buy you into the business.”
It sounded exciting and challenging—new motivation to drag herself out of bed every morning. Natalie rose and gripped Jeff's hand in a firm shake. “I'm in. Let's do it.”
“Don't do it, Mom.” Lissa fought the tremor in her voice as she scraped a plate and set it in the dishwasher. She saw little enough of her mother already. Now Mom would be spending hours and hours every day at Mr. Garner's print shop.
“I need to do this, honey.” Her mother whisked a kiss across the top of her head on her way to the fridge with a plastic container of leftovers. The tart aroma of sausage and kraut hung in the air. “You've got school expenses. Your dad's car is in the shop again. And Grandma's medical bills are piling up.”
Lissa marched to the table and wrapped her arms around her dad's neck. “Talk to her, Daddy. We need Mom at home.”
He cast her a tired glance and flicked to the next page in the sports section. “I've already tried, kiddo. Your mother's mind is made up.”
Sucking in short, quick gasps to keep the tears from spilling over, Lissa wrapped her arms around her chest and bolted from the kitchen. Her whole life felt like a roller coaster on rocket fuel, speeding out of control and plummeting toward certain disaster. Mom and Dad were hardly ever home at the same time. When they were, if they weren't arguing about something, they weren't talking at all. It would only get worse with Mom working full time.
4
W ith Natalie's long hours at the print shop and his school and coaching duties, Daniel hardly ever saw his wife anymore. Not that it mattered. Ever since Valentine's Day, their marriage seemed to be on hold. Life for Daniel had become one long waiting game, waiting for Natalie to work through her guilt, waiting for any kind of change, positive or negative, in Belinda Morgan's condition. Only then could he hope for the return of any semblance of normalcy. It was May. How long was he supposed to wait?
A four-way stop loomed at the edge of his headlights. He applied the brake and glanced in both directions. With little traffic this time of morning, he hit the gas pedal, ready to zip through the intersection. Until the Bronco coughed, sputtered, and died.
“Come on, start, you blasted machine.” Daniel twisted the ignition key and jammed his foot on the accelerator, but the engine refused to turn over. Nerve endings screaming, he slammed his fists against the steering wheel and squeezed out a long, pained moan. So much for getting to school early to finish typing up the final exams for his history classes.
After a few calming breaths, he climbed out of the car and gazed up and down the empty stretch of highway between Fawn Ridge and Putnam. Not a headlight in sight. A chilly, pre-dawn breeze whipped at his open windbreaker. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone.
“Nat, it's me. The Bronco died again.”
The whoosh of the bathroom shower blunted her disgusted huff. “Where are you?”
“About five miles up the highway.” He squinted to read the road signs. “At Connealy Road.”
“Okay, I'll be there in fifteen.”
She arrived in twenty, give or take five minutes of chewing him out for making her late for her own job.
It didn't end at supper that evening—or the next. Between driving him the rest of the way to Putnam Middle School, arranging for a tow, and then haggling with the repair shop, she made sure he knew exactly how severely she'd been inconvenienced. Once they sent Lissa to bed Friday night, the argument continued behind their closed bedroom door.
Daniel flung his shirt into the laundry hamper. “I can't help it I don't get paid more. You're the one who won't leave Fawn Ridge. You're the one who won't let me apply at a higher-paying school.”
“You know what my family means to me. And it's not like I don't contribute. I've been making good money at Garner and