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Chapter Four

Justine heard footsteps in the hall coming toward her office. She looked up from the lesson she’d prepared for her newly instituted Wednesday night youth service. While she was ready for a visitor, she wasn’t ready to find Chief Matthew Trent and his wide shoulders filling her doorway.

The quickened beat of her heart told her a forewarning probably wouldn’t have helped, anyway. To see Matt was to—and oh, how she hated admitting this even to herself—desire him. That he was in uniform didn’t help. What was it about men in uniform? And why didn’t being a minister exempt her from those kind of thoughts? They were entirely inappropriate, and besides that, embarrassing and inconvenient!

“Got a minute?” Matt asked, and Justine felt immediate contrition. The man was clearly troubled.

“Come in. What can I do for you?”

“A couple things, actually,” he said, sinking into the chair across from her desk. “I’ve been meaning to get over here to see you ever since Friday but, with one thing and another going on, my time’s been a little tight.”

“I noticed the girls weren’t at Sunday school. Frankly, I worried that I’d chased you all away.”

“Of course you didn’t chase us away. Gina was up sick all night Saturday, so we slept in. The reason I wanted to see you is to say I was wrong to snap at you on Friday. I’d like to apologize. You were just concerned for Les, and I overreacted instead of being appreciative that you’d worry about her.”

He raked a hand through his shock of dark hair. “I’m afraid I’m a little sensitive about the girls. I made the mistake of leaning heavily on my in-laws after Diane died. Then, when Cindy was taken—”

“Taken?”

Matt sat back and crossed his ankle over his knee. “I assumed you knew what prompted our move here. Cindy was snatched from the playground at school last spring.”

Justine’s hand flew to cover her heart. “Oh dear Lord. That’s horrible.”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds as if to banish the horror, then opened them and nodded. “We got lucky. A teacher who’d had Cindy in a previous grade happened to be leaving for a doctor’s appointment. She saw Cindy in the car crying. She knew me, and since I wasn’t the driver, she decided to make sure everything was all right. She drove her car across the street and blocked his car in. Better safe than sorry, she thought, and, of course, she was right. One of the male teachers saw what was happening, saw the vehicle turn around, and chased it on foot, hoping to get the plate number, at least. When the car had to stop, he managed to get the door open with Cindy’s help and pulled her out. The perp fled on foot, but the police had him in custody within the hour.”

“You must have been terrified for her.”

Matt nodded. “And that’s why I decided to move somewhere safer. My in-laws weren’t so understanding. They live about an hour the other side of Green Bay. Seth’s seventy now. He was never much of a driver, but now he hates driving through the city or on high-speed highways. And, of course, they’d gotten used to stopping in every day. I know this is a long drive, but they acted as if Safe Harbor were the dark side of the moon. I’d asked their opinion on so much for so long, they must have begun to think they had a right to dictate how and where I should raise the girls. They wanted me to keep my job with the FBI and have the girls live with them, visiting on weekends. I couldn’t even consider that.”

“After losing their mother, that would have been disastrous for them.”

Matt moved in his chair, visibly restless and tense. “That’s how I felt. Anyway, Ray called about the job in Safe Harbor, and I decided the move here would be better for all concerned. My in-laws objected and even told the girls their alternative solution without consulting me.”

“I can’t think that was right, and I, for one, think you made the right decision. As I said, the girls didn’t need to lose you as well as their mother.”

“Not to hear their grandparents tell it. They don’t think I’m capable of raising three girls alone.”

Justine could hear the hurt in his voice.

“Well, anyway,” he continued, “I’m proud of my relationship with my kids. We’re close. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them. Nothing’s more important to me than they are. I’m a good father.” A note of uncertainty entered his voice.

“Of course, you are. I never doubted that for a moment,” she assured him.

“Right now, I am. Doubting me, I mean. Sort of, anyway.” He shook his head and sat straighter, dropping the relaxed cross-legged posture. “I don’t know. I thought I’d solved any problem with Leslie’s eating on Friday night. She admitted to watching her diet so she wouldn’t gain weight in her adult years. Diane’s mother is a little on the plump side, and I think it may have had Les worried. But then we had a long talk about dieting and the reality of retouched fashion magazine photos. She seemed to understand. Then last night, I caught her tossing her dinner in the trash.

