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toward her and weighed his words carefully. One wrongly chosen word, and she would send him packing. “I want to spend time with my niece and nephew. I stayed away for a while because I knew how angry you were with me—although I haven’t figured out exactly why. But it’s been ten months, Rach, and I need to see John’s kids. Shoot, they need to see me. Also, I’d like to lend a hand around here. Don’t tell me you don’t need it, either. You do. I realized it the second I parked my car. The yard’s a disaster.”
    She pursed her lips in a straight line but refrained from speaking, so he went on, treading lightly.
    “I know you don’t want to see me, and I can respect that, but don’t deny me my niece and nephew, Rachel. They need me as much as I need them.”
    She moved to the sink and started rinsing dishes in silence. He walked up next to her, putting his back to the sink and folding his arms, his large frame dwarfing her small one. “Tell me what it is that makes you so angry with me.”
    “I don’t feel like talking about it,” she said flatly.
    “Are you mad because I’m the one who lived?”
    “Oh, stop it,” she spat, bending to open the dishwasher.
    “Or maybe you wish we’d gone together?”
    “I said stop it,” she hissed. In fast succession, she loaded plates, cups, and saucers in the dishwasher rack, hardly caring how she arranged them.
    He sniffed and swallowed. “I can’t turn back the clock, Rachel. You don’t know how much I wish I could—or how many times I’ve replayed that day in my head, wondering what I could have said or done differently to keep him from taking Devil’s Run.”
    Her teeth had a firm hold on her lower lip as a tear slid down her cheek. If he didn’t think she’d bolt on him, he would have dabbed at it. “We’ve always been close, Rachel—you, John, and me. I know he’s gone, but can’t you and I at least be friends?”
    “I—I don’t know,” she stammered, swiping the stray tear with the back of her hand. “And that’s the plain truth.”
    “What do you want me to do?”
    “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
    ***
    Rachel couldn’t believe how the day was dragging on. Would the man ever leave? First, he’d made fast work of the garage, hauling items back to the basement and placing everything in its rightful place under her supervision. Then, he’d swept out the garage and moved her car back inside. Next, he’d set to changing lightbulbs, fixing a loose door hinge, replacing the batteries in all the smoke detectors, and finally mowing the lawn, with Meagan sitting on his lap and helping to drive the lawn tractor. Normally, Rachel hired someone for that job, but the sixteen-year-old who’d done it all summer had quit when school had started again, so it’d been a good two weeks since the lawn had been mowed. She made a mental note to look in the classifieds for someone willing to take on the task through the end of fall. By seven thirty, she and Meagan were hungry, but at the risk of having to invite Jason to stay, she delayed fixing anything. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate his hard work; she just didn’t like feeling indebted—or encouraging his sense of obligation to her.
    Seeing him for the first time in ten months had shaken her topsy-turvy world at a dangerous tilt, reminding her of long ignored issues—namely, issues that went back further than John’s death, things Jason knew good and well she harbored. Oh, why couldn’t he have left them alone?
    She sat at her office desk, sorting through a wad of unopened mail. Johnny sat nearby, playing with blocks. Several minutes later, Jason sauntered in, all sweat and grime, and wearing a buttery smile. His dark, almost black, hair was a mess, and his matching deep-set eyes assessed her. Meagan clung to his pant leg like a wet noodle.
    “I see you’ve had a chance to do a little cleaning.”
    Her housekeeping habits were none of his concern, and she resented his observation.