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creating a business that Philip and his father had?
    Sitting in front of the salon mirror, Andrew sidled a look at Hannah shampooing a customer’s hair. His mind flooded with the feeling of her fingers against his scalp, the scent of shampoo and the earlier sweet fragrance when he’d walked over to her.
    The stylist snipped his hair, buzzed the trimmer along his neckline, then brushed away the cuttings. When she finished, he rose, forcing himself not to look Hannah’s way. After Andrew left a tip, Macy called another customer as he headed for the reception desk. To his surprise, Hannah stepped behind the register. She rang up the fee for a wash and haircut, and, at a loss for words, he dug into his wallet and handed her the bills.
    When she gave him the change, Hannah sent him an apologetic smile. The look released the pressure in his chest, and he smiled back.
    Instead of saying goodbye, Hannah followed him to the doorway. “I’m sorry I was so touchy today,” she said. “I appreciate all you’ve done.”
    “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Andrew said. “Asking personal questions wasn’t proper. I’m sorry.”
    She looked as if she had something to say, but she didn’t.
    “You and your son have been on my mind, because I—” Andrew stopped himself. Apparently Hannah didn’t know his pitiful story. Right now, he wanted to leave it that way.
    She appeared to wait for him to finish his sentence.
    “Take care, and don’t rush back to your apartment. I’m sure you’re safer where you are.”
    “Thanks, but I can’t stay there forever.”
    “You need to change your apartment locks.”
    She nodded. “I have lots to do before I go home.”
    “Take care,” he said again, pulling open the door. The words had slipped from his mouth without a thought. Take care. The words meant nothing to a woman fearing for her life.
    He saw Hannah’s wave through the glass and suddenly felt like a kid who’d won the brass ring on the carousel.
    Once in his car, Andrew checked his watch. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled away, once again feeling empty and unsettled. When he’d left home years ago, he’d wanted success, money and power. What Hannah wanted was security and independence.
    Andrew thought back to his affluent home with stable parents and a Christian upbringing. He’d been given many luxuries as a child. Not until he’d left to make his fortune did he realize how hard his father had worked and how intelligent he’d been. Today, Andrew’s deepest regret was not returning home for his father’s funeral. Being down and out, he couldn’t face the town nor his brother. Admitting the truth had been too hard then.
    He thought about how Hannah had struggled to acknowledge her failed marriage. Violence destroyed families. It destroyed lives. He’d seen it in Detroit when he’d ventured there, and in Chicago where he’d tried his hand at another failed business. He’d never been a violent man, but he’d seen it. It killed the spirit and left families fearful and hopeless.
    He wanted to know more about domestic violence. What could Hannah do to improve her son’s life and her own? He felt driven to find the answer, and he turned the steering wheel and nosed his sedan into the Loving Public Library parking lot.
    He climbed the few steps into the building and observed the long racks of books. Ian Barry’s wife, Esther, smiled at him from the front desk, and Andrew headed her way.
    “Hi,” she said, “what brings you here?” She chuckled at her question. “Books, I suppose.”
    “Research. I want to read up on domestic violence.”
    She didn’t ask but led him into the Dewey Decimal 300s. “Here they are. 362.829. Family and domestic violence.” She pointed to numerous books on the subject. “You’ll find a lot of helpful information on the Internet or our database, too.”
    “Thanks, Esther,” he said, already eyeing the books that looked most promising. Andrew slipped a couple from the