“She wasn't going to cry, not in front of him. She had to clench her hands into fists in her lap to keep them from trembling, and she couldn't really speak because her throat was too tight and that would give her away. He pulled into the drive, got out, took a pile of stuff from the back seat. She opened her door the minute the Jeep stopped, and she got out, too, walked around the car, and nearly collided with him at the bottom of the steps. "Your mother's going to be fine," he said. "Of course ...she is." "And so are you." She forced her eyes to meet his. "I already am." He sighed, but at least didn't argue the point. Instead, he took her arm with his free hand, led her up the steps, over the porch, then unlocked and opened the front door. She looked around the cabin. It was no neater than it had been the last time she'd been here. Messier, maybe. Stacks of folders, with sheets of paper sticking from them. A pile of slick-surfaced faxes laid on the floor in front of the fax machine, their ends curling upward.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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