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creative, fastidious homemaker, but after what she had told Rayford about her new interest

    in and care for his parents, he began to notice more and more around the house that impressed him. Like any other mother of young children, Irene had often been frazzled, short-tempered, not averse to raising her voice at the kids and him. He rarely saw that anymore.
    It wasn’t that she was perfect. She was not. But she was quick to apologize, to make up for outbursts, to soothe hurt feelings, to break and ease tension. He couldn’t deny it. She really was becoming a different person.
    That had a strange effect on Rayford. On one hand, he was drawn to her the way he had been when they met. On the other, getting too close to her scared him. It was as if she were a mirror to his own soul, and he didn’t like what he saw there.
    Rayford had always considered it a gift to know how to look out for number one. He hadn’t seen it as self-centered. Real men called this ambition and drive. Nobody handed anyone anything in this life. You had to reach out and take what you wanted, become master of your own destiny, captain of your own soul. He had earned everything he had achieved, including time for himself. It was time to do something for Rayford.
    So when his buddies wanted to play golf Sunday mornings instead of Sunday afternoons, he told Irene he was going to ask the church brass to consider adding to the schedule what was known among his Catholic friends as “Fisherman’s Mass.”
    “A Saturday night service,” he said. “Lots of churches have them. They originated for men who went fishing

    before dawn on Sundays. Well, it ought to hold that they would accommodate us golfers too.”
    “I can’t see it,” Irene said. “You know how long it took to get the new foyer carpeting through all the committees. It would take months to move on something like this, and it would require a congregational vote.”
    “In the meantime, I may have to miss a few Sundays.”
    “Really.”
    “Don’t look at me like that, Irene. I didn’t promise you I’d go to church every Sunday.”
    “No, but you promised Someone, and if I were you, I’d be more worried what He thought about this.”
    “I think God understands. And He helps those who help themselves.”
    “Does He really? I don’t suppose you can support that with chapter and verse.”
    “It’s in there somewhere.”
    “No, it isn’t. Because I tried that line on Jackie, and she caught me on it. It sounds good. Even seems to make sense. But it’s not there. You know what though, Rafe? I would support your Saturday night church attendance and even be happy to see you off to the golf course at dawn the next day.”
    He stopped and squinted at her. “What’s the catch?”
    “Small as New Hope is, they have a Saturday night
    service.
    “Forget it.”
    “I thought you wanted my blessing.”
    “I don’t need your blessing, Irene.”
    “My permission then?”

    “I’d better not need that either.” That made her cloud over, but right then Rayford didn’t care. “I shouldn’t have to ask my wife if I can go out and play.”
    Their mild tiff niggled at Irene for hours. Rayford could be so frustrating. And yet was trying to match him jibe for jibe the way to reach him? She feared not.

SIX

    Nicolae Carpathia became consumed with ferreting out his competition at Corona Technologies. He had an idea, of course. And when Reiche Planchette came to report on his task of getting Nicolae into the Romanian military academies in a hybrid role, Carpathia changed the subject.
    “You wanted a civilian student and adjunct instructor position,” Planchette began. “It might interest you to know—”
    “Someone is leaking information from somewhere, Reiche, and I want to know who.”
    “Leaking, sir?”
    “From within Carpathian Trading or from Intercontinental.”
    “Oh, I doubt the bank would risk that, Nicolae. And I’d hate to think you face treachery from within.”

    “That