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there was a questioning look in his eyes.
    â€œSo, you’d feel responsible,” I said.
    â€œYeah, probably.”
    â€œWould you be angry?”
    â€œDepends.”
    â€œOn what?”
    â€œWhat my relationship with my father was like.”
    â€œWould you be jealous?”
    â€œOf what?”
    â€œWell, I don’t know. Like you suddenly have competition. That when everybody finds out about your new sibling, they’ll like him better. Especially your dad.”
    â€œMy dad’s dead.”
    â€œBut if he wasn’t.”
    â€œMaybe a little,” he said, and took a bite of stew.
    As he reached for the salt shaker, I stopped his hand. “Mom says you’re not supposed to have salt.”
    He gave me a slightly abashed look and set the salt shaker back at the edge of the table. He picked up the pepper shaker instead, then added a generous amount of pepper to the stew.
    â€œWould you feel betrayed?”
    â€œDepends. If Dad knew about the child and never told me, I might feel a little betrayed. It would depend on when the child was conceived.”
    â€œDuring the marriage to your mother,” I said a little too hastily. He regarded me cautiously.
    â€œYeah, I’d probably feel a little betrayed.”
    There, the sheriff had agreed with how I felt. If he were in my shoes, he’d feel the same way. I felt better. Less guilty. Validated.
    â€œOf course,” he said, “if this were to happen, you know, hypothetically and all, I’d have to consider how that sibling must feel.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œGrowing up and never knowing his or her father. Must be pretty tough to have only one side of a family.”
    I said nothing.
    â€œMakes you sort of happy that you’ve got the family you’ve got, doesn’t it? I mean, you know all of your family and have a great relationship with all of them and everything. You’ll never know what it feels like to be on the outside.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œKind of makes you feel good, doesn’t it?” he asked.
    â€œOh, yeah, makes me feel wonderful.”

Nine
    The swirls in the plaster of my office walls were fascinating as hell. I’d probably been staring at them for half an hour already, and it seemed like only a few minutes. I shifted my gaze to the appliquéd Rose of Sharon quilt hanging on the wall by the window. The quilt was soothing to look at, all done in different shades of pink.
    There was a knock at the door, and for a moment my stomach lurched, as I thought it might be Stephanie Connelly once again. But the way I had behaved toward her, she would probably never show her face in this town again. Which I can’t say bothered me all that much. For my own sanity, I thought it would be best if I never saw her again. I was in denial. And I intended to stay in denial for as long as I possibly could.
    â€œCome in,” I said.
    The door opened and in walked my best friend. “Collette! Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?” I stood and gave her a hug and was immediately enveloped in a cloud of her perfume. The fragrance was a little strong and a little musky for my tastes, but that was Collette for you. She was worth navigating my way through a cloud of perfume for.
    â€œI’m here for the story,” she said. Collette is a reporter up in St. Louis. We’d been raised together, gone to school together, but she couldn’t wait to leave New Kassel and find her destiny in the big city. All I had wanted to do was bury myself in the past and become a fixture of New Kassel, like Sylvia had. I loved to travel and see things, but I had no desire to live anywhere else than where all of my family and friends were. It’s the people who make a place home, not the buildings or the scenery. And my home was New Kassel.
    â€œThe story,” I said.
    Collette rolled her eyes. She is a full-figured gal, with big hair and lots of gold jewelry, and