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knees, his hands on her shoulders. “Kacey, I’m not trying to smother you! I love you!”
    She reached out to stroke his shaggy hair, to cup his chin with her hand. “This just doesn’t feel right to me anymore, Greg. I don’t know what else to say.”
    He took her hand from his face. “I thought you loved me.”
    In the shadowy moonlight, she could see the pain in his eyes. She felt it in her own heart. “I do love you, but something’s going on with me. I don’t know what, really, but I just can’t see a future for us anymore.” She paused, then whispered, “I’m sorry, so sorry.”
    Without speaking, he stood. She rose and, picking up the blanket, followed him as he walked slowly back to the truck. She climbed in beside him. He sat, his hands gripping the steering wheel. His eyes staring into the darkness.
    â€œGreg?”
    He shook his head. Turning the key, the old engine sputtered to life. He made his way slowly down the rutted road. He swung the truck out onto the county road, gravel kicking up behind him as he shifted into third and pushed down hard on the accelerator. This had been, he knew, the last trip to their glen.
    7
    â€œDid you hear the news?” Bridget asked as she forked a drumstick onto her plate.
    â€œWhat news?” came the multiple replies.
    â€œMarilyn Monroe killed herself. I just heard it on the radio!”
    Rose reached for the platter of chicken. “Oh, that Marilyn Monroe! She’s always up to something!” She lifted a thigh from the platter before passing it to Kenneth.
    He took it from her, a weary look on his face. “Up to something? Yes, I’d say she’s really up to something this time,” he muttered.
    Kacey picked at her food. Kenneth watched her from the corner of his eye. “I’d rather hear from Kacey why the tomatoes aren’t in yet.” There was an edge in his voice.
    Kacey’s face reddened. “It’s still early,” she replied without looking up. “Grandma always said don’t put them in till after Memorial Day.”
    Kenneth laid down his fork. “It is after Memorial Day, Kacey! Where in the world’s your head?”
    Joseph glanced at his sullen sister. “She’s cranky ’cuz Greg ditched her.”
    Kacey whirled on the eleven-year-old, her voice tight with anger. “He did not ditch me!”
    â€œWell, if he didn’t ditch you, where is he then? He hasn’t been over for a long time!”
    â€œIf you must know, I broke up with him .”
    A groan from around the table. Maureen looked dismayed. “Oh, Kacey, why’d you do that? I love Greg!”
    â€œMind your own business, Maureen!” Rose stood up and moved to the counter, rummaging in the cupboard. “You can’t possibly know what he’s really like. No one can, ‘til you live with a person awhile!”
    Kenneth frowned at his wife. “This isn’t about you, Rose! Let the girl talk!” Kenneth snapped.
    â€œDad. Mom. Please.” The fork in her hand trembled. In her head, the words of the poem were ringing insistently. I fled Him, down the nights and down the days, I fled Him . . .
    A hush fell over the table. She took a deep breath and began. “Greg and I did break up, and I should have told you. I feel badly about it, but I knew I had to do it.”
    â€œWhy?” Maureen repeated her question.
    Kacey picked up her napkin, then laid it down again, smoothing it with her hand. “Because it became clear to me that we weren’t going to have a future together.”
    Maureen was insistent. “Why not ?”
    â€œBecause I finally know what I want to do with my life. It’s been a long time in coming but I know now.” She paused as all eyes turned toward her. “I’m applying to Blessed Sacrament. I want to be a nun.”
    A gasp rose in the air from around the table. “Kacey!”