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Francine Hunter didn’t throw away much.

Unlike her daughter, who was a card-carrying member of the use and discard generation.

Or I was until last week. That could all change if I don’t find the right job at the right salary.

But that was unlikely. Angie had an excellent work history and all the right qualifications. She would probably find a new job before she’d even used up her accumulated vacation days. All she needed to do while she was here in Hart’s Crossing was search the Internet for openings and send out resumes.

“Is there anything special you’d like to do today?” her mother asked, drawing Angie from her thoughts.

“Not particularly.” The day stretched before her like an eternity. When was the last time she’d had nothing scheduled in her day planner? She wasn’t much good at being idle. Actually, she wasn’t much good at relaxing. Period.

“Why don’t you call Terri and see if the two of you can go to lunch? She takes Mondays and Tuesdays off from the salon, and Lyssa will be in school. You should enjoy yourself for a couple of days before my surgery. After that, you’ll have your hands full.”

Angie swept the hair back from her face with one hand. “Yeah, maybe I’ll do that. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not, dear. I’ll have your company for the next eight weeks.” She smiled again. “And I’m so thankful to the Lord for that.”

Angie nodded as she turned to pour herself another cup of coffee. She’d learned it was better to remain silent when her mother started talking about God.

* * *

Lord,
Francine prayed as she stared at her daughter’s back,
please break down that wall. It’s been up between us for much too long.

Francine’s memories of Angie’s early childhood years were happy ones. Her husband, Ned, had been an insurance salesman. An excellent one, too. He’d loved what he did, loved helping people plan for secure futures. Francine had been a stay-at-home mom, leading Brownies and driving her daughter to piano lessons and dance lessons and baking cookies for the baked food drives. They’d taken a two-week family vacation every summer. One year it was to the Pacific coast, another year to the Atlantic. They’d seen Mount Rushmore and Niagara Falls and Bryce Canyon and the mighty Mississippi River from one end to the other.

Ned had died in a car accident when Angie was twelve. The years that immediately followed had been hard for mother and daughter. Not financially, for Ned had provided well for his loved ones, a fine example of a man practicing what he preached. But emotionally, they’d walked a difficult path, dealing with grief combined with the normal stresses that came with a girl’s teenage years.

Then, at the age of forty-four, Francine Hunter had fallen in love with Jesus, and it had changed her forever. The Hunters had been a churchgoing family, like most folks in Hart’s Crossing, but Francine had suddenly discovered Jesus wasn’t merely an example for her to live by, that the words in the Bible weren’t just good stories. Jesus was real and he was alive and he loved her. Loved her so much he not only died for her but rose for her.

Once Francine had “seen the light” for herself, she’d tried to make her daughter see it, too. She’d preached at her and prayed over her and tried to fix her in countless ways—the majority of them wrong ways. She’d pushed and shoved and offended. She’d cajoled and lectured. Her heart had been right, but her actions had been all wrong.

And in her zeal for Jesus, she’d driven her daughter away, first from the church and then from Francine herself.

Oh Lord, make her hungry for you. I don’t care how. Just make her hungry.

* * *

The homes in the Hunter neighborhood had been built in the early 1900s. Most of them were two stories with front porches—some screened-in, some open-air—but each house had a distinct personality all its own. The front yards were small patches of green, cut short by the sidewalk, a sidewalk rippled in places by the roots of the large maple trees that lined both sides of the street.

As Angie walked toward town later that morning, she remembered the many times she’d ridden her bicycle along this tree-shaded thoroughfare or skated down this sidewalk, trying her best to avoid the cracks and breaks in the cement. Terri Sampson—her last name had been Moser then—had lived across the street, and she and Angie had been inseparable. They’d had camp outs and slumber parties. They’d gone swimming together and ridden horses together and, as crazy teenagers, skipped school together. And they’d pulled more pranks on unsuspecting family members and friends than either of them could count.

Angie smiled at the memories.

“Angie Hunter? Is that you?”

She halted and looked toward the street. A white Jeep had stopped, and the driver, an attractive woman with short brown hair, leaned out the window, grinning broadly. She looked familiar but…

“It’s Cathy Lambert, used to be Cathy Foster.”

