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Against all the screaming going on in her head, she kept her voice even. “But you said they offered a big raise and big semiannual bonuses. Maybe you should tell me just how big big is.”
    Silence met her outburst. Then, “We’ll talk about this later, when I get home next weekend.”
    “Martin, listen to me—” But all she heard was the dial tone. She pulled the handset away from her head and glared at it, as if it were to blame for his hanging up on her. “Martin J. Taylor, you’re a coward!” she shouted at the inoffensive instrument. “You need to grow up, fella, and learn to deal with the problem, instead of running from it.”
    She gulped at what had burst from her mouth and then sat down at the computer, ready to write him a blistering e-mail. But the tears blurred her eyes so badly she couldn’t see the screen to know what she had typed. If Martin really loves me, why won’t he talk to his boss? Why won’t he try to help me come up with a solution?
    Out of the blue, two answers surfaced in her mind. Maybe he didn’t love her anymore, and maybe the reason he wouldn’t cooperate with her was because he didn’t really want her to move to San Francisco.
    Hurriedly, Andy dried her tears and punched out a hot one-liner:
    Surprisingly, his reply e-mail came back immediately.
    “Then prove it. Tell your boss my circumstances.”

    Looking in the mirror after a night of crying was not a good idea. Her hair looked as though she’d stuck her finger in a light socket—gray caught the light, bright silver against the dark mink strands. When had all those appeared? She moved closer to the mirror and looked at her bloodshot eyes. Martin always said she had laughing eyes. Well, not today. They were so swollen it would be impossible for anyone to discern that they were hazel. Green and red were great Christmas colors, but they did nothing for her eyes and skin. She turned to head back to bed but sat down at the vanity instead. Perhaps if she applied a mask and left it on for a week, it would tighten the drooping under her eyes and the corners of her mouth.
    “You look terrible,” her mother said when Andy walked into the workshop.
    “Thank you. Good morning to you too, Mom.”
    “Something’s very wrong, so you might as well tell me and get it over with.” Alice turned from the bench where she’d been filling the lace sachets she’d sewn the night before.
    “You’re not going to like it.”
    “Let me be the judge of that. All I know is that you’ve been sighing, and you’re walking around with the weight of something really terrible on your shoulders.” Alice leaned back against the workbench and crossed her arms over her midriff.
    Andy caught herself in another sigh. Might as well get it over with. “Martin has been offered a big promotion.”
    “I know, he told me.”
    “Did he also tell you that the job requires us to move to San Francisco?”
    “No, but the way you’ve been acting, I was afraid he’d asked for a divorce or something irreparable.”
    Andy sighed again. “It might come to that.”
    “Not if you don’t let it.”
    “Mom, he wants us to sell the house and the business.” Andy-watched her mother’s face, saw the tightening of her eyes, the jaw line.
    “I know what you’re thinking, honey, that we—your dad and me—won’t be able to get by without you, but the way things are going, we can probably hire a part-time employee to fill the gap.”
    “Maybe after the next big order, but not right now. And the problem is, we don’t know when the next big order will come.” Andy pulled out her latest business analysis and showed it to her mother. Then she launched into a full retelling of Martin’s giving her his news, ignoring her concerns, and refusing to help her find a resolution.
    “You’re risking your marriage, honey. Your dad and I would never forgive ourselves if you and Martin