“I confronted her about it, and before I knew it we were in a raging, door-slamming battle. She hates it here. Hates me for bringing her here. She should have stayed with Seth and Mary. She called me ‘stupid’ and ‘selfish’ among other things, the kindest of which was ‘dictator.’ She apologized later but…” He grimaced.

The man was heartbroken. “But you thought you were her hero and it hurts that she’s coming to see things about you she characterizes as faults.”

Matt blinked and stared at her. “How did you know that?”

“I’m smarter than the average minister because I’m a woman,” she teased, shooting him a grin.

The teasing did no good. Matt was just too upset to unwind that easily. “One of the things she really unloaded about is that practically every minute we’re together has something to do with chores. She’s right. Between trying to get completely moved in—my garage is still wall-to-wall boxes—and all the everyday things Diane would have handled while I was at work…” He sighed. “She told me later that she was just angry but… Justine, I’m not sure she meant it. I thought I knew my daughter.”

“I’m sure you do. More than the average male parent of a thirteen-year-old girl. It’s a very difficult period. So much changes in that year. I often feel sorry for those ninth graders. They don’t really belong in the junior high building nor the high school building. She’s growing up, Matt, and unfortunately that means growing away, as well. It’s a natural, albeit painful, process.”

Matt scrubbed his hand over his face. “I wish I were sure that’s all there is to it. Listen, I know it’s an imposition, but would you mind coming over for dinner one night soon and just sort of observing her? Maybe you’ll see something I’m missing. And maybe if she hears another woman in an informal setting talking about this dieting idea, she’ll see she’s going at it all wrong.”

Justine really didn’t think she’d be able to help, but didn’t want to close the door with a refusal. “It isn’t an imposition at all. I’m always here for the kids and their parents. Besides, it’ll save me cooking for myself at least one night.”

“Would tonight be too soon?”

“No. Tonight would be fine.”

He smiled broadly, his relief palpable. “Thanks.”

At six-thirty sharp, Justine pulled up in the Trents’ driveway and took a moment to send a quick prayer heavenward that she wouldn’t misstep.

She was only halfway up the walk when the front door flew open and Cindy and Gina spilled out with Matt trailing behind.

“Don’t knock the poor woman over, girls,” he called after them, as they both barreled into her, shooting greetings and queries a mile a minute. She put her arms around both girls and tried to answer.

“Now, let me see. Yes, I’d love to see your room, Cindy. And, yes, I’d love to meet your friend Binky,” she said, carefully taking a baby blanket that had seen better days. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to smooth it over her hand and turn it quickly into a puppet.

“Hello, Reverend Clemens,” she said, giving Binky a squeaky voice. “Hello to you, too, Binky,” she answered, quickly changing back to her own voice. “Gina’s my person. We’re very good friends,” Binky replied.

Gina giggled and took Binky back, clumsily fashioning the puppet around her own hand. “Will you be my friend, too, and maybe stay overnight? We have bunk beds. We’ll share. Won’t we, Gina?”

“Sure,” Gina continued in the high-pitched voice she’d assigned to Binky, then quickly corrected the tone, and giggled, saying “Sure” again in her own register.

Matt cleared his throat. “I don’t think, Reverend Clemens could—”

“I really can’t,” Justine said at the same moment. They both laughed in shared camaraderie and chagrin.

“Girls, let’s get inside before dinner burns…or our guest runs for her life,” Matt put in, after scooping Gina and Binky up in his arms.

He’d promised to fix ravioli in a red meat sauce that he called gravy, a term he said he’d learned from his Italian grandmother. His Mediterranean background wasn’t a surprise to Justine. His deep brown eyes, dark complexion and nearly black hair told an unmistakable tale of Latin roots.

Justine followed the crowd inside the farmhouse-design home. She found it a pleasant surprise after the way Matt had described the state of his garage. The living room was beautifully arranged. If the rest of his home looked as put together, she would know he’d been exaggerating.

“Matt, this is lovely. You have a real talent for decorating.”

A snort came from behind and to the left. Justine turned and found Leslie leaning in the doorway of a softly lit room next to the staircase. “Like Dad knows more than how to stuff a room full of furniture.”

“Les told me where to put what, what color to paint the walls and what to hang where,” Matt confessed. “Otherwise, nothing would have been hung up and the furniture would be arranged like a doctor’s waiting room. My back still aches thinking about moving everything around till my slave-driver daughter was satisfied.”

