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soul.”
    Martha Fletcher lowered herself to the simple oak chair next to him, the one she’d been sitting in for meals for as long as Noah could remember.
    He couldn’t keep himself from noticing yet again how much his parents had aged during the time he’d been away. Their wrinkles were deeper, their movements were slower, even if they didn’t acknowledge it themselves. Noah shuddered at the thought of losing either one of them and hated the idea of them being old, even if he and his father had banged heads repeatedly as they tried to work together for the first time. He was still suffering from the loss that had crushed him less than a year before and he couldn’t weather another one.
    Unfortunately, his concern was mirrored in his mother’s face. She gazed at him with worried hazel eyes. She hadn’t changed the style of her straight bobbed hair for probably twenty years, but the color now was closer to white than gray. Her cheekbones were more pronounced, too. And she became bonier rather than rounder as the years passed.
    Noah should be used to the look she gave him. She’d acted overly worried ever since he’d returned three weeks before. He’d tried to ignore it, hoping she would see that he was fine.
    “Work might be good for the soul, but I’m wondering just where your soul is,” she said after a thoughtful pause. “Where your heart is. It doesn’t seem to be in anything , and that concerns me.”
    “Mom, please don’t. You have to stop worrying about me.” The irony of his own distress for her and his dad didn’t escape him. But he supposed he was just at that stage in his life. What did they call it? The sandwich generation. Except he didn’t have a wife and kids.
    “You’ve always been the most passionate, involved person I know,” she continued. “I love that about you, even though I used to be scared to death you’d get yourself in trouble caring so much.”
    “I’m fine. Tired and hot, but fine.”
    “If you’re fine, then I’m a Hollywood actress.”
    Noah couldn’t help it. He chuckled.
    “Exactly.” His mom remained unsmiling. “I wish you’d talk about what happened when you were away.”
    He pushed back his chair and stood, wiping all signs of amusement from his face. “I need to get back to work.”
    She rose, as well. “Come on, Noah. I’m your mother, not the bad guy. Not some psychiatrist who wants to analyze you. Did it ever occur to you that talking about it might help?”
    He looked at her for several seconds without really seeing her, terrible memories hammering at him, images of a dying woman etched into his mind. His throat seemed to swell shut and the familiar pain at the base of his neck edged into his consciousness. “No. It didn’t. And no, it wouldn’t.”
    It would only make her worry more, and what Noah wanted to do was ease his mother’s mind, not fill it with horror.
    Her shoulders sank and she stepped out of his path, looking defeated. He really hated making her feel that way.
    He paused next to her and leaned down to meet her gaze. “You’re prettier than any of the Hollywood actresses I’ve seen.”
    “You’re full of it, Noah. Go mow the lawn. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”
    He frowned as he headed back out into the relief of the choking heat. At least the humidity didn’t induce guilt or the paralyzing fear of losing someone he loved. Again.
    * * *
    I T WAS AFTER ELEVEN when Katie woke up. That was late enough to embarrass even her, but she’d crashed hard the night before and hadn’t set an alarm. She changed into shorts and a T-shirt and pulled her hair back, promising herself a shower just as soon as she’d made an appearance and gotten some breakfast.
    The main floor was deserted, but she heard voices coming from the basement. After filling a bowl with Rice Chex—she really needed to hit the grocery store for some decent sugar-filled breakfast alternatives—she decided to see what kind of party was going on down