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in New Mirage has computer terminals at the back where the post office is. It’s DSL. That’s what I use.”
    “I wonder how hard it would be to get DSL out here. Of course, Aurora thinks computers are a plot to destroy our minds.”
    “Should we move the equipment to the alcove?” he asked.
    “I’ve kept you too long already. Thanks for the help, Marcus. And for listening to me jabber.”
    “It was my pleasure.”
    “Oh, I doubt that,” she said, studying him. “I make you jumpy, don’t I? You keep backing away.”
    “No.” He looked surprised at her words, then seemed to ponder them. “I haven’t had much social interaction lately….”
    “And you prefer it that way?”
    He didn’t answer, but she was curious. “Why? Because of the book you’re writing?”
    “Aurora mentioned that, too?”
    “What’s it about? Psychiatry?”
    He nodded.
    “So how’s it going?”
    “It’s…going.” But distress flared in his eyes and he eased toward the door. “I’ll see you at supper then,” he said and was gone. So he didn’t want to talk about that, either.
    What was the deal with him and kids? None of my own, no. Stepkids then maybe? Why not say so?
    The man had a lot on his mind, evidently. She wondered why he’d quit seeing clients. Maybe one too many female patients hitting on him. Didn’t every woman crave a man who knew her inside-out, but stayed all the same? Marcus Barnard was a mystery, that was certain. At another place, another time, she might want to solve it.

    D AVID STUMBLED INTO the Harmony House kitchen, so frustrated he wanted to smash a mason jar or one of those big pottery plates. His legs ached and he was dying of thirst from climbing hill after hill looking for a cell signal to call Brigitte. He’d failed. No bars. No signal. No Brigitte.
    “How’d the exploring go?” his mother asked, all eager and excited. Like he was out having fun, not sweating his balls off for no good reason. “What did you see?”
    “I can’t get a cell signal!” He tossed his phone to the floor, instantly sorry he had. If he broke it, Christine wouldn’t replace another one. Why did he get so mad?
    “Just use the house phone,” his grandmother said, pointing at a squat black one so old it had finger holes.
    “Get permission first,” his mother just had to add, looking up from her laptop. “Toll calls add up fast.” And we’re not made of money. That was always the next line.
    “Did you know there was no cell service here?” he asked.
    “We can live a few weeks without mobile phones and broadband connections,” she said, holding out a glass of water.
    “Wait. You mean there’s no Internet?” That would kill him.
    “Dial-up only and we don’t want to tie up the phone a lot.”
    “Dial-up’s too slow.”
    “Drink the water. You look dehydrated.”
    “You’re not one of those computer addicts, are you, David?” his grandmother said, sewing a hole in some overalls. “That’s no way to relate to the world.”
    “May I please use your phone, Grandma,” he said, ignoring her jab, being so polite it hurt his throat.
    “Anytime you want,” she said. “And call me Aurora, for God’s sake.”
    “You can call Brigitte once a day, but keep it brief,” his mother said.
    One call a day with the love of his life? No texts, no phone photos, barely e-mail? He was so mad he might explode.
    Shaking, he dialed Brigitte’s number one digit at a time, rattle, rattle, rattle. It took forever. This was what they meant by dialing a phone. He carried the handset around the corner into the little den for privacy. Brigitte should be between classes right now. He had to talk to her. Had to.
    He listened for a ring, his heart racing, but the call went straight to her voice mail. Her phone was off. David’s insides seemed to empty out. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to calm down. Hanging up, he headed straight for his room. At least he had a room to escape to.
    He hated that he was