“Cathy Foster?” Angie echoed. “Good grief. I don’t believe it.” She walked toward the Jeep. “How long has it been?”

“Since high school graduation. Why don’t you come to the class reunions?”

Angie shrugged but ignored the question. “Are you visiting your folks?”

“No, my husband and I live here now.” Cathy cut the engine, obviously unconcerned about interrupting traffic by parking in the middle of the street.

“You moved back to Hart’s Crossing? But I heard you were living in the east somewhere. Boston, wasn’t it?”

“No, Philadelphia. That’s where my husband is from. But with our kids getting older, I convinced Clay to give my hometown a try. It’s a better environment for raising a family.”

Angie supposed she should know Cathy had children. Her mother had probably told her when each one was born.

“So what finally brought you for a visit, Angie?”

“Mom’s having surgery. I’m going to look after her for a couple of months.”

“A couple months? But that’s wonderful. Clay and I will have you over for a barbecue. I’d love for you to meet him and the kids. Cait’s a young woman at fifteen and Cassidy just turned thirteen. I told Cory he doesn’t get to grow up as fast as his sisters have.”

Clay. Cait. Cassidy. Cory. Angie’s head was swimming. “And how old is Cory?”

“Seven, and he’s all boy.” Cathy glanced at her wristwatch. “Oh no. I’m going to be late for my next appointment. Gotta run.” She started the Jeep. “I’ll give you a call at your mom’s.”

Angie stepped back, and Cathy drove away, waving out the window as she went.

* * *

“Cathy and her husband are dentists,” Terri told Angie as they settled into a booth at the Over the Rainbow Diner. “But you knew that, right? When they moved to Hart’s Crossing, they built a new office right next to the medical clinic. Sawtooth Dentistry.” She laughed. “They named it after the mountain range, but I still think it sounds funny.”

“She’s the last person I thought would move back to Hart’s Crossing.”

“No, Ang. You’re the last person anybody’d think that of.” Terri leaned forward, her smile fading. “But I’d love to see it happen. How about it? Aren’t you ready to give up that crazy career of yours and settle down? Get married and have a family like the rest of us?”

“It’s tough to get married if I can’t find the right guy.”

“Have you been looking?”

Angie raised an eyebrow. “Have you?”

Terri simply smiled again. “You bet I’m looking.”

“After what Vic did to you, I wouldn’t think you’d ever want—”

Terri touched the back of Angie’s hand, then shook her head.

“Sorry,” Angie said softly.

“Remember that old Osmond tune, ‘One Bad Apple’? Well, it’s true, Ang. One bad apple doesn’t spoil the whole bunch. Vic was Vic. He cheated on me, and it hurt when he left us.” Terri gave her head another slow shake. “It hurts even more that he hasn’t made any effort to contact Lyssa in over six years.” She leaned toward Angie. “But the Lord’s looking out for us. I hope I can find the right guy, the one God means for me to marry. One day, I hope Prince Charming will ride into town and sweep me off my feet.” She grinned. “There. I said it. I’m a romantic. Go on and make fun of me.”

Angie didn’t feel like making fun of her friend. In fact, she felt somewhat envious of Terri’s hopes for the future, although she wouldn’t admit it aloud. Thankfully, Nancy Raney arrived, putting an end to their conversation.

“How are you girls?” Nancy slipped an order pad and pen from the pocket of her pastel-striped apron. Then to Angie, she said, “Real nice to see you back in town.”

“Thanks, Nancy.”

“You two know what you want?”

“I’ll have a cheeseburger,” Terri answered. “With fries and a Diet Coke.”

“Sounds good.” Angie knew she’d regret it next time she got on the scales. But hey, she didn’t have a job—or a man—to stay thin for. “Make mine the same, with a slice of lemon in the Diet Coke.”

“Gotcha. I’ll bring your drinks right out.” Nancy turned and headed for the kitchen.

“So,” Terri said, “how will that paper survive without you for the next eight weeks?”

Angie shredded the edge of her paper napkin. “They’ll have to do it for longer than that.” She glanced up. “I quit last week.”

Terri’s eyes widened. “You quit?”

“Yeah.”

“Your mom didn’t say a word.”

