wanted to think I might have done the same thing in his position. "I'm sad and a little mad right now, Alex, but I'll get over it. Will you give me time?"

He swooped me into his arms. "I'll give you all the time you want."
Chapter 25

"Come on, kids," I yelled upstairs from the foyer. "It's almost eight o'clock. The guy for the floors will be here any minute. Let's get moving." I did my fair share of barking orders lately. My children didn't know what to make of it. Not even my divorce had made me act this way.

Alex hadn't called. He didn't come to see me to talk things over. If he had done either, even though I had asked him to give me time, it would have told me he truly cared about me, about my children and that what happened between us was real and that he wanted to fight for us. Now I felt perturbed he abided my wishes.

Somewhere along the way, I fell in love. That he hadn't — his non-appearance told me that — made it virtually impossible to bear. It angered me that another of my relationships came to an end. Two for two. What a loser I was. Maybe I should try something different. Or maybe I should forget about love altogether. I seemed no good at it.

To fuel my anger and hurt even more, Irwin never showed himself, nor did I sense his presence. Maybe he left for good. That would solve one problem, at least. Still, though, I wanted to tell him what I learned so he could go to a happy place. The hours I spent at the library and the time I spent with Leroy and Clara dissecting every word they said about my house now seemed a waste of time and energy.

Every wall, ceiling and piece of woodwork on the first floor of my house boasted three coats of paint. I thanked Alex for that. Without hurt driving me, the temptation to set down the paint roller when my shoulders, back and arms fatigued would have been too great.

I took some pleasure in the pile of empty cardboard cartons in the back porch and the neatly arranged cabinets and that the house finally resembled a home, but I had no one to share in my joy and accomplishments. The children seemed to appreciate my efforts, but I needed an adult's praise. An adult like Alex.

Above me, bedroom doors slammed and heavy footsteps followed a second later.

Benjamin and Katie were not happy Turners. They missed Alex and couldn't understand why we didn't kiss and make-up, as they told me numerous times in the past several days. Someone needed to make the first move for that to happen. I didn't feel it should be me, particularly now that it seemed Alex didn't miss us at all.

Benjamin stomped down the stairs. "Aw, Maw-um. I don't want to go. Why can't I spend the weekend at Dad's? He said it was all right."

"Yeah, he said I could, too," Katie piped in.

"You called your father? Who gave you permission to do that?" Like they needed permission to call Jonathan. What did they tell him? That their mother was as twisted as a cork screw and they needed rescuing? Jesus. "I don't want to argue about it anymore. We are going to Dhoon Mountain and we are going to have fun. Understood?"

"God, Mom, don't freak."

This from my daughter who'd put the eek in freak. She had a point, though. I was acting unhinged and needed to chill. "You want me to go to Dhoon Mountain alone?"

"I told Dad we couldn't be in the house when the floors were being redone because of the fumes, so he said you can come, too," Benjamin said.

Wouldn't that be cute? Jonathan's ex-wife and pregnant mistress spending the night under the same roof. "I don't think so."

"Mom, you aren't being reasonable," Katie said.

I didn't feel reasonable. I felt lonely, disillusioned and used. "Is it too much to ask for you to come with me?" I sat on the bottom step and rested my head in my hands. Everything made me edgy, and it took little to annoy me.

A half hour later, I had a car filled with more luggage than needed for an overnight stay and two bickering children in the back seat. I decided to let them go to it. They were upset. I understood that. Just when their lives seemed on an even keel, it was upset again. And I was to blame. Again.

"You're a fat cow," Benjamin said.

"You're a skinny little runt," Katie answered.

"Beanstalk."

"Pipsqueak."

I sighed, put a CD in the player, cranked up the volume and drove to our weekend getaway humming to the tunes of the Rolling Stones.

Sixty minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot at Dhoon Mountain, shut off the engine and simply sat there, staring straight ahead while a litany of character complaints stormed in the backseat. I tooted the horn to get their attention.

