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hadn't survived the accident, Hardy was the only person left to blame.
    Taking this proposal over to Hardy would be seen as a betrayal. Witt might never forgive her. But then she decided that was ridiculous.
    Witt always forgave her. He would be mad, sure, but he would forgive her once she explained.
    Explained. It occurred to her that maybe she'd better be able to explain this to herself before she tried to explain it to Witt. Common sense dictated that she just stay out of this. It wasn't her problem, nor was it her feud--as Hardy had made patently clear since their talk that night at the hospital. He was still avoiding her like the plague.
    But it was her problem, she decided. She loved Witt, and she liked Hardy. It pained her that Witt had carried such anger all this time.
    It meant that he wasn't healing.

    Karen would want her to do this. She believed that in her soul.
    They'd been like sisters, especially after Joni moved to town, sharing everything--their hopes, dreams and feelings. Sharing Witt as a father, and Hannah as a mother. Sharing Hardy's friendship, although only Karen had dated him.
    Karen wouldn't like to see her father so bitter and angry, and she wouldn't like Hardy to miss this opportunity. There was not a doubt of that in Joni's mind. Karen, had she been here, never would have allowed this state of affairs to continue for so long.
    But Karen wasn't here, and Witt was. She hated to have Witt angry with her and always had. She loved him so much that she wanted to be perfect for him, although it was an impossible goal.
    And sometimes, dimly, she realized that she'd spent the last twelve years trying to replace his daughter for him. Maybe it was time to grow up and accept that she couldn't replace Karen, and that she had to live her own life as she saw fit.
    Sitting up, she went to the closet and pulled out a small photo album she kept on a shelf beneath a stack of sweatshirts. Almost all the pages were empty, but that was because she only had a half-dozen photos of Karen.
    Oh, Witt had shoe boxes full of pictures of his daughter, but these photos were special. These photos had been hers and hers alone, taken with a cheap camera that hadn't lasted beyond a couple rolls of film.
    In retrospect, she wished she'd photographed Karen more often, instead of wasting film on scenery. But she hadn't guessed what was going to happen.
    So here they were, her six private memories of Karen. The first snapshot, her favorite, showed her and Karen sitting on the bleachers at the high school football field. They had both laughed and acted silly that afternoon at football practice, full of the high spirits and joy of youth! " Hardy had snapped that photo of them just before practice had started. She could still remember how he had looked all suited up for the game, holding her silly little camera in his big hands.
    The next photo, one she would never, ever let Witt see, was of Hardy and Karen. Snow was falling, and the flash had bounced off it, giving the couple in the photo a dim, background look. But they were holding each other, hugging, their faces pressed close as they grinned into the camera.
    Where the first picture always made her smile in memory, this one always made her ache.
    They had been so young. So sure that the world was their oyster. All of them. And maybe it had been, only instead of finding pearls they'd all found lumps of coal.
    Her throat suddenly tight, Joni closed the album without looking any farther. She knew the photos by heart, anyway. She'd wept over them on enough cold, dark nights, lying up here, unable to believe that Karen was truly gone.

    There was such a feeling of unfinished business, but not just for Karen, who had died. Lately she had been thinking that they'd all somehow gone into stasis since Karen's death. As if they were in some kind of emotional suspended animation. All of them: Witt, who had never recovered from his grief; Hannah, who . who just seemed to be getting through the