LITMIR.BIZ

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of nights like this one. Dark too soon. Rain threatening to become something solid if the temp dropped another degree or two. Wind intent on driving the precipitation through buttonholes or jackets merely resistant, not rainproof.

      One more trip back into the store before she could turn out the rest of the lights. For the last time for a while. Maybe forever. Janelle insisted Josiah would fight for her. Karin had given him every chance. She texted Janelle then started her note to Leah.

      “Leah, you don’t deserve the mess I’m leaving you.”

      She stopped writing. Her hands shook from more than the cold. Rain dripped from her wet hair onto the sheet torn from her ever-present idea notebook. “Forgive me. Please.”

      A fist-sized rock the shop used as a doorstop in summer became a paperweight on Leah’s pristine desk. A boulder-sized lump clogged Karin’s airway as she turned toward the rear exit of the building, slapping at light switches along the way.

      She stepped onto the back stoop, tried the door to make sure it was shut, keyed in the security code, and faced the night. The phone in her coat pocket played a familiar two-toned alert. Only an insane person would stop her current mission to look. So she did.

      It was Josiah, technically speaking. But he wasn’t answering her last text, the one that could stop her. Instead, his automation system had sent a preprogrammed text to his reader fans with his “Marriage Moments” wisdom of the day.

      Mister Irony.

      “ ‘The path to your happiness,’ ” she read on the screen, “ ‘lies in paying attention to your spouse’s heartbeat.’ ”

      Rain on its way to sleet slid down the back of her neck as she lifted the Dumpster lid to toss in her phone with its cutting message.

      Her coat sleeve caught on something. She tugged against whatever it was lurking near the top but hidden in shadows. Numbing cold stiffened her fingers as she dug with her right hand to free her sleeve. Pain. There shouldn’t be pain. No. I have to go. Have to leave. Let me leave!

      A broad dagger of glass flew from the Dumpster and shattered at her feet as she extricated her arm. Sleeve ripped. Skin slashed. Blood. So much blood.

      Sleet. Cold. Stop the blood. Stop it. Not in my escape plan. Can’t hold pressure and unlock the door. Can’t get in.

      But help will come, won’t it? He’ll be here soon. In books, heroes always show up on time.

      Sound behind her. Steel door slamming hard. “Karin?”

      I knew you’d come.

      Chapter 2

      No one knows the work you’ve put into this project, the heart you’ve invested. Take a moment to celebrate. You won’t be alone. I’m here.

      ~ Seedlings & Sentiments

      from the “Celebrate” collection

      Josiah Chamberlain’s flat-tipped fingers—from the maternal side of the family—hovered over the keys. One moment. Two. He expelled the breath he’d held since page 249. Reaching his arms overhead, elbows toed in, he grabbed the back of his skull. Eyes pinched shut, he forced himself to swallow. The tennis ball in his throat refused to dislodge. Agony now ecstasy.

      It. Is. Finished.

      The low ceiling of heavy clouds had drafted his green library lamp into service earlier. Its light camouflaged the passage of time. Dark. But it had been dark all day.

      What time was it? Six-thirty. Karin would have eaten an hour ago. Had she called him to the table? Probably. If he’d put her off, he’d done it unconsciously. That’s what laser-like focus did when he was on deadline. She’d understand. What a trouper.

      He pulled himself from his reverie, laid his hand over the still-warm curve of his wireless mouse, and clicked the X in the upper right-hand corner of the screen.

      Save changes? Yes.

      He e-mailed the file to himself then pushed away from the oak trestle table, whistling the Doxology. The space shuttle had nothing on his liftoff from his leather chair. For a non-dancer, he traced a respectable jig across the wide plank floorboards on his way to the door. Hand on the white porcelain doorknob, he paused.

      Can’t be too careful.

      He scooted back to his laptop, inserted a thumb drive in the USB port, and saved the freshly minted file in triplicate.

      This time when he turned his back on the project, he straightened the framed certificate that had allowed him five years as a marriage counselor before taking his show on the road. Highly touted seminars, sold-out weekend events, and—he glanced at the now quiet computer—perhaps another best seller to add to his growing collection. Who wouldn’t enjoy a moment like this?

      He left the room whistling “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.”

      Tomorrow night—thick steaks on the grill. No. We’ll go out. Russell’s. Karin deserves her bacon-wrapped scallops. And what she’ll call a “guilt-drenched” dessert. And a little more of my time. Okay. A lot more.

      What other woman would put up with his disappearing into his cave for weeks at a time for a deadline or spending so many long stretches on the road when he wasn’t on deadline? The picture of grace. That’s what she was.

      He descended the steps like a teen late for football practice and slid into the kitchen like Cosmo Kramer from Seinfeld.

      No Karin. No plate on the dark granite kitchen island or waiting by the microwave. No matter. She probably had another plan. He yanked at the pantry door. A little bubbly would be nice. He scanned for the sparkling pear juice Karin favored. He’d grab goblets out of the china cabinet on his way through the dining room to find her.

      “Karin! Where are you?”

      No answer.

      “Karin? I’m done. Let’s celebrate.” Wait until he told her the brilliant idea he’d used to end the book.

      She’d had a project or something. Was this the week she said she was going to paint the back bedroom? No. Work related, right? Or what she called work. Best decision he ever made was to get her that storefront downtown. All the mess and that incessant whirring noise of the blender was miles away now. Sure, it cost him money he shouldn’t have had to spend. But it was either he rent an office or she did. And what she did with that homemade card place wasn’t completely without value.

      “Babe,” he called into the silence. “Deadline week. You know it’s always like this. But it’s over now. I haven’t sent it off to Morris. I can do that after we pop the cork on this vintage pear juice. Two thousand seventeen. It was a very good year.” He held the bottle high, as if she could see it.

      Sure, it was corny, but couldn’t she crack an I’m-disgusted-with-you-but-you’re-adorable smile? Laundry room. She probably can’t hear me because of the dryer.

      After his last successfully met deadline, he’d made the same suggestion. “How about we make reservations at Russell’s for tomorrow night, Karin? An ocean-view table.”

      She’d quirked an eyebrow at him, her dimples trying not to materialize. “We live in Cheese Curd Central, you lunatic. Totally landlocked. How do you propose we’ll find an ocean view?”

      “The a-quar-i-um in the lobby?”

      Considering how sequestered he’d had to be for the last couple of weeks, he should probably back off on the sarcasm this time. When he found her.

      Josiah’s word-weary brain formed a question that refused to take itself seriously. He could feel his pulse in his temples, neck, and behind his eyeballs. The chill of the travertine foyer floor seeped through his cushioned socks. “Karin? Not funny anymore.”

      His stomach rumbled. He was perfectly capable of fixing

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