Mindful that a lack of self-esteem was reported to be a prime cause of eating disorders, Justine jumped on the chance to bolster Leslie’s sense of self. “You have quite a talent, Leslie. Maybe someday you’ll be an interior designer.”

The teen shrugged shyly. “Mom bought it all. I just said where to put it. And the paint color was common sense. It was no big deal.”

“Oh, you’re wrong. Really. It takes the right eye to know how to arrange things this nicely. And color is so easily off a shade. I know grown women who can’t do this well. Unfortunately, I head the list. Maybe you could lend me that eye of yours someday, if it’s all right with your dad. I hate the way my place is coming together. As your dad said, it looks like a doctor’s waiting room with the furniture lined up along the walls.”

Again Leslie shrugged, but she did stand a little straighter and taller. “Yeah. Sure. I could help.”

“I guess that means I’ll be moving furniture again,” Matt said, giving a deep theatrical sigh.

Leslie rolled her eyes. “Oh, Daddy,” she said with the kind of exaggerated disgust only a thirteen-year-old can do justice to.

Justine laughed. “So, where’s this authentic Italian dinner I was promised?”

Matt tucked the younger girls in bed and settled Les down at the computer in her room to finish the rest of her homework. Then, somewhat reluctantly, he headed back to the family room where Justine waited. He watched her lovely face in silent repose reflected in the window as she stared out at the darkened sky and took a sip of the tea he’d given her before going off to see to the girls.

For a moment Matt found himself unable to move—held in check by Justine’s beauty. But, he reminded himself, he needed something of more substance from this woman—this minister—than her captivating loveliness. With his daughter’s happiness at stake, attraction took a back seat to answers. Answers he needed but feared.

Matt took a deep fortifying breath before plunging ahead into troubled waters. If she said something negative, he didn’t know how he’d handle it. There was nothing more important to him than being the best of fathers. What would he do if he’d failed?

“Everyone’s all settled,” he told her before losing his nerve.

Justine turned and smiled, but there was a hint of nervousness in her expression. “Matt,” she said, almost as if she were surprised to see him there.

“Oh-oh. You spotted a problem, didn’t you? I don’t relish hearing you tell me I’m a failure as a father, but—”

Justine’s eyes widened. “Goodness, Matt, you’re nothing of the sort. I was just going over something troubling in my mind. And it had little to do with your situation. Those girls adore you—even Leslie, as angry as you say she was with you. Her eyes simply shine when she looks at you. I’ve just been wondering if you’d ever considered hiring a part-time housekeeper to do light housework around here and to, perhaps, cook dinner?”

“Actually, I did. Just after Diane passed away. But her mother was afraid a stranger coming in and doing the things Diane used to do would upset the girls. It made sense at the time,” he added, not wanting Justine to think he was rejecting her idea out of hand.

“It may have been a mistake then but I think the two of you have carried this burden long enough. Watching Leslie tonight, I couldn’t help but think she might feel as overwhelmed as you do. Leslie’s still just a child. She tries so very hard to be helpful. Almost too hard.”

“She’s been like that ever since Diane got sick. Mary was around a lot more then, but even so, Les pitched right in to fill in the gaps. Are you saying you think that’s a bad thing?”

“I don’t honestly know. I can’t see that learning to handle responsibility is a bad thing, but maybe too much could be overwhelming. You did say she complained about all your activities together centering around chores. As I said, I have no way of knowing what she’s thinking, so I could be wrong. But I did a lot of filling in for my mother at Leslie’s age and I never stopped eating as Les seems to have.” Justine shrugged as if to admit that kids were baffling.

Les was his problem. He didn’t want to burden the pretty preacher overly much, and she seemed so concerned. “That’s the trouble with parenthood,” he said, walking away to drop into his favorite chair. “Kids don’t come with instructions written on their bottoms.”

Justine chuckled as he’d meant her to and joined him, sitting on the love seat next to his chair. “And all the books written on the subject contradict each other.”

“Exactly. So you think a housekeeper might help?”

“I don’t see how it could hurt.”

Neither did he, but he didn’t know that many people in Safe Harbor yet and he hated relying on Ray any more than he already had. Both Ray and Julie had done so much for him and the girls already. He couldn’t have them looking for a housekeeper, too.