"Kids, here's what I'm thinking. We're going in to register, and we're going to act like we're a happy family who can't wait to hit the slopes. We're going to smile, and we're going to have fun." I paused and noted that both my children were cynics. "No, you're right. There's no way we can pull that off."

Benjamin rose to the challenge as I hoped he would. "Maybe we can."

"What do you think, Katie? There's horseback riding." At this point, a bribe wasn't beneath me.

She gave Dhoon Mountain a cursory look. "I suppose we could try, but if I don't like my horse, I'm not staying."

"Deal." I needed to find her a damn fine horse.

Benjamin and Katie stood beside me looking like they would rather be anywhere on earth than with me while I lifted luggage from the trunk that weighed, I was sure, a lot less than my heart.

When I'd planned this trip, I intended to ask Alex to join us. No. I wouldn't think about him. He didn't want anything to do with my children or me, remember? We were just a means to an end for him. If he truly cared about me, about us, he would have camped out on my veranda and not given up until he held me in his arms.

It snowed, fine snow that promised a storm. My children shared my enthusiasm for winter and all its outdoor activities, and normally the sight would enthrall them. But not even that lessened their anger toward me. I wished they could see their surroundings through excited eyes and appreciate it without the negativity that clouded their judgment.

"Isn't it beautiful here?" I forced excitement into my voice.

They turned and looked around, but neither of them said anything.

"Smell that fresh, crisp air." I inhaled deeply. "Heavenly." I splayed my hands. "At one time this was just a big mountain."

"Uh-huh," came from Katie.

Benjamin, who usually spewed words like a broken fire hydrant gushed water, said nothing. I gave up. "Let's sign in."

We walked toward the entrance amid a throng of other winter enthusiasts exiting the building. I led the way toward reception with its warm pine-paneled cathedral ceilings and walls.

Mistletoe fig trees and weeping Chinese banyan trees flanked the floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond the desk sat a sunken gathering area with oversized cushions spread across the hardwood floor. A fire blazed in the stone hearth.

Check-in took all of two minutes and I ushered my kids to the second floor.

Our rooms awashed with winter sunlight and glistened the parquet floor. A mountain of pillows accented the patchwork quilts that draped the beds. Below a large window overlooking the lake sat a love seat in stripes of navy and green. Paintings of snow-laden trees and cabins peeking out from the branches of pine and spruce trees graced the walls. Cotton scatter rugs on the floor in an array of stripes and solid colors created a homey feel.

"I might never leave here," I said, sighing.

Benjamin and Katie grunted.

I didn't need ESP to read their minds. "Now, what did we say we were going to do?"

"Smile," Katie answered glumly.

"Make pretend we're having a good time," Benjamin said even more glumly.

Their gusto overwhelmed me. "Okay. Let's get into our ski suits."

At seven o'clock, after hours of skiing, sliding, horseback riding and a short break for lunch and mid-afternoon refreshments, we decided we had endured enough fun for one day. In the dining room, we sat at a table covered with a red cloth and a candle burning brightly in the center.

"The broiled salmon...." Feeling eyes on me, I looked up from the menu and glanced around. Alex stared at me from across the room. A blond-haired, impeccably and expensively dressed woman sat with him. The pain and hurt I experienced would not be greater if he'd plunged a knife into my heart. My breath came in ragged, spasmodic bursts and I thought I might hyperventilate or die.

"Mom, what's the matter?" Katie asked. "You're as white as the snow outside."

I jumped up and ran toward the entryway. In the hallway I dashed toward the restrooms, then swerved to the left toward the front entrance. Tears blurred my vision and I stumbled down the steps. A walk would clear my head. It would take more than that, though, to soothe the ache in my heart.

"Susan," Alex called from behind me.

He followed me? Why? I turned and faced him. "Leave me alone. I never want to see you Again."

"Benjamin called me this morning and told me you were coming here with them."

