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be mad?”
    I suddenly saw the humor in the situation, even though I knew there were fresh tears
     on my face. “There’ll be a buzz,” I said.
    Tristan looked confused, which was fine by me. “You’re planning to tell him?”
    I nodded. I was on a roll. “He’ll be rigid about it.”
    “Did it ever occur to you that he might not be the right man for you, if it was that
     easy to get hot with me?”
    So much for nonviolence. I would have slapped him again if he hadn’t been well out
     of reach. “Maybe it’s not a great relationship,” I said, “but at least Bob doesn’t
     cheat on me.”
    Tristan shoved a hand through his hair, and his jawline hardened. But, then, he wasn’t
     in on the joke. “No, but you cheat on him. Some things never change.”
    I tightened my fists. “No,” I snapped. “Some things never do.”
    With that, I headed for the rocky beach that runs along the edge of the lake. I was
     both relieved and disappointed that Tristan didn’t follow.
    The motel was a half-mile hike, but I was so distracted that I hardly noticed. Fortunately,
     the Fun Family had left the swimming area, so I didn’t have to worry about anybody
     seeing me with my hair messed up and my eyes puffy from crying furious tears.
    I pulled my key from the hip pocket of my jeans, let myself into the room, and immediately
     took another shower.
    I wanted to hibernate, but the Big Mac had worn off, and I knew the Lakeside didn’t
     offer room service. I dressed carefully in the only other set of clothes I had, besides
     the prim business suit I planned to wear to the meeting with the other owners of the
     Bronco and the new buyers, a cotton sundress. I’d briefly scanned the papers, and
     knew the gathering was scheduled for ten the next morning; I would worry about the
     where part later.
    Determined to restore some semblance of dignity, I put on makeup, styled my hair,
     and left the motel again.
    There was still only one restaurant in Parable, a hole-in-the-wall diner on Main Street,
     across from the library. I had to pause on the sidewalk out front and brace myself
     to go in.
    I was the girl who had done Tristan McCullough wrong, and I knew the locals remembered.
     By now, some of them might even know that I’d just done a pool-table mambo with the
     golden boy, though I didn’t think Tristan would stoop so low as to screw and tell.
     Just the same, I’d be lucky if they didn’t throw me out bodily.
    I was starved, and the only other place I could get food was the supermarket. That
     would mean going back to the motel for my rental car, shopping for cold cuts and chips,
     and huddling in my room to eat.
    No way I had the strength to do all that.
    I needed protein. Immediately.
    So I forced myself to go in.
    The diner hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d been there. Red vinyl booths,
     a long counter, a revolving pie case. There was no hostess, and all the tables were
     full.
    I took a stool at the counter and reached for a menu. I could feel people staring
     at me, but I pretended I had the restaurant to myself. Oh, I was a cool one, all right.
     Unless you counted a tendency to boink Tristan McCullough on a pool table with little
     or no provocation.
    “Help you, honey?”
    I looked up from the menu and met the kindly eyes of an aging waitress. She seemed
     vaguely familiar, but I didn’t recognize her name, even when I read it off the little
     tag on her uniform.
    Florence.
    “I’ll take the meat loaf special,” I said, looking neither to the left nor right.
     “And a diet cola. Large.”
    “Comin’ right up,” Florence assured me, and smiled again.
    I relaxed a little. At least there was one person in Parable who didn’t think I ought
     to be tarred, feathered, and run out of town on a rail. Make that two—Nancy Beeks,
     over at the Lakeside, had been friendly enough.
    The little bell over the door tinkled as someone entered, and the diner chatter died
     an instant death. I knew without