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going to increase the starch."
    "That's the idea. And if this works, I'll be able to maintain one ear per stalk with double starch. That's still double output."
    "Right." Bob checked another couple of ears. "And you aren't going to get a true comparison reading unless you're taking one-eared corn up against one-eared corn, since that's the standard for ethanol corn."
    "So what do you think?" Kyle's father had thought Kyle was crazy when he'd first talked about his "schemes" back in high school. As Kyle remembered it, Bob hadn't been as skeptical.
    "I think you might be on to something." The older man straightened. "I'll be waiting to hear how they test out. And in the meantime, make damned sure you keep this stuff away from my chickens!"
    "Yes, sir." Kyle nodded, his expression serious, though he knew Bob wasn't the least bit worried that Kyle would mix in the experimental crop with the regular feed corn he also grew.
    Such a mistake, if it did happen, could be catastrophic.
    "I plant and harvest them a week or two apart," Kyle added. "The crop that pays the bills comes first."
    Turning, he and Bob headed back up the row to the dirt road that led to the barn, Zodiac at their heels. "I thought you should know that Viola and I are divorcing."
    Kyle's scuffed work boots didn't miss a beat. His heart did. "What happened?"
    His own mother had died before Kyle was old enough to remember her, and Viola Branson had partially taken her place.
    "Me, that's what happened," Bob said. "I screwed up. Took a risk I shouldn't have. Got in too deep to stop myself in spite of Viola's many pleas. Thank God nothing I did hurt the business or my family's finances. Viola stood it as long as she could and then she left me. I got the papers earlier this week. My biggest regret is how much I hurt that girl, Kyle. I love her."
    Kyle's thoughts scrambled with a hundred questions he knew he would never ask. "Where is she?"
    "At Shauna's." The oldest of their three daughters. Not a place of her own.
    "Maybe you still have a chance, then. As long as you've gotten out of whatever it was you were into." Horses? Tables? Women? "Maybe she'll come home."
    "Nope. I'm not contesting it. She'll have her divorce by the end of next month."
    "You're not fighting for her? After thirty years together?"
    "Nope. I don't trust myself not to hurt her again."
    What the hell was going on? But Bob's business was his own. He'd tell Kyle what he wanted him to know. Still, Kyle had one more question he needed to ask.
    "Is there someone else?"
    "Nope," Bob said again, his voice curiously flat. "Never has been. Since I first set eyes on Viola, she's been the only girl for me."
    "Does she know that?"
    "Yeah."
    "And it doesn't make a difference?"
    "Sometimes love just isn't enough."
    Bob's words stopped the flow of Kyle's thoughts. He understood. Bob must have known he would.
    Love hadn't been enough to get him and Sam to the church.
    "Nope, and I'll never replace her, either," Bob was saying, almost to himself, as they approached the horse barn.
    Kyle got that, too.
    He wondered if Bob had any idea how much pain was coming.
    Chandler, Ohio
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
    I loved to skate. In-line skate, that is. When I was on skates, I felt strong. I could fly through the wind--be free. It was also my time for reflection and sometimes, as with so much in life, that which served me well was also the bane of my existence.
    Tonight, that was the case. It was a glorious summer evening. The sun had been shining all day and was slowly disappearing in the west, leaving a trail of vivid reds and oranges and golds in its wake. Humidity was low. And the eighty-two-degree temperature hardly felt warm as the wind resistance my speed was creating lightly breezed against my skin.
    I was on one of my favorite routes--an old railroad track that had been paved to make a bike/skate/running path that ran through four counties. The section I flew over wound through farm country, mostly cornfields, with