"So you decided this would be an ideal time to show me you'd moved on, that I meant nothing to you? You made your point. Go back to Miss Impeccably Dressed." I shooed him away.

"Susan, she's a business acquaintance. She's waiting for her husband."

"And what? I should believe that?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's the truth."

"And I should believe that?"

He hung his head. "I wanted a chance to talk to you."

"Well, I don't want to talk to you." I dashed to the right. He moved with me. I made a move toward the left. He moved with me. People passed by, giving us strange looks. "We're making spectacles of ourselves. Let me pass. I need to get back to my kids."

"They're fine."

My options seemed limited. Alex would overpower and outrun me. "Okay, talk," I said sourly.

"No. Not when you're in this frame of mind." He cursed and walked away. Then cursed again, turned and stomped toward me.

I wasn't stupid, but I had no idea whether he intended to take me over his knee and spank me or take me in his arms and kiss me. I heard myself gasp, then everything went hazy when his lips covered mine. My heart raced wildly while my mouth responded to his. My hands curled around his neck and drew him closer.

His hands slid to the pit of my back and dragged me level with his face. The kiss deepened. I moaned. My body trembled against his. Any question that I could easily forget about him was answered.

He released me and stepped back. "All right, then. Maybe I'll see you around sometime."

Whaat? I found my voice. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe."

He turned and walked toward the building.

What the hell just happened? Did this mean our relationship was over? One last kiss? I ran after him, wanting him in my life more than ever. Happiness would never be mine without him. "Alex. Alex." I huffed my way up the slippery incline, but made no headway toward catching him. By the time I burst through the double doors, he was nowhere in sight. Damn.

Later, back in my room, restless and weary, everything that had happened between Alex and I played and replayed in my mind. Maybe Katie was right in her assessment that everything was either black or white with me. Maybe I didn't give people the benefit of the doubt or enough credit or didn't think with an open mind anymore. Otherwise, I would have understood, or at least tried to understand Alex's position. Jonathan's lies and betrayal changed not only my life, but how I viewed people and things. Maybe my head needed examining.

I finished the last of the chocolate chip cookies I brought along for a snack, staring at a spot on the floor when there came a light rap on the door. Expecting a waiter with my pot of tea, I flung the door open to Alex instead. I had thought he wanted nothing more to do with me.

"I'd still like a chance to talk. Then if you never want to see me again, I'll do as you ask."

When I didn't answer, he said, "You were still too angry to listen before."

I jutted my chin. "No, I wasn't."

He gave me a look that said 'Really?' "Okay, maybe I was." I peered over my shoulder at my sleeping children. "There's seating at the end of the hall. We can talk there."

We sat stiffly across from each other.

"Do you remember when I told you I didn't think you would understand?"

"Yes. That's what hurt the most."

"I'm sorry. I should have known better. My decision not to tell you came from past experience."

"She ran in the opposite direction?"

"Like a runaway train." He shrugged. "It was a long time ago, but I can still see the look of horror on her face." He stood and paced the width of the hallway. "I've lived with the stigma of my mother's actions most of my life, and believed that everyone would think I was just like my alcoholic father and murdering mother."

"I'm sorry."

He wiped a tear from my cheek. The tenderness of the act, the tenderness in his eyes — how could he think he was anything like his parents?

"I've been over it thousands of times and I still have a hard time believing my mother would take her own life when a child lived inside her."

"I find it hard to believe, too."

He stopped in mid-pace. "You do?"

"You're surprised?"

"I am. I wouldn't think you were able to think about it at all."

"You can be wrong."

"I know." He hung his head.

"When I think how protective I was while I carried Katie and Benjamin and how protective I still am of them, I can't imagine an expectant mother or a mother doing anything to deliberately cause her child harm. Maybe it didn't happen the way the police said it did."

"What other explanation could there be?"

I recalled the night Katie was almost raped and Jonathan's anger. If he had hurt Katie....

"Maybe your father and mother fought with the gun and it accidentally went off."

