“Shh,” she said. “We’re not there yet.”

“I’m so goddamn selfish. I want to be alone with you without something like this weighing us down. I want us to spend some serious time learning about each other. I already know where to touch you, how to touch you, how to make you want more, but I don’t know what kind of kid you were in high school. I want to know what you did on vacation, what you dreamed of your life turning into. I know your parents are gone now but I’d like to know what they were like. I want to know everything. And I want to tell you everything.”

She stopped him with a soft laugh. “That’s good, we’ll do that. But for tonight, let’s just go to bed and practice that touching thing. That should get us through the tough parts. Okay?” She took him by the hand and pulled him to the guest bedroom where he’d camped out. “That will get us through the night.”

“Sid, I want to never let you go,” he said.

“I can live with that,” she said.

There was no point in getting up at dawn. Homes and businesses were barely astir before at least eight and it was Sunday. Dakota had the best night’s sleep he’d had in over a week and he was in heaven with the soft and sweet-smelling woman next to him, curling against him. He kissed her forehead. “I love that little snore,” he said.

“I bet you’ll get over that...”

“I found it adorable,” he said. Then he frowned. “That noise is disturbing me.” There seemed to be a lot of traffic on Maggie’s usually quiet street, more than he’d ever heard before. “Is there a church around here?”

“I don’t remember seeing one,” she said. “Maybe someone’s having a yard sale. When someone has a yard sale in Timberlake, people show up at the crack of dawn to get the first look.”

“I don’t care if they’re going to church or a yard sale, I hate them,” Dakota said.

“That’s the patient, tolerant Dakota I love so much,” she said, laughter in her voice.

The doorbell rang.

Dakota jumped naked out of bed. “Think whoever that is will mind if I don’t take time to dress?” he said, giving his hips a crude little shake.

“If you open that door without pants on, I’m finished with you!”

“You’re not really fun all the time,” he said. He grabbed his jeans off the floor, pulled them on and went out of the bedroom. “It’s probably someone with the wrong address for the yard sale...” Not even bothering to zip and button, he flung open the front door.

He was met with the no-nonsense brown eyes and furry brows of Sister Mary Jacob.

“Sister!” he said, turning away, grabbing for the zipper and button of his jeans.

“Sorry to take you away from your photo shoot, Dakota, but a few of us decided our time was better spent here than at Mass.”

“Sidney!” he shouted. “It’s Sister Mary Jacob!”

Sidney came to the front door completely dressed in sweats and sweatshirt, a smile on her face.

“Oh, Sister, what are you doing here?” she asked, reaching out to hug her friend.

“We came to help look for Dakota’s sister,” she said.

Sid looked over the nun’s shoulder to see a large group gathered on the sidewalk in front of the house. Many of the people they usually served dinner with on Saturday evenings were there, plus a few others.

“You are so awesome,” Sid said.

“Then maybe coffee wouldn’t be too great a burden?”

“Absolutely not,” she said. “Come in, everyone!”

There were fifteen of them in all—the crew from the soup kitchen and some of them brought along friends or family members. Sister Mary Jacob had rounded them up. Maggie didn’t have enough cups but she did have a decent supply of paper to-go cups, probably so she could caff-up on her way to work for those early, early mornings. It took two full pots just to get them all started.

Dakota, now fully dressed, explained that their routes and routine usually started with an 8:00 a.m. phone call from the private detective on the job and it was almost time for him to call.

“Even on Sunday?” someone asked.

“Even on Sunday,” Dakota said. “I have to find her.” And then he went on to explain what he understood about Sedona’s condition, that she could be in a state of panic or confusion, but he had no way of knowing. But no one, certainly not her family, could imagine her leaving them voluntarily. “We hope and pray she hasn’t been hurt,” he said.

* * *

Sedona had made a plane reservation and left Maggie’s house in Denver because she knew Maggie would be coming back soon. Maggie was scheduled to work on Tuesday morning and might even be coming to Denver the evening before. She could even bring Cal and the baby if the psychiatrist leaked the news that Sedona left the hospital, though that seemed unlikely since no one had come, the phone never rang and all was quiet. But Sedona had known her period of adjusting was over. She had to leave. She had to go home. She left on Monday afternoon. She had been out of the hospital for four days.

