LITMIR.BIZ

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over two weeks.”

      “At the end of July, right?”

      “That’s right. The second half of the month. The dates are marked on the calendar.”

      With just the slightest lump in her throat, Lyddie said, “It’s up to her, but I think she’d be delighted to go. Let’s iron out the details tomorrow, okay? It’s been a long day. I’m wiped.”

      Ruth looked as though she wanted to say more, but Lyddie turned back to the computer. She bookmarked the pages she needed, shut down the computer then dragged herself up the stairs, wondering who on earth had ever thought that a two-story house was a good idea.

      Before she could collapse into her own bed, however, she had one more job to do. Barefoot, she padded down the hall for her nightly peek into the kids’ rooms.

      Ben had fallen asleep with the light on, as always. A copy of Carl Sagan’s Cosmos lay on the bed near his outstretched hand.

      “Good night, my little brainiac.” Lyddie eased the book from its landing place and set it on the dresser where Ben would be sure to see it as soon as he woke. She smoothed the hair from his forehead and tiptoed to the door, where she paused to look back again.

      “Glenn,” she murmured softly, “he’s getting too smart for me, hon. I can’t understand the things he talks about anymore, and he figured out that I’ve been faking for a while now. Could you maybe send him a friend? Preferably one who understands all that physics stuff, so he doesn’t walk around feeling so alone?”

      Book safe, light out, she moved to the big room shared by the girls. Tish had kicked off her covers. Lyddie smoothed the blankets over her once again and kissed the sleeping child gently on the forehead. A glance across the room showed Sara curled in a fetal position, slumbering peacefully under the Clarinets RULE poster she’d tacked above her bed.

      Ruth was right about one thing. Letting Sara leave, even for the summer, was one of the scariest things Lyddie had ever done. In her heart of hearts she knew that Sara was going to fall in love with Vancouver, with the opportunities, with the sights and sounds and offerings that awaited her.

      She was prepared to do anything—go into debt until she was ninety-two, bind herself to a town where she would always be the hero’s widow—to make sure her children had every possible chance to connect with the father they’d lost. But what would she do if Sara didn’t want to come home?

      * * *

      TWO DAYS AFTER making an ass of himself in River Joe’s, J.T. made his first foray to the post office. Conversation dropped a bit when he walked through the door, but didn’t come to a dead halt the way it had at the coffee shop. He wasn’t sure if that was good or not.

      He nodded in the general direction of the room and took his place at the end of the line. He didn’t recognize any of the people ahead of him. Of course, from their surreptitious glances, he saw that they certainly knew who he was.

      “Morning,” he said when he caught the woman ahead of him giving him the once-over. She blushed and inched away. It seemed public opinion had indeed taken his measure and found him wanting, even when he was wearing regular street clothes.

      It was kind of like back when Pluto was demoted from planetary status. Science and reason were nothing compared to long-standing opinion. He’d had to endure many a tirade from folks who insisted that Pluto was and always would be a planet, simply because that was what they believed.

      He never thought he would empathize with a dwarf planet, of all things, but something about being on the receiving end of those glances had him feeling sorry for old Pluto.

      The line moved quickly. J.T. stepped up to order his stamps but was stopped by a shriek that echoed through the room.

      “J. T. Delaney, it’s you!”

      He blinked and focused on the smiling face on the other side of the counter. It took a second to subtract twenty-five years and about that many pounds from the woman beaming at him, but once he made the connection, recognition flooded through him.

      “Tracy?”

      If anything, her grin grew wider. “You old dog. What took you so long to come and say hello?”

      “How about, I was saving the best for last?”

      It wasn’t until he saw her smile that J.T. realized how much he’d needed a friendly greeting. It was nice to know that at least one person remembered him with something other than loathing.

      Tracy laughed and swatted his shoulder. They passed a couple of pleasant minutes playing catch-up before the door opened to admit the next customer.

      “Oh, geez,” Tracy muttered. “Incoming.”

      J.T. glanced over his shoulder to a most unwelcome sight. Jillian McFarlane was advancing on the counter with a smile more synthetic than that on any of the themed Barbie dolls she used to collect.

      “Hello, Tracy. Hello, J.T. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

      J.T. refrained from pointing out that the cold front accompanying Jillian would cast a pall over any day. He couldn’t believe she’d actually been elected mayor. All he could think was that nobody else had wanted the job. Either that or she scared all the other candidates away.

      “Mornin’, Jelly. Good talking to you, Tracy. I’d better hit the road.”

      “Don’t be a stranger, J.T.” Tracy waved. J.T. thought he was free and clear until he felt Jillian’s hand on his arm.

      “Hang on. I need to talk to you.”

      Talk to Jillian? Alone? Not without body armor.

      “Sorry. Have to run.”

      “Tracy, would you excuse us for a moment?”

      Tracy crossed her arms and smirked.

      “I don’t know, Jillian. What if someone comes in? I could be accused of deserting my post.”

      Jillian shook her head so hard that her hair broke loose from the coating of spray holding it in place. The resulting wave of fumes was probably enough to be federally regulated.

      “Honestly, Tracy. Go sort something, will you?”

      “Whatever.”

      Tracy wiggled her fingers in a lazy farewell and ambled to the back room. The minute she was gone, Jillian tightened her grip on his arm.

      “I had an interesting phone call this morning, J.T. From Randy Cripps down in Brockville.”

      It sounded familiar, but for the life of him he couldn’t place it. Jillian heaved a major-league sigh.

      “You know. Cripps Chips?”

      Oh, right. The potato-chip guy who had been interested in buying the coffee shop. “Why did he call you? Complaining that I’m taking so long to get back to him? I thought I’d wait until I heard from Lydia Brewster before I—”

      “He wasn’t complaining. He wanted me to listen to his plans for expanding here.”

      “Oh. Well, good for him, but I’m not doing anything until I hear from Lydia.”

      “J.T. Pay attention. Lydia Brewster is a very nice woman who had a very rough time. I’ve had no problem encouraging the town to support her and Ruth, and she’s become an active, valuable member of the community. We’re glad to have her.” Jillian raised a finger. “But she runs a very small operation with only two permanent jobs and a handful of seasonal helpers. Cripps wants both buildings—River Joe’s and Patty’s Pizza. One would be a retail outlet and one would be a production site. Do you know how many jobs that could bring in?”

      “Wait. Neither of those properties is big enough to put a factory in it.”

      She sighed again, this time speaking as if he were a particularly obtuse toddler. “It’s a small-batch company. They don’t

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