“I actually have someone in mind,” Justine was saying, coming to his rescue. “You might know her. Elizabeth Neal. She was Safe Harbor’s post-mistress until she retired. Elizabeth is alone in the world, so she fills her life with activities like singing in the choir, organizing the town’s Harvest Fest and cooking for the needy. She actually complained last week that the Harvest Festival wasn’t the trouble it used to be. She’s done it so often and has it so well organized that it practically puts itself on. She told me that for the first time in her life she’s sorry she never married. I think she’s lonely and missing having the children and grandchildren her friends enjoy so much.”

“I think I know her. Yeah. The Harvest Fest Lady. Short? White hair? Real grandmotherly looking and always smiling?”

“That’s Elizabeth. I’ll bet she’d even be glad to fill in with the girls on days when you have to work and it doesn’t coincide with school or the After-School Days program. She’s seventy, but I’m sure she’d be able to do this with one hand tied behind her back. The woman wears me out at the church. Just don’t ask her to sew anything. You might not like the results.”

Matt shrugged, not about to let a possible gem slip through his fingers over a few stitches. “That’s what the tailor shop is for. Lead me to this wonder,” he all but begged. This was for the girls, and Elizabeth Neal sounded like the missing piece of a puzzle—a perfect fit.

Chapter Five

By lunchtime the next day, Matt was so psyched he couldn’t wait to tell the girls. He glanced at his watch when he heard Justine’s voice as she made her way down the hall.

“So, how did it go?” she asked as she entered the room.

“Thanks for letting me borrow your office. It’s a lot friendlier than asking her to stop by the station house for a talk after she finished choir practice.”

Justine let out a bark of laughter, then quickly covered her mouth, her soft brown eyes widening in surprise. “Oh. I’m sorry. That just sounded so funny.”

Matt smiled. “Another one of my questionable jokes. You’re the only one who gets them.” He wondered what her reaction would be if he told her he thought she was sweet and kind and almost irresistibly adorable when she deviated from her ministerial persona.

“How did it go with Elizabeth?” she asked again.

“She’s thrilled with the offer and will be glad to do a little light work around the house and take care of the girls, as long as she can fit it in around her normal activities. We’re going to give it a shot and see how it works out. She’s willing to give me between twelve and twenty hours a week. She also knows someone who’d be willing to do the heavy cleaning, like floors and bathrooms. If she charges what Elizabeth says, I can easily budget for both.”

“That’s wonderful. I hope it helps Leslie,” Justine said, and shot him a wide smile that he felt to his toes.

“Even if it doesn’t settle her down at all, it’ll sure help me. Sometimes I just get so tired of having to be on 24/7.” He glanced at his watch. “Say. It’s just about time for lunch. How about I thank you for your help with a quick meal at Harry’s Kitchen?”

“I don’t know,” she said, looking unsure and glancing at her desk.

“You have to eat, anyway, and Harry’s Kitchen is always a nice change of pace. Of course, there’s no telling what he’ll have on the menu.”

She chuckled. “Menu? You mean what he bought this morning at the grocery store to serve today. Eating there is always an experience. Okay. Let’s go.” She plucked her purse off the coat tree in the corner and tossed it over her shoulder.

Matt followed her out the door. “I notice you didn’t say what kind of experience.”

Justine’s laughter floated after her.

Harry’s was crowded when Justine and Matt got there, but Harry waved them to the last booth. It was the “Reserved” booth Harry kept for the use of select customers. Since she wasn’t one of that august group, Justine assumed Matt was.

“You want coffee?” Matt asked when she sat. At her nod, Matt went behind the counter, scooted by Harry who was at the register and filled two mismatched mugs. Customers were usually expected to pour their own coffee and juice, get their own silverware and clear their own tables—all because that’s the way Harry ran the place. There were clever signs tacked all over, telling everyone that’s the only way they were going to get fed quickly. There weren’t menus, either. You asked for it, and if Harry had it, he made it.

The place was a Safe Harbor landmark, as was Harry Connell, a retired merchant marine who didn’t stand on ceremony. The little diner’s walls were paneled halfway up with gray weathered barn wood and painted a cheerful yellow the rest of the way to the ceiling. At some point he must have acquired endless bolts of green vinyl to upholster the booths and counter stools, because if one was damaged, the next day it was repaired with more of the same material. The tables and the counter behind which Harry held court as he cooked were fifties-era gray marble-patterned Formica. Everything behind the counter was stainless steel and gleaming.