Since her flight wasn’t due to leave for hours, she went to a restaurant for an early dinner. She wanted to prove to herself that she could seem perfectly normal and entirely confident. But it was awful. She was aware of every watermark on a glass, wrinkle in the tablecloth, smear or mark on the flatware, grime on the cashier’s station. And this was a particularly clean establishment.

When she was finished and had paid, she took a walk down the block. Summer was full upon them and the June sun was reluctant to set. She sat down on a bench in a small park surrounded by little houses and in no time at all she realized her mistake—she would have to try to retrace her path back to the restaurant in order to call her taxi or car service because she wasn’t going to be able to give her location.

But she sat.

She knew her medication had worn off—she was feeling all those uncomfortable feelings again. She was edgy, frightened, exhausted, tense. She knew all she would need was a prescription and then all these issues would be over—she would sleep, she would feel blessed calm, unless there was some major stressor invading her life.

But when Bob found out that she left the hospital and hid out at Maggie’s, he was going to flip. He’d lock her up again. And the next place might not be as nice!

It was dusk when an elderly woman walked by. She noted the suitcase sitting beside Sedona and said, “Oh, my. This looks ominous.”

“I’m going to call a cab for the airport,” Sedona told her.

“I see,” the lady said. “Going on a trip, are you?”

“I’m going home. I’ve been...visiting.” Then Sedona looked around and discovered she didn’t have her purse. “Where’s my purse?” she asked. “I don’t seem to have my purse!”

“I’m forgetting things all the time,” the woman said with a laugh. “Let’s walk back to where you were visiting and see if you left it there.”

“I was at the restaurant. Loman’s. Do you know the place? I paid my check with a credit card so I know I had it. But now...” She looked around frantically, looked up and down the walk.

“That’s almost a mile from here,” the woman said. “You must have left it there. My house is right there—the one with three boulders near the front door. Would you like to use my phone to call the restaurant and ask them to take care of it for you until you can walk back and pick it up?”

Sedona said that would help. And the woman introduced herself as Alice.

Alice’s little house had a very musty smell and was furnished with aging furniture, though the structure wasn’t that old.

“My husband and I bought this house a dozen years ago and then he passed away and I live alone now,” Alice said. “It’s a good house in a good neighborhood. With the park across the street and all the children, I’m happy here. Just old. Forgetful and a bother, but it’s only age. So what, I say. There’s the phone, dear. I’ve never had one of those cell things and I’m not going to.”

“Then do you have a directory?” Sedona asked.

“A what? What’s that?”

“I don’t know the phone number of the restaurant,” Sedona said.

“Perhaps you should call the people you were visiting,” Alice suggested.

Of course Sedona didn’t remember Cal’s number. Having those things handy on your cell phone was not good for the memory. Alice had a serviceable computer and they managed to come up with a phone number for Loman’s restaurant, but they claimed no purse had been left behind. Sedona was getting ready to walk back to the restaurant to see if she’d lost it along the way, but it was now almost dark.

She felt so helpless and she started to cry.

Alice, as it turned out, felt equally helpless. She said her son was planning to lock her up also! He lived in Arizona but claimed his mother couldn’t take care of herself and he couldn’t visit her every day so he wanted to sell the house she lived in and use the money to place her in a home of some kind. But her house was paid off. Alice didn’t want to live in a home! He said she was irresponsible. That he didn’t approve of her spending. He sent her an allowance and paid her bills and wouldn’t allow her to buy anything without permission. He set up an account at the pharmacy and grocery, but otherwise controlled her money. “He just wants me dead so he can sell this house!”

Sedona spilled some of her story—her husband was threatening divorce if she didn’t get mental help! And she’d spent ten days in a mental hospital, and while the medication did make her feel better, it had not been a great experience. She’d been frightened and isolated. She missed her children desperately but was terrified to go home.

Alice made tea and Sedona began to clean the kitchen and the refrigerator. And she found there was laundry to do. The bathroom needed attention, serious attention. All the while they talked. They talked almost through the night while Sedona cleaned and Alice nodded off in the chair, but it was all right, she said. She hadn’t really gone to bed at bedtime since her husband died. She’d slept in her chair, about two hours here, two hours there, bored and lonely and always tired.