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windows had let the sunshine in—a time when my mother had been there. It seemed like forever ago.
    Not that Dad and I were total slobs. We ran the dishwasher and did the laundry. The Spotlessly White Cleaners did the rest. But their once-a-week visits couldn’t stay ahead of the clutter, and mounds of junk had grown everywhere. My gaze came to rest on the chair and music stand in the far corner. Well, almost everywhere.
    â€œPut the TV over by the window,” I said, returning to the kitchen and plunging a knife into the peanut butter.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy not?” I knew I was treading on forbidden ground, but since I was already in a pot of trouble, what difference would a little more make?
    â€œYou know why not.” Dad’s voice was quiet, kind of like the calm before the storm. “That’s your mother’s place. It’s where she writes her music and plays her cello.”
    I ignored the warning. “You’re wrong.”
    Dad’s head shot up and his eyes flashed, but not even that could stop me. I was going to have my say.
    â€œShe used to do those things.” I raised my voice to discourage any interruption he might be planning. “But in case you haven’t noticed, she doesn’t do them anymore—at least not here. And that’s because she left. Remember? She skipped out, took a hike, jumped ship. It doesn’t matter what you call it. The end result’s the same. She’s not here! And she’s not coming back!”
    Dad sprang out of his chair so fast the table lurched and coffee slopped onto the flyer.
    â€œYes, she is!” he roared, as if shouting could make it true. “She is coming back! She’s just taking time out to follow her dream. But she’ll be back. You’ll see. She’llcome home. And when she does, she’s going to want her music corner.”
    â€œ
Time out
?” I practically choked on the words. “You don’t take time out from family, Dad! What’s the matter with you? You talk like Mom’s on some kind of vacation. Why can’t you face the truth? She walked out on us!”
    There are no words to describe the look that came over my father. All I know is that it scared the heck out of me. I thought he was going to hit me. Maybe he thought so too. Maybe that’s why he pushed past and slammed out the front door.

Chapter Seven
    When I got to the hardware store, the ladder and paint supplies were already outside. That was fine with me. The sooner I got to work, the sooner I’d be finished, and the less chance anyone would see me.
    I figured Feniuk must be inside the building, so I headed for the entrance and pushed on the door. It wasn’t locked, and as it swung open, a bell jingled. Feniuk was standingdead ahead. He frowned at his watch and then at me.
    â€œYou’re late. When I say eight o’clock, I don’t mean five minutes after. I was just about to pick up the phone.”
    I rolled my eyes. “We’re talking a lousy five minutes. What’s the big deal?”
    â€œIn business, Mr. Zeelander, five minutes is a very big deal. It can mean the difference between making a sale and losing one. You see that sign on the door? It says we’re open from nine to nine. If a customer shows up at one minute after nine, the store should be open. If my employees are late, it won’t be, and the customer will go somewhere else.”
    I scowled. “I’m not your employee.”
    â€œUntil your debt is paid, you work for me three hours every morning, Monday through Friday. That makes you my employee. Don’t be late again.” Then he turned away and started tidying the shelves.
    I stared in disbelief. Feniuk was acting like he owned me.
    As I opened my mouth to protest, he glanced over his shoulder.
    â€œTime is wasting, Mr. Zeelander,” he said quietly. “I suggest you get started.”
    The guys showed up just before the