"Twice?"

I shrugged. "A hair trigger — finger still on the trigger."

He smiled and brushed a hair from my eyes. "You always want to believe the best."

Not always, unfortunately.

He sat back down. "How did Leroy learn my true identity? Do you know?"

"He didn't say. He probably pieced it together when he tried to help Vince and Bridget.

He said your father was a decent, honorable man who liked the bottle too much."

"It doesn't excuse what happened."

No, it didn't. He shouldn't have driven drunk.

"Susan, I made a mistake, but it was never my intention to hurt you. Everything that happened between us was real. I wanted ... want to be with you, and your kids too."

I learned a lot in the last few months, and I didn't want to be hurt again. "I'm not ready yet to pick up where we left off. I'm still conflicted."

His shoulders slumped. Clearly, he'd hoped differently. I wanted that, too, just not yet.

Forgiveness came easy to me. It would take me time to forget. "Give me a few more days?"

"If that's what you want." He stood.

I smiled. "Not too much, though, okay?"

"Understood."

"And don't pull off any more stunts like you did in the parking lot tonight."

"Duly noted."
Chapter 26

I pressed the cordless phone harder against my ear and paced the length of the living room. "What do you mean, you gave my Christmas tree to Jonathan?"

"It's like I said. Jonathan picked up your tree just like he does every year," Jack Murdock said.

"But you put my ... _my_ name on it and marked it for delivery to my new address."

"I put 'Turner' on it. When Jonathan pulled into the lot, I assumed he was here for your tree. He didn't tell me any differently."

"Jonathan and I are divorced. I don't live with him anymore."

"I didn't know that, ma'am."

"But my new address?"

"I thought you moved, you and your husband."

"Great. Just great."

"Sorry for the screw-up, Mrs. Turner."

"Can you bring me another tree? I don't care what kind it is. As long as it has branches, I'll be happy."

"I got no more."

"What do you mean you got no more?" Tomorrow I'd cringe at the poor grammar. At the moment, I couldn't care less. "You always have trees left over."

"Not this year."

I threw my free hand into the air. "It's six o'clock on Christmas Eve. Where am I going to get a tree now? The stores are closed, and you're the only tree lot in town." I swallowed past the lump in my throat. The thought of Christmas without a tree brought tears to my eyes.

"'Tis the season for miracles."

The miracle would be if Jack had delivered the tree to my new address as I asked him to.

"Are you sure you don't have anything left? A two-foot tree? Pine boughs? Spruce needles?"

"Absolutely sure, Mrs. Turner."

I was about to thank him, then wondered why I should. "Merry Christmas."

This year marked my first Christmas for new beginnings. Everything needed to be perfect. I slumped onto the sofa and fought the depression that threatened to overtake me by admiring the garland, candles and poinsettias decorating the window frames and window sills.

After a moment, not even that lifted my spirits. I stared at the packages of light blue balls, the rolls of silver ribbon, the boxes of clear miniature lights and the festively wrapped presents sitting on the floor and sighed.

Katie and Benjamin bounded down the stairs.

"When's the tree getting here?" Katie asked.

"It's not." I explained what happened.

"Does that mean we're not having a Christmas tree this year?" Benjamin asked, disappointment clearly evident in his voice.

It looked that way, but I couldn't tell him that. "We'll have a tree, don't you worry." There must be a tree in my backyard that would serve the purpose.

"Can't you call Dad and tell him Jack gave him our tree by mistake?" Katie asked.

"I don't want to do that."

"Why not?"

Good question. It shouldn't concern me that my ex-husband and his pregnant mistress might be without a tree nor should it intimidate me that Jonathan might get mad when I ask him to return our tree. It certainly seemed a better plan than chopping one down from our back yard.

"You're right. Why shouldn't I call?" I picked up the phone, punched in his home number and waited through twelve rings. "There's no answer." I peered at my children. From the looks on their faces, they expected me to give up. I wasn't about to do that. "I'll try the station." I hit one on speed dial. The receptionist picked up on the third ring. "Linda, it's Susan. Is Jonathan handy?"