“Mom doesn’t know. I haven’t told her. She thinks I’m using up some of my vacation.” Angie shrugged. “It’s sort of the truth. I am drawing my vacation pay. I had a lot of time saved up.”

“Wow. I don’t know what to say. I’m shocked.”

“Me, too. I haven’t been unemployed since I was a teenager.”

“Well, at least now you can stay in Hart’s Crossing a little longer. Take some time to relax a bit. Hey, maybe you could stay for good.”

“Stay?” Angie leaned her back against the upholstered booth. “And do what? What would I do around here for employment?”

“I don’t know. Get a job reporting for the
Press
. Write that novel you used to talk about all the time. Flip burgers at the drive-in if you had to.”

“Very funny.”

Terri’s voice softened. “I wasn’t trying to be funny. Give it some thought, will you? You belong here. I don’t think you’ve been truly happy since the day you moved away.”

Chapter 3

“I DON’T THINK YOU’VE been truly happy since the day you moved away.”

What an absurd thing for Terri to say. Angie had been very happy since leaving Hart’s Crossing. She’d gone to college. She’d excelled in her career. She’d experienced exciting things and seen exciting places during the years she’d worked as a foreign correspondent, and she loved absolutely everything about big city living.

Well, maybe not the traffic during commute hours, but everything else.

Well, maybe not
everything
else, but almost.

“At least I could get a skinny vanilla latte whenever I wanted one,” she muttered the next morning as she stared at the coffeemaker, impatiently waiting for the brewing cycle to end.

“What was that, dear?”

“Nothing, Mom. Just talking to myself.”

Francine Hunter chuckled. “You’re much too young for that habit.”

“Not really.”

“Perhaps it’s the writer in you. You’ve always had a creative spirit. Always had so much going on inside that head of yours. You’re like your father in that regard, and he used to talk to himself all the time.”

“Did he?” Angie filled two ceramic mugs with coffee and carried them to the table, setting one in front of her mother. “There you go.”

“Thanks, dear.” Her mother added a spoonful of sugar and stirred it. “What’s on your agenda for the day?”

“I’m not sure. I guess I’ll do some work on the Internet if you don’t mind me tying up the phone line for a while.” She tapped a fingernail against the tabletop. “Maybe I should order cable service.”

“Heavens, no!” Her mother shot her a horrified look. “There’s nothing worth watching on the channels we have now. Why pay for more worthless shows?”

“I meant cable Internet service. It won’t tie up the phone line when I’m on the computer, and it’s about twenty times faster than most dial-ups.”

“Fast. Faster. Fastest. Everybody’s in such a hurry these days.” Francine took a sip of coffee. After a moment she said, “How difficult it must be for today’s generation to obey the Scripture that says, ‘Be still, and know that I am God.’ Nobody seems to know how to be still anymore. Everyone’s so busy…What’s the term that means a person’s trying to do about six things at once?”

“I think you mean multitasking.”

“Yes, that’s it. Multitasking. It’s a dreadful word, isn’t it?”

Angie opened her mouth to disagree, then closed it again. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe it was a dreadful word. Just because she’d spent the past seventeen years multitasking every part of her life didn’t mean it was a good thing.

“I don’t think you’ve been truly happy since the day you moved away.”

“Dear,” Francine said, interrupting Angie’s thoughts, “you do whatever you wish about the cable thing. I’m sure you’ll need to check in with your office occasionally, and if cable or whatever will help you, you should have it. I don’t want your stay with me to be an inconvenience to you.”

Angie couldn’t put it off any longer. This was the perfect opportunity to tell her mother that she was unemployed. “Mom…I—”

She was saved by the proverbial bell. This one, the front doorbell.

“I wonder who that could be this early in the day.” Francine rose from her chair. “Excuse me while I see.”

As she sipped her coffee, Angie wondered why she was reluctant to tell her mother she’d quit her job. For that matter, why was she reluctant to share much of anything about her life?

“When did we stop talking?” she whispered. Then she shook her head. “When did
I
stop talking?” Before she could seek an answer to those questions, her mother returned, followed by their visitor.

“Look who’s come to see you, Angie.”

Peeking around Francine’s back, Till Hart grinned, the smile deepening the creases in her wizened face. “Land sakes alive. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”