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acknowledge it. When she only smiled wanly, he shrugged.
    “It’s probably the stress of the last few days,” he said, adding, “On the other hand, it could be something else, a touch of the flu or some bug or other. I’ll tell you what you do. You get some sleep, and tomorrow I want you to come to my office and we’ll take a look. All right?”
    Janet lowered herself gratefully into the pillows, as Potter closed the door behind him. She
was
tired, she
didn’t
feel good, and if she at least feigned sleep, then she would be left alone. Otherwise—
    She had a vision of all the women of Prairie Bend, each one just like all the others, parading through her room, clucking over her, fussing at her, offering her homemade soup.
    But even that vision, like the phrase “Mark’s Janet” a little earlier, was somehow comforting. Totally alien from her life in New York, but nonetheless comforting. Slowly, she let herself drift into sleep.
    “When are you going home?” Ryan Shields asked his cousin. After some initial suspicious circling of each other, the two boys had formed an alliance as the day had gone on, and after Michael’s mother had been taken upstairs, they had finally escaped from their grandmother’s living room. Now Ryan, ignoring the fact that he was wearing his Sunday suit, sprawled on the patchy green beneath the immense elm tree that shaded the yard between the house and the barn. He stared curiously up at Michael. Even though Michael was a year younger than himself, and three inches shorter, Ryan wasn’t at all sure he could take him in a fight. Indeed, an hour ago he’d given up even considering the possibilities, after Michael had rescued him from the clutches of his Grandmother Shields, who never failed to treat him as if he were still four years old.
    From his perch on the rotting rope swing, Michael gave an experimental kick that barely set the device in motion. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I guess in a few days.”
    Ryan frowned. “That’s what my dad said you’d do. But I think my mom wishes you’d stay here.”
    Michael cocked his head. “Why would she want that?”
    “Search me,” Ryan replied. “All I know is that they got in a big fight about it on the way over here. Well, it started to be a fight, anyway.” He paused and looked down, studying a blade of grass he’d plucked from the lawn as if it fascinated him. Not looking at Michael, he said, “Did your mom and dad fight?”
    Michael shook his head. “Hunh-unh. At least not when I was around. Do your folks fight a lot?”
    Ryan nodded. “Mostly about this place. Mom hates it here. Today, she said your dad was right to leave when he did.”
    Suddenly Michael brought the swing to a halt, and joined his cousin on the ground. “Did she ever say how come Dad left?”
    “Hunh?”
    Michael, in unconscious imitation of his cousin, plucked a blade of grass and stuck it between his teeth. “I always thought Dad just didn’t want to be a farmer. But that seems kind of stupid. I mean, just because he wasn’t a farmer isn’t any reason not to come and visit, is it?”
    “Nope,” Ryan agreed. “My dad doesn’t farm. What does that have to do with it?”
    Michael rolled over and stared up into the elm tree, and for a long time the two boys were silent. When at last he spoke, Michael’s voice trembled. “Did—did you ever think about your dad dying?”
    Ryan shifted uncomfortably, then glanced away from Michael. “Sure. Doesn’t everybody? Except—”
    “Except what?” Michael asked.
    “Well, I guess I only thought about it ’cause I knew it wasn’t really gonna happen.”
    Suddenly Michael sat up, and his eyes fixed on his cousin. “I used to think about my dad dying when he went skydiving. That’s like falling. Do you think me thinking about it could have made it happen?”
    “That’s crazy,” Ryan replied. “You can’t make something happen just by thinking about it. Besides, what happened to your dad was