"He's not in his office, Mrs. Turner, but he's around here somewhere. Do you want me to look for him?"

"No, that's all right. Ask him to call me when you see him, please?"

"Sure."

I disconnected the call and again looked into the expectant faces of my children. "I'll try his cell." I hit ten on speed dial and listened to his voice mail. "Jonathan, it's Susan. It seems old Jack gave you my Christmas tree by mistake. Call me when you get this message." I felt better already.

An hour later, someone stepped onto the front veranda. I ran to the door and swung it open to Alex holding an eight-foot pine. I knew exactly what happened. "Benjamin called you." He had to stop doing that.

"Uh-huh." He grinned. "He told me how sad you were and ... well, I couldn't have that. I know you wanted some space, but...."

"But you thought because it's Christmas Eve and knowing my love for the season I might be in a celebrative mood. You got that right." I leapt into his arms. "God, how I missed you." I smothered him with kisses. Moments later when we broke apart, I looked at the tree and said, "I'm sorry Benjamin put you to all this trouble, but I expect Jonathan will be here any time with our tree."

He beckoned me closer with a crook of his finger. When only three inches separated us, he whispered, "This is your tree."

"My tree? I don't understand. Jonathan has my tree."

He raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Not anymore."

"Not anymore?" Then it hit me. "Oh my God, what did you do?"

"I liberated it from the back of his truck at the police station."

"You didn't." Oh good Lord.

"I did."

"That's theft. Someone might have seen you." Didn't he know how much satisfaction Jonathan would get arresting him?

"I was careful. Now, where do you want this baby?"

Two hours later, with Benjamin and Katie upstairs asleep, Alex and I cuddled together on the sofa and admired our handiwork.

"The tree is beautiful," I said.

"It is."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, but I'm sure Jonathan would have gotten around to returning it if he checked his messages."

"Maybe." I snuggled closer to him. "I'm sorry I reacted the way I did when you told me about your identity. It was childish of me."

He squeezed my shoulder. "And I'm sorry I didn't trust you enough to tell you the truth. If I had been upfront with you from the beginning.... "

"It's behind us now. I'm so happy it is."

"Me, too."

The moment was perfect and my life, almost perfect. It bothered me I didn't have the opportunity to tell Irwin what I learned about his identity. I wondered about my mother. She seemed to have disappeared, too. Maybe she only appeared when Irwin threatened us.

"I wonder where Irwin ... Rocco disappeared to," I said. Alex didn't answer. I knew what was bothering him. "You still don't believe Irwin is Rocco, do you?"

"Not totally."

"It makes sense, I think. He never hurt you when you came to visit, but he hurt Jonathan. Maybe on some level he sensed you were his brother."

"That's not a convincing argument. Your ex-husband tends to bring out the worst in people."

"Okay, I'll give you that. What about me? He never hurt me."

"That's because you have a good heart. Any ghost would love you."

I grinned. "This is Rocco's home. Doesn't it seem plausible that he would come back to where he lived?"

"I suppose so."

"I went to the library this week and read some books on the paranormal."

"I can't wait to hear this."

He got a poke in the ribs for that remark. "Did you know spirits hang around on the earthly plane because they didn't turn toward the light when it was time for them to make their transition?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"According to the psychics, there're different reasons. Unfinished business. Death taking them by surprise. That would certainly be the case with your brother."

"True."

A car door slammed in front of the house.

"That must be Jonathan," I said.

Alex got up to look out the window. He was at the door at the same time the doorbell rang.

Quickly, I rehearsed an explanation, walked into the foyer and came face to face with my estranged sister.
Chapter 27

It was two o'clock in the morning on New Year's Day. I stood on the street and watched flames shoot skyward from the roof of my house. Sadness overcame me. I clutched Alex tighter and hauled Katie and Benjamin closer. Leroy and Clara and Ernie and Melva Barton — the neighbors on the other side of my house — stood around us.

