you? Give me an update.”
“All right,” he said, looking at the front page. “The school board’s bringing a new bond issue to the ballot in September. You’ll vote for it, won’t you?”
“Of course. Anything else?”
“There’s an article here by Jack Griffin about the Harbor Street Art Gallery. Apparently the owners are closing it, at least for the winter months, and maybe for good.”
“Oh, no,” Rachel murmured. “Maryellen Bowman’s going to feel awful about that. She’s the one who built it up. A lot of local artists depend on that extra income.”
“There’s also a short piece about a farewell party for Linnette McAfee,” Bruce went on. “Apparently her last day at the Medical Clinic is next week.”
“I’m sorry she’s moving away,” Rachel said. “If anyone should move, it’s Cal,” she added indignantly.
“Who’s Cal?”
She launched into a rather involved explanation of Linnette and Cal Washburn and their relationship, ending with, “He broke her heart and now she’s leaving town?”
“Why?” That didn’t make sense to Bruce, either, but then he was the last person who’d understand the whys and wherefores of a relationship. Rachel explained why she thought Linnette had decided to move. It still didn’t make sense to him. So Linnette and this Cal broke up. So what? This wasn’t junior high. Everyone should be able to coexist and behave like the adults they were.
“Martha Evans’s funeral was this week,” Rachel said next. “Anything in the paper about that?”
“Who’s she?”
“She was an elderly woman. Around ninety. I did her hair for the funeral.”
He didn’t like thinking about it. “That’s something you do?” he asked hesitantly.
“Of course. She was a lovely woman. I’ll miss her.”
“But why—”
“The funeral home occasionally hires me. And I was very fond of Martha so I wanted to do it.”
They chatted for another while, joking back and forth, filling each other in on what was happening at work. When he replaced the phone, Bruce was shocked to realize they’d talked for more than an hour.
“What did Rachel say?” Jolene asked. She’d been waiting patiently, completing a jigsaw puzzle of horses grazing in a field. Five hundred pieces! He was impressed.
“She said she’d be by to pick you up at nine-thirty on Saturday morning,” he said absently. An hour. He’d spent an entire hour on the phone with Rachel?
Something was wrong.
Bruce didn’t even like talking on the phone. Five minutes, tops. Say what’s necessary and hang up. He could barely remember a conversation in his entire adult life that had lasted more than fifteen minutes.
“Dad?” Jolene cut into his musings.
“What?”
“You’re standing up but you’re not going anywhere.”
“I am?” He hadn’t been aware that he was on his feet until Jolene pointed it out.
“Are you okay?” his daughter asked.
Bruce sat back down. “I—I don’t know.” He felt dizzy, and that was unusual for him. In fact, his head was spinning. Maybe he had the flu. Yeah, a flu named Rachel. Where did that thought come from? Squinting at his daughter, he noticed she was looking at him strangely.
“Should I call 911?”
“No.” He forced a laugh. “I’m fine. I do have a question for you, though.”
“Sure.” She knelt in front of him, her hand on his knee. “Do you want me to get you a glass of water?”
“No, no, it’s nothing.” His heart felt like an oil-rig pump that had gone berserk, but he chose to ignore that. “You like Rachel, don’t you?” But Jolene didn’t need to answer. Rachel had taken Stephanie’s place in her life. His own parents lived in Connecticut, and Jolene had only seen them two or three times. Stephanie’s parents had divorced when she was young and she’d never had a good relationship with her father. Her mother had died within two years of Stephanie; she’d never recovered from the loss of her only child. So it’d always been just Bruce and his daughter. Except for Rachel …
“Dad, of course I like Rachel,” Jolene said. “You like her, too, don’t you?”
He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously.
“You’re not mad at her or anything?”
“No, no, everything’s … fine.”
The relief in his daughter’s eyes quickly turned to fear. “She’s not marrying Nate and moving to San Diego, is she?”
Not if I can help it, his mind shouted. With Jolene studying him intently, he shook his head and pretended nothing was amiss.
Together they made dinner. Jolene prepared a green salad while Bruce fixed tuna sandwiches. Dinnertime had been important to Stephanie. Because he knew this was something his wife would’ve wanted, Bruce had continued the practice of having dinner with Jolene every evening. While she described her day, he did his best to pay attention. During the summer she attended a church day camp, which she loved. She launched into a long, complicated story about a little play she was in, and he forced himself to nod and exclaim in the right places.
Summer bedtime was nine-thirty and Jolene went without an argument. He cleaned up the kitchen, then thought about going to bed himself, only he wasn’t tired. After washing a load of laundry and dumping it in the dryer, he cleaned the bathroom. This burst of nervous energy wasn’t a bad thing, he decided. Rare and surprising, perhaps, but nothing to be alarmed by.
Once in bed, he tossed and turned for another hour, then realized he wouldn’t sleep until he’d talked to Rachel again. Her phone rang four times before she answered.
“Hello.” Her voice was soft with sleep.
“It’s me,” he said, feeling a bit unnerved when he glanced at the clock on his nightstand and saw that it was after midnight.
“Bruce? Do you know what time it is?” She sounded more awake now—and annoyed.
“Sorry …”
“What’s wrong?”
“When we talked earlier,” he began, not knowing where to go from there.
“Yeah, what about it?”
“We were on the phone for over an hour.”
His announcement was met with silence, so he forged ahead. “There’s something