“You certainly get royal treatment. Harry’s reserved booth, no less,” she teased, as Matt put down her coffee and dumped a handful of creamers on the table.

He chuckled. “One of the perks of the job. They didn’t bother to list it, but it might have made my decision easier.”

“In that case, I’ll have to eat with you more often.” Justine could have bitten her tongue right off. Her face heated and she began studying the contents of her purse.

“Now, there’s a possibility to make a man look forward to Harry’s every day. It’s a deal.” Matt checked his watch. “I’ll see you here at twelve-thirty tomorrow, then.”

“I was only kidding,” she said, more flustered than ever.

He looked crestfallen. “Oh. And here I thought I’d discovered the cure to afternoon indigestion.”

“First off, Harry only serves sandwiches at lunch, and, appearances to the contrary, he’s a wonderful cook.”

Matt gave a dramatic sigh and leaned back. “Found out. Truth is, it’s a little lonely eating by myself every day. I could eat in my office, but I come in here to stay visible and accessible. People will often stop to lodge a minor complaint that I doubt they’d ever call or stop at the station to talk over. I’ve always thought irritations were more easily solved than altercations.”

“That’s a very wise policy.”

“But it’s still lonely. Lately my conversations either revolve around schoolwork with the girls or who bought the Harbor Quay apartment buildings. Everyone has an opinion on what’s going on with all the renovations at the complex, and they all want me to investigate. One person swears it’s the mafia come to destroy our town.” He grinned appealingly and took a sip of his coffee. “So, are you going to take pity on me?”

What could she say? More importantly, what did she want to say? Matt wanted a friend, he’d said. He’d made no romantic gestures, so she doubted he shared her attraction for him. That made friendship with him safe because she had no intention of ever becoming romantically involved with a man, no matter how trustworthy he seemed. Her father had been a war hero and had still destroyed her mother’s life with his desertion. So what harm could a few lunches and a little companionship cause?

“I’m afraid I’m one of those people frequently involved in working lunches. The church’s women often have luncheon meetings, and as head of women’s ministries, I’m required to attend if invited. Also, like constituent complaints for you, counseling for me often works better over a nice friendly meal. But still, I’m usually free a couple times a week.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Sorry. I’m not free for lunch again until next Thursday.”

“Then, it’s a date. Twelve-thirty next Thursday.”

A date! If only those two little words hadn’t shot a bolt of need through her. If only they didn’t thrill her. If only they didn’t fill her with dread.

What was she going to do about these feelings Matthew Trent provoked in her?

Justine pulled her hand back from the receiver she’d just carefully replaced. Why now, after all these years, would her father contact her? Hadn’t she made something of herself in spite of the shambles in which George Clemens left her world? In spite of the shambles she herself had made of her adolescence.

What did he really want? What drove a man to walk out on his wife, his five-year-old daughter and all his responsibilities, then, twenty-six years later, appear out of the blue? She didn’t believe for a moment his claim that he just wanted to hear her voice, catch up on her life and perhaps see her eventually. A man didn’t reappear after two decades. He just didn’t!

Or, at least, he shouldn’t expect to.

The big grandfather clock in the hall bonged the half-hour, bringing Justine out of her troubled thoughts. Twelve-thirty. There was something she was supposed to do at twelve-thirty. The second her eyes fell on her desk-blotter calendar she remembered. Lunch with Matt.

She’d been reluctant to keep the appointment, but now, with her emotions all astir, she knew she should beg off. The problem was, it was already too late. She couldn’t cancel because Harry only had a pay phone at his little eatery—another of the ex-merchant marine’s idiosyncracies. That meant she had to at least make an appearance and cancel in person, or Matt might waste his lunchtime waiting for her.

With little enthusiasm, she left for Harry’s. She could tell Matt something had come up and leave, but that would be a lie and she refused to let his persistence goad her into lying. That wouldn’t honor her Lord or her position in His church.

Justine opened the glass door to Harry’s a few minutes later and spied Matt right away. He stood at the counter talking to Felicity Smith. He was frowning down at the young single mother. Justine assumed he was listening to one of the little complaints he’d told her his presence at Harry’s often brought to the light. Even so, she felt something dark move across her heart. Jealousy? Ridiculous. Friends didn’t feel jealousy.