Police cruisers blocked traffic in both directions on the street. The flashing lights from emergency vehicles, fire trucks and police cars and the light radiating from the fire made the darkness seem ghoulish.

The heat from the fire turned the snow to mush around our feet. Bits of ash, caught in a breeze, fluttered past. The smell of molten plastic, toasted rubber and burned timber sickened the air.

Four policemen stood back on their heels, hands resting on their utility belts, and watched the inferno.

Firefighters sprayed my house and the houses on either side in a determined effort to save my house from total destruction and prevent Leroy's and Ernie's house from catching fire.

Regarding my house, it appeared a valiant endeavor for naught.

"I saw what happened, Mrs. Turner," Ernie Barton said. "I got up for some aspirin and happened to look out the bathroom window. That's when I saw it."

"Saw what?" I asked.

"A ball of fire streaking through the sky. It landed smack square in the center of your roof. Damnedest thing. Ain't never saw anything like it. Crazy, ain't it?"

I didn't know what started the fire, but given the bizarre happenings in my life the last three months, lightning in subzero temperatures seemed as likely a scenario as any. Or it could have been a meteorite. No. Meteors large enough to carry heat would have obliterated the entire structure and us with it. I shuddered at the thought.

"You're lucky you were able to get out in time," Leroy said.

"Yes. Very lucky." Luck didn't have anything to do with it. If it weren't for the doors slamming closed repeatedly, we would have perished in the fire, in all probability. I suspected that was the last we would hear of Irwin. His last good deed.

"You're welcome to stay with us for as long as you want," Leroy said.

"Yes, of course, dear." Clara patted my hand. "As long as you like."

"Thank you so much. That's very kind of you." I couldn't find the words to tell them their house would undoubtedly suffer smoke damage if it didn't catch fire, and they would probably be looking for alternate housing for awhile, as well.

"They'll be staying with me," Alex said.

"I — "

"It's not open to debate."

"I guess that's settled." I looked at the one carat diamond ring on my left hand, a perfect fit, like Alex and I. His marriage proposal came as a surprise, but I answered with a resounding 'Yes.' "You're bossing me around already."

"It's the sensible decision."

We stood without moving or saying anything for long moments. Our shock hung in the air as tangible as the ground beneath our feet.

It broke my heart that my home and everything in it was being reduced to a mound of cremated remains. A house that saw so much death, heartache and tragedy should end this way, I supposed.

The roof collapsed. Windows exploded and reddish-orange flames blasted out the openings. While my heart plummeted at the sight, exclamations of awe rang through the crowd lining the street.

At the far end of the street, a truck with a revolving bubble light on the dash weaseled past the barricade, dodged curious onlookers and slowly came to a stop ten feet away from us. I nudged Alex and jerked my head in the direction of the truck. "Jonathan."

"I see him."

Jonathan scanned the crowd until he spotted us.

I braced myself for his accusations. Of course, the house catching fire would be my fault, even though I did everything humanly possible to avoid such a catastrophe. When he came within hearing distance, I said, "It wasn't my — " He captured me in his arms and hugged the breath out of me. My feet left the ground. Embarrassed, I looked back at Alex.

Jonathan set me down and hugged Benjamin and Katie. "Dispatch just called me. I came right over. I imagined the worst. Thank God you're all right."

The kids clung to him.

"I'm so glad you're here, Daddy," Katie said. "I was so frightened."

"Shh. Everything's going to be fine," Jonathan soothed. "You'll see."

"I lost everything," Benjamin said. "My computer, my toys . . ." His chin quivered.

"Those things can be replaced, Ben." Jonathan clutched Katie and Benjamin tighter. "Oh God, I don't know what I would have done if anything happened to you." He looked at me. "To any of you."

