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homework.”
    “Actually, you did,” he said a bit more forcefully. He remembered the incident well. Jolene had brought him her algebra homework and he’d tried to work with her. Only when it became apparent that he wasn’t particularly clear on the concept himself would his daughter accept Rachel’s assistance. What stood out in his mind was how well the evening had gone. The tension between Jolene and his wife had lessened, giving both him and Rachel hope that the girl was finally adjusting to their marriage.
    “You could at least try,” Jolene snapped.
    “Okay, fine, I’ll try.”
    “Thank you, Daddy,” she said, all sweetness once again.
    The phone rang as Jolene set her textbook on the table and Bruce leaped out of his chair, hoping, praying, it was Rachel. She’d called a couple of times, but their conversations were always short, consisting of her reassurances that she was fine and her avoidance of any real answers. She’d blocked his numbers so he couldn’t get in touch with her. If it was Rachel, he was willing to promise her anything as long as she came home. He loved her and missed her. He’d agreed earlier to see a counselor but Jolene wouldn’t hear of it, and Bruce had foolishly put it off. He was embarrassed by the thought of spilling outtheir troubles to a stranger. He’d assumed everything would right itself, but he’d been wrong and his gamble had cost him dearly.
    “Hello,” he said, grabbing the phone, his heart bounding into his throat.
    “This is David Miller,” intoned the recorded message, “and I’m running for state senator. Are you tired of runaway government spending? If that’s the case, I need your vote—”
    Bruce disconnected the line before he heard any more. He kept his hand on the receiver and hung his head, fighting back his disappointment.
    “Dad,” Jolene muttered. “You wanted that call to be Rachel, didn’t you?”
    “Yes.” He wasn’t going to deny it.
    “We don’t need her,” Jolene insisted, looking up at him from the kitchen table. “It’s been a lot better since she left. I’ve made dinner all week, haven’t I?”
    Bruce didn’t agree or disagree. Jolene had done her best to fill in, and while the meals weren’t always palatable, his daughter had tried.
    “I know I overcooked the macaroni and cheese.”
    “I hardly noticed,” he said, and it was true because he’d covered the entire plate with ketchup.
    “The meat loaf was good, wasn’t it?”
    “You did an excellent job.” Not exactly, but at least he’d found it edible, again with the addition of ketchup.
    Jolene beamed with pride. “Like I said, we don’t need Rachel.”
    It wasn’t Rachel’s cooking Bruce missed, it was Rachel herself. He missed holding her in his arms and chatting in bed. He missed pressing his hand over her stomach and silently transmitting his love and excitement to their baby. He missed Rachel’s smile when he walked into thehouse at the end of the day and the way she hugged him, welcoming him home. They’d only been married a short while and yet Rachel had filled every nook and cranny of his world. He hadn’t realized how alone and lonely he’d been until she’d come into his life. Without her nothing felt right.
    “Dad, my homework, remember?”
    “Yeah.” He’d do his best but he wished Rachel was the one helping Jolene… .
    It took him nearly an hour. He wasn’t a natural teacher and had to grit his teeth several times, but made it through the ordeal without losing his patience. Still, once he’d finished, Bruce was cranky and ready for bed.
    Walking into his room, he looked despairingly at the crumpled sheets and the bedspread, which had slipped off and pooled on the carpet. Rachel made the bed every morning before she left for the salon. Apparently the aunt who’d raised her had insisted on it, and the habit had stuck. Then every night Rachel would remove the decorative pillows and neatly fold back the covers. The twisted and