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“How’s Kevin liking art school?” Heath asked.

“So far so good,” she said.

Reaching across the table, Heath took one of Rachel’s hands. He opened her palm and studied the lines but they told him nothing. Unfortunately he couldn’t read fortunes, hers or his.

“How about dinner Sunday night?” he suggested. “Just the two of us.”

“I can’t,” she said without pause. “We’ve been through this before. Sunday evening is my time with Mark.”

“It isn’t that you can’t, you won’t.”

“Fine, I won’t, then,” she said. The chair made a scraping sound as she stood. “Besides I thought you were dating Tammy Zimmerman.”

So Rachel was paying attention. Heath had wondered.

“We went out a couple of times,” he admitted. “She’s free on Sunday nights.”

“However, I’m not,” she said and quickly retreated into the kitchen.

Heath was forced to wait several minutes before she returned, this time with his dinner. She set the steaming plate of lasagna in front of him and wordlessly turned away.

“You’re avoiding me, Rachel,” he said, watching her.

She froze, her back to him. Slowly she turned around. “I am not.”

“Why won’t you go out with me?”

She shook her head as if he were the saddest excuse for a man she’d ever seen. “Your problem, Heath Quantrill, is that you’re spoiled rotten. Everyone’s catered to you your entire life. I won’t, so get used to it.”

“Whatever,” he said with no emotion. “But if you aren’t avoiding me, then you set a time and day.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.

“Could it be that what I said is true?”

“Saturday morning at eight,” she snapped. “You can take me to breakfast.”

“Fine,” he murmured, feeling a sense of triumph. “I’ll come by the house to pick you up.”

Five

Brandon Wyatt was at a complete loss. He stood in the middle of his yard, the milking pail in his hand, while he mulled over recent events. Joanie had left a message on his answering machine, their first communication in nearly a week, informing him that she’d canceled their session with Dr. Geist. He should’ve been shouting with glee; instead, he feared the worst. It almost seemed as if Joanie was giving up on them, giving up on a reconciliation.

He’d consented to the counseling sessions in an effort to save their marriage. But at the time, he would’ve agreed to stand on his head in the middle of the highway if it brought his family back. He didn’t mean to be obstinate with Dr. Geist or with Joanie, but it seemed ridiculous to be making lists and talking around their problems instead of tackling them head-on.

Joanie kept saying she wanted him to change, but he didn’t know how. Didn’t know what he’d done that was so terrible. He hated the fact that he came away from every session feeling lower than when he’d gone in. He’d hoped they would learn to communicate better, learn to share their hopes and feelings, but that wasn’t the way things had turned out. Dr. Geist had them talking about personality types, strengths and weaknesses and while that was all well and good, it didn’t help him tell Joanie how he felt about their marriage.

A drop of rain splashed his face, and he realized he’d stopped midway between the barn and the house, a pail of milk in his hand. He had chores still to do, although with the crops harvested, the strenuous work was done. Yet he hardly had the energy to finish even tasks as simple—and necessary—as feeding the animals. He felt as bad now as he had when Joanie and the kids first left.

He fed the milk to the pigs and worked outside until lunchtime. The minute he walked into the house, the phone rang. Depressed as he was, he didn’t bother to answer, preferring to let the machine catch it. After bolting a quick sandwich, he went back outside and had almost completed his daily chores when he saw the car approach. He paused, the pitchfork still in his hand, when he realized it was Joanie. A twinge of excitement was quickly followed by a deep sense of dread. Her coming probably meant bad news. His biggest fear was that she was going to tell him she wanted to go ahead with the divorce.