His watery eyes brought tears to my eyes. "We're fine, Jonathan. Just a little shaken."

"I'm cold, Mom," Katie said.

I pulled the blankets the paramedics gave us tighter around her and Benjamin.

Jonathan nodded at Alex. "Things have been so hectic, I didn't have a chance to tell you I got your note. Thanks for leaving it."

"No problem. Thought it only fitting in the circumstances," Alex said.

"Note? What note?" Neither man seemed to want to answer my question.

Alex whispered in my ear, "I'll tell you later."

I smiled. There would be no more secrets between us.

It took three shampoos to remove the odor of burnt wood from my hair, but the taste of smoke lingered in my throat. Sitting back in the bathtub, I thought of all what we had lost. The house had burned to the foundation. We escaped with our lives. We were all thankful for that.

All our worldly possessions were lost in the fire. What troubled me the most was not the items that could be replaced, but the treasures that couldn't — photos, Katie and Benjamin's locks of hair, their first drawings, my mother's angels.

The thought crossed my mind that Irwin might be responsible for starting the fire, but I quickly dismissed it. He would never have done anything to hurt my children or me. Still, though, lightning in winter, if Ernie Barton were to be taken at his word, seemed beyond believable. The fire chief refused to speculate, saying once he conducted a thorough investigation, he'd give me and my insurance company a copy of his report. So much for that.

Alex made us feel right at home. The children each had their own bedrooms, as did he and I. The decision was his. What example would we give the children if we shared a bedroom before we became husband and wife? Last evening when he asked me to marry him, my life had been filled to overflowing. His love was my fountainhead. He and my children were my greatest joy for now and for the future.

I closed my eyes and my mind flashed on my siblings. Elizabeth was just as funny, warm and intelligent as I remembered her. And Ryan, my brother ... well, my brother was just as I remembered him also — argumentative, stubborn and opinionated.

Despite how we tried to cram everything that happened in the last twenty-one years of our lives in the times we had gotten together over the past several days, we couldn't. There would be time enough for that. The important thing to remember was that the past lie behind us and everything had been forgiven and forgotten. It was a great way to end the year.

I thought about Leroy's suspicion that Vince and Bridget Simson killed themselves with an overdose of prescription heart medicine and wondered if I hadn't taken a stand with Irwin whether I would have resorted to taking my own life, also. Chills swept through me at the thought.

The water turned cool. I got out of the tub, toweled off, slipped one of Alex's T-shirts over my head and pulled my hair back in a ponytail. I walked into his bedroom and took the silver box I found in the attic of my house off the dresser. I'd left the box on the hall table for Alex on my way out the door the night I told him what I'd uncovered about his past. I ran my hand over the delicately inscribed initials: MDC Mary Dorothea Cabrini, Alex's mother.

Alex came in and handed me a cup of tea. "Thanks. You're too good to me."

He bent and brushed his lips across mine. "I should be thanking you."

I frowned, setting the box down. "For?"

"For coming into my life. For Katie and Benjamin. For making my life whole."

I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tightly. "What was that about a note to Jonathan?"

"Huh?"

"When we were standing on the street, Jonathan thanked you for leaving a note."

"Oh. When I took the Christmas tree from the back of his truck, I left him a note. And a fifty dollar bill."

I punched him in the arm. "You had me believing you swiped it."

He chuckled.

"Alex, can you tuck me in?" Benjamin asked from his bedroom.

"Be right there, buddy."

"Alex, can you tuck me in, too?" Katie baby-talked.

He grinned. "You're too old to be tucked in. Now, go to sleep, young lady." He walked toward Benjamin's bedroom, a certain bounce in his step.

Smiling, I walked to my bedroom, flicked on the light and gasped. My mother's angels, my photo albums and Katie and Benjamin's locks of hair sat on the night stand. The hair on my neck fluttered. Irwin was here with me ... with us. I turned, looked into the face that once frightened me and smiled. "Irwin. Come with me. Come meet your brother."

The End

