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accident.
    She’d
been left with the wreckage of her parents’ marriage, her mother’s resentment,
and her own grief for her father. And now, David’s loss. What did it matter
that she wasn’t to blame for this one? However she cut it, the result was the
same. Kate was powerless.
    Socrates
shifted to his feet and whimpered.
    Kate
closed the album and replaced it in the box. When she stood and walked to the
door, she realized darkness had fallen. She reached for the leash and snapped
it on Socrates collar. He followed silently as she felt her way along the
drive. Away from the garage’s light, the trees on either side emerged in black
against the dimly moonlit sky.
    Socrates
whimpered.
    When
Kate stopped at the edge of Taylor Road, he walked on and pulled the leash
tight. She caught up and patted his head awkwardly. A sliver of moon
transformed the gravel into a soft gray ribbon. Socrates kept walking, and this
time she matched her pace to his.
    “Powerless,”
she said into the dark. “That’s got to change.”
    He
shuffled a little faster. Agreement?
    “If
I’d killed myself on black ice last night, it would have been suicide—or so
close  God can’t tell the difference.”
    Socrates
grunted.
    She’d
asked for help last night. God, get me out of this ... and she’d survived the
telephone pole and that big oak tree. So what was she going to do now? Cling to
the wreckage?
    She
wanted David back.
    Socrates
made a humph sound.
    “Don’t
rub it in,” she muttered. “I get the point. All the goals I’ve set are either
professional or solitary. I know I need a relationship goal.”
    The
dog stopped and settled his rump on the gravel.
    “Rachel
Hardesty and the pottery wheel don’t address the real issue. Rachel is just
plain hard, and the wheel can keep my hands busy, but I need a personal goal.”
    Socrates
grunted again.
    “It’s
not fucking fair—Don’t look at me like that. So what if I said fuck ?
I’ve lost everyone who matters, and I want to get somebody back, and shit, I’m
crying again, and we both know David won’t come back.”
    Socrates
lurched onto all fours, his head rocking on that thick neck.
    “They’re
both gone, and you’re thinking I picked David as a mate because of his fatherly
qualities. I loved him and he loved me and I pulled my weight. Damn it, I’m
sick of losing people I love.”
    Get
somebody back.
    Her
heart thumped raggedly against her breastbone. Dad would be seventy years old,
or dead. But he’d been a healthy man who didn’t smoke or drink. Seventy wasn’t
old for a tough man who kept fit.
    “I’m
going to find him.”
    Socrates
turned and headed for the house.
    Your
fault, her mother whispered. If you hadn’t been so careless, I’d have a
husband; you’d have a father. Your fault.
    Shut
up, mother. I’m sick of your nonsense.
    She
would start with her mother. She needed to talk about the ten-thousand-dollar
check. She would make a surprise visit tomorrow, and when Evelyn turned balky
about interference over the check, Kate would ask about her father. She’d stare
her mother in the eye and demand information.
    Meanwhile,
she had a promise to keep to Sarah. She had a play to attend tonight.

    O n
his final tour around the construction site with a flashlight, Mac picked up
seven nails and dropped them in his nail pouch, then carried a collection of
lumber scraps to the pile at the end of the roughed-out driveway.
Tomorrow—Sunday—he would come back and knock the concrete forms off.
    He
climbed a hump of earth and swept the site with his light. Concrete forms
cradled jellied cement, while piled lumber waited for the cement to cure. He
scanned for anything out of place, an excuse to occupy his hands and his mind.
    If
Denny hadn’t left early, Mac would suggest they stop for a beer, but Denny had
a wife and new baby, and Mac had no stomach for holding down a solitary
barstool while he watched strangers raise a glass.
    Chances
were, if he went into Madrona