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to stay in Hart’s Crossing longer than the agreed-upon eight weeks. She’d also expected, in one way or another, to hear an “I told you so.”
    Instead, her mother said, “Well, dear, I’ll ask God to give you a job that you’ll love, one that will bring you pleasure, even more than the old one did.”
    “Do you really think God cares what sort of job I have?” She’d meant it to be one of her usual flip responses, the sort she used whenever her mother brought up her religious beliefs. Oddly enough, it didn’t sound or feel flip when it came out of her mouth.
    Francine turned from the stove, where she was frying chicken in a large skillet. “Oh, Angie. He cares infinitely more than you could imagine.”
    “It seems to me he’s got lots more serious things to worry about. Wars and famine, for instance.”
    Her mother set the lid on the frying pan, then joined Angie at the table. Her expression was earnest and tender. “Honey, God knows everything about you. He created you to be just who you are, with all of your unique talents and abilities. He knows the very number of hairs on your head. Of course he cares about the job you’ll have next. He wants to use you in it. He wants you to fulfill your purpose in life.”
    Angie felt something heavy pressing upon her lungs. “You believe that, don’t you?”
    “Yes, I do believe that. He loves you. He loves you so much he sent his Son to die for you.”
    “Greater love hath no man,” Angie whispered, repeating aloud the words from childhood Sunday school classes that popped into her head.
    Her mother reached across the tabletop and took hold of Angie’s hand. “Yes.” There were tears brimming in her eyes.
    Angie withdrew her hand and rose from the chair. “You know how I feel about organized religion, Mom. It isn’t relevant today. And how could any person know which religion is true, if one even is? There are so many to choose from.”
    “When you meet the living Lord, you’ll know what’s true.”
    If only Angie could believe like that…
    But no. No, she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Religion wasn’t for her. It wasn’t. Her life as a journalist was all about facts and irrefutable proof. How could a person prove God?
    With a shake of her head, Angie turned and left the kitchen.

    Chapter 5

    AS PROMISED, THE INSTALLER from the cable company arrived before nine on Friday morning. The guy was short, cute, young—maybe twenty-five—and had spiky platinum blond hair and startling blue eyes.
    “So you’re why Mrs. Hunter’s finally getting cable installed,” he said to Angie as she led the way to her upstairs bedroom. “Never thought I’d see the day there’d be cable in the your mom’s house.” When she glanced over her shoulder, he chuckled. “You don’t remember me, do you, Angie?”
    “Sorry. No.”
    “I’m Eric Bedford.”
    The name didn’t ring a bell.
    “You know the summer you lifeguarded at the pool?” As he spoke, he set down the toolbox he carried and opened the lid. “I was always splashing you and pretending to drown.” He grinned. “Angie Pangie.”
    “Good grief. You’re one of those bratty runts?”
    “Ouch!” His grin didn’t fade. “I remember you calling us that. We deserved it, too.”
    Angie sat on the edge of her bed. “What a summer. You and your gang of friends made my job unbearable.”
    “Well, we did our best.” Eric pointed toward the desk, where the laptop was in plain sight. “I take it this is where you want the connection.”
    “Please.”
    “The order says you’re only getting Internet service. You want me to wire for cable TV while I’m at it, just in case? Won’t cost any extra.”
    “Sure. Go ahead.”
    He set to work. “So how long are you back for?”
    “A couple of months.” Strange, that didn’t sound as bad as it had a few days ago. “My mom’s having surgery on Monday, and I’m going to look after her while she’s recuperating.”
    “Nothing serious, I hope.”
    “Her