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anymore.” Hetty burst into tears. “Lexie, what am I going to do?”
    â€œIt’ll be all right.” Dismayed, Lexie pulled her mother into a hug. “You wanted him to be more self-sufficient.”
    â€œI didn’t want him to stop needing me.” Hetty hiccupped on a sob. “Or loving me.”
    â€œHe loves you. He needs you,” Lexie said helplessly. Her father had been through a lot in the past six months, including being diagnosed with type two diabetes. Renita had encouraged him to join the gymand start jogging. Steve had taken up Toastmasters of his own accord as a way to get out and meet people. He was a completely different person from the over-weight depressed man who couldn’t adjust to retirement. Everything should have been great for him and Hetty.
    â€œYou changed when you took up yoga,” Lexie reminded her mother, easing back to meet Hetty’s gaze. “You need to let him change, too.”
    â€œYou’re right.” Hetty blinked, sniffed, dragged in a shuddering breath. “I need to learn to accept him as he’s becoming. Even if it means that from now on we follow different paths.”
    â€œWait a minute. No, ” Lexie said, alarmed. “You’ll get back together. You have to. You can’t throw away forty years of marriage.”
    â€œI don’t want to,” Hetty said. “But right now, I can’t live at home.”
    Lexie gave her mum another hug. “Stay here as long as you want. You could help me look for my receipts.”
    She didn’t want to mention she was low on groceries or that she had a cash flow problem. With luck she would sell a painting this week. The seascapes she did were bread and butter between the odd commission she got for portraits.
    â€œI’ll pay rent, of course,” Hetty said, somehow reading her mind.
    â€œDon’t even think about it,” Lexie said. “But I’dlove you to show me some of the new yoga techniques you learned at the retreat.”
    â€œGladly.” Hetty gave her a watery smile.
    Lexie released her mother. She picked up the bundle of clothes in the hallway and carried them to the front door. First thing tomorrow she would donate them to the thrift shop.
    She was already beginning to feel lighter. It was good to start afresh. With a clearer mind she might find the key to finishing Sienna’s portrait.
    But as she walked toward the spare room her footsteps slowed.
    Lexie reached the box of clothes and removed the pink dress. She took it to her bedroom and hung it at the back of her closet.

CHAPTER THREE
    â€œW HAT THE HELL’S going on, Murph?” Rafe said as he pulled up in front of Lexie’s house the next morning. Bulging plastic garbage bags were piled along the path. Boxes of odds and ends were stacked behind her car. The front door was propped open. Was she turning the house inside out in her search for the envelopes?
    He parked at the curb and unloaded his briefcase and a couple bags of groceries. Murphy, his black-and-white mutt, scampered at his heel, sniffing boxes, relieving himself on the gardenia bush, barking at the brown cat that hissed at him before darting into the shrubbery.
    Rafe stopped. The skeleton clock was in one of the boxes clearly destined for rubbish. He tucked it under his arm and knocked on the open door. Soft music was playing and vanilla incense drifted through the house. “Lexie?”
    â€œCome in.” Her voice sounded constricted.
    Rafe slipped off his shoes and walked through the hall, turning left into the living room. The coffee table and armchair had been pushed back so Lexieand her mother had space for yoga. Hetty was in a deep lunge, arms outstretched. Lexie was standing on one leg, doubled over and touching the floor. Her other long and shapely leg straight up in the air, toe pointed. Her hair hung in a curtain around her head.
    It was rude to stare but he couldn’t help it.