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again.
    But he couldn't walk away now. He only had part of the picture, a glimpse of the past. He needed to know the rest.
     
* * *
     
    Ryan pulled the car onto the highway. A half mile outside of town, he saw the graveyard behind the church. He didn't intend to stop, but at the last moment he turned the wheel and pulled into the parking lot, bringing the Ferrari to a stop in front of the sign announcing the time of the next mass.
    Without allowing himself to think too long about his actions, he got out of the car and walked down the path next to the church, the one that led to the cemetery in back.
    His grandparents were buried in the cemetery along with his great-grandparents, an aunt, and a cousin. He had been to the cemetery many times with his mother, who always felt it important to place fresh flowers on the graves. In fact, he could remember many a time when they had come to this place and talked about God and heaven and angels.
    Isabelle had believed in all those things. She had told him once that she was afraid to go to bed angry, because she always worried her harsh words might be the last she had a chance to utter.
    Ryan had thought about that more than a few times over the years, especially after she had left him without a word of explanation. How could she make sure she didn't go to bed angry, yet leave her two boys without saying good-bye?
    As he walked into the yard, Ryan slowed his pace, reading the headstones with nostalgia. He remembered Mrs. Mclntyre, his first-grade teacher, the one who gave out red jawbreakers on Valentine's Day. He remembered Mr. Woolsley, the janitor at the high school, who helped him clean up the glass from a science experiment gone awry.
    For the first time in a long time, it occurred to Ryan that he had left some friends behind in this town. Only he had been too full of himself and his problems to see that.
    He leaned down and brushed a cigarette butt off Mr. Woolsley's grave. The man had hated cigarettes with a passion, probably because he had to clean up smoke-filled rest rooms at the high school.
    As Ryan straightened, he realized that the rest of the yard was in good condition with neatly trimmed grass and flowers on some of the graves. The birds sang in harmony with the nearby river, bringing a sense of peace to this spot. But it didn't suit Becky Lee at all.
    Ryan searched the headstones until he found her. Then he dropped down on one knee and looked at her grave.
    "I'm sorry," he whispered. He traced the name on the headstone with his finger. Becky Lee Woodrich Hunter.
    She had married his brother.
    Ryan squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to remember, didn't want to care again. All these years he had thought Becky Lee and Andrew were married and happy, raising their son. And all these years she was gone. Andrew must have been devastated. And the boy, Billy, growing up without a mother. Ryan knew firsthand how hard that could be.
    "Damn you, Becky Lee. Your timing never was right," he muttered as he opened his eyes.
    Ryan thought back to those last few weeks before he had left town. He had graduated from the nearby college with a bachelor's degree in journalism and an intense desire to get on with his life someplace far away from Serenity Springs. Becky Lee had wanted to go with him. She had wanted to get married. He had put her off, needing to be on his own for a while. She had paid him back by marrying Andrew. Ryan had left before the wedding.
    Ryan got to his feet and took several deep breaths, forcing the emotion out of his body. Becky Lee had died a long time ago. And he hadn't really thought of her in years. It was this town, this damned town. He hadn't even driven down Main Street, and he already felt bad. What the hell was he doing here?
    It was too late to turn back. Will knew he was here, and by now probably everyone else did, too.
    Ryan left the graveyard and walked to the front of the church. His parents had married in the small chapel. And marriages in