Matt looked up when the bell on the door tinkled. His frown smoothed out and his eyes lit as a smile curved his lips. Justine’s heart did a flip in her chest. Friends didn’t feel emotions like that, either. This wasn’t good.

He said one last thing to Felicity, who nodded and then twirled her stool back toward the counter. Matt left her side and walked toward Justine.

“You want coffee or tea?” he asked.

Somewhere between her office and Matt’s magnetic grin, Justine realized she’d changed her mind. Lunch with Matt was exactly what she needed, though she had to admit she didn’t know why. There was every indication that nice and trustworthy as he seemed, Matt was going to wreak havoc in her life.

“I’ll have coffee, but it’s my turn to serve. You sit. I bet you do a lot more physical work in a day than I do.”

Matt shrugged and smiled. “Never let it be said I turn down a pretty lady bent on waiting on me. Pour away with the coffee. I’m working late tonight.”

Less than a minute later Justine joined Matt with cups filled and creamers at the ready. “So, how are the girls?”

“The little ones are great. They love Elizabeth. But believe it or not, Leslie seems to resent her.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I don’t seem to be much help where she’s concerned.”

Matt shook his head and sat back into the corner of the booth. He kept his arm outstretched along the table and absently stirred his coffee. “Don’t feel that way. I think you were right. This last week since Elizabeth started has been wonderful. I’ve stuck to my guns. Leslie’s under orders to be polite. Even if she wasn’t overwhelmed with work before Elizabeth started with us, I was. And so was Cindy. Gina told me she’d missed me—as if I hadn’t been there all along. I want time to enjoy my kids, and I want them to enjoy their childhood. It’s over fast enough as it is.”

Justine nodded and wondered what her life might have been like if she’d had the kind of childhood Matt was determined to give his girls. What if she’d had a father like Matthew Trent? A mother who hadn’t been involved with an endless parade of men, each a less acceptable father figure than the last? She wondered what it would have been like to be cherished as Leslie, Cindy and Gina were, instead of being tolerated, exploited as a housekeeper in her own home, then shunted aside when her plans for the future didn’t agree with her mother’s.

She’d have been a less angry, a less troubled teen. Even now, she might be a different person. Justine frowned. The trouble with all this speculation was that she liked who she was and where she’d ended up in life. Her difficult childhood had made her the woman she was.

That didn’t absolve her father, though. Nothing would.

Justine jolted back to the here and now when Matt took her hand and dropped several coins in her palm. He’d sat straight and had turned to face her.

“What’s this?” she asked, wishing the table were wider and that he wasn’t so close she could smell the clean, fresh aroma of his aftershave.

“All the change in my pocket. I figured thoughts as deep as the ones you’re mulling over must be worth a lot more than a penny. Anything you can talk about without breaking the confidence of a parishioner?”

Once again, Matt presented her with the perfect opportunity to stay in the self-imposed bubble of privacy where she’d lived her past ten years. All she had to do was lie. But she’d already admitted that would be wrong. Besides, something about Matt made her want to reach out and confront her worries and fears. Maybe it was his bravery in the face of dealing with grief over his wife’s death and raising his girls alone.

“My father called me earlier.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “And that’s a problem?”

Justine looked at her hands as she fumbled with a sugar packet. “Actually, it is. Every father isn’t as dedicated and loving as you are. I think I mentioned that my mother wasn’t an ideal parent. And that I had to pick up a lot of slack for her when I was young. And I know I mentioned the way I rebelled as a teen until Reverend Burns took me under his wing.”

“The liberty spike hair! As the father of three girls, that image sure scared ten years off my life,” he said with a smile that she instinctively knew was designed to make her relax. When she didn’t react, Matt continued, his voice full of understanding and compassion. “Your father was no better, I gather?”

“As bad as Mother was, my father was worse and the cause of all the problems,” she told him, trying not to sound as bitter as she still felt. “When I was five years old, he didn’t go to work one day. She often talked about how his boss called looking for him and how she had no idea where he was. That day he simply disappeared and left us floundering. Financially and emotionally. He broke Mother’s heart and her spirit. She wasn’t cut out to be alone, and over the years there were quite a few men in our lives. Each was more worthless than the last.”