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latest term for manic-depressive.  Somehow, I couldn’t picture Roger as manic.  During the seven years that we’d lived together, he had one mood—grumpy.  Justine must’ve brought out the best and worst in him.  Looking at him across the table, I was thankful she came along when she did, otherwise I might actually have married him.  “There’s a Motel 6 in Lodi.  You ought to be able to afford that tonight.”  I wanted to make it clear there’d be no chance he’d come home with me.
    “I can’t stay.  I have to have my face in front of a judge in Reno in the morning.  Something about me not having any guns.” 
    I tried not to appear relieved.  “Maybe you should sell the guns, at least until you get through this current disaster.”
    “I ain’t selling my guns.”  There was a hint of acid in his voice.
    “Then go to jail.  I don’t really care.”  I swept my hand through the air to reinforce the statement. 
    “Nag, nag, nag.  You haven’t changed at all.”
    I leaned forward, my elbows on the table.  “Why, after all these years, did you suddenly decide you had to see me?”    
    He fiddled with his silverware, avoiding eye contact for a moment.  “Let’s start over.  How’ve you been, Katie?”
    “Answer my question first.”
    “I just thought… if you’re not seeing anyone—”
    “Oh my God!” I blurted.  “You think I’d agree to get involved with you again?”
    “I just figured… you might be… I’ve changed, Katie.  Really.”
    I glared across the table at him.  What I really wanted to do was grab him by the throat and pin his head to the wall.  I wanted to tell him that he’d ruined my life, that he’d broke my heart into a million pieces, and the old wives’ tale about time healing all wounds was nothing but a big fat lie. 
    My relationship with Roger was like the Titanic’s maiden voyage.  He was my first venture into the risky waters of love.  We’d stayed afloat for seven years, and he’d convinced me that we were unsinkable… but then the iceberg hit and I sank to the bottom of the icy-cold, deep, dark ocean.  And that’s where I’d stayed.
    I wanted to scream at him that the scars he’d left made it impossible for me to trust—that I’d gotten over him years ago, but that I’d never get over what he’d done to me, how he’d betrayed me.  The worst part was that I could not even trust my own judgment.  I wanted to hurt him the way he’d hurt me, but I realized I never could, not because I wasn’t that cruel, but because his heart was too cold and hard to break.   
    I smiled.  “I’m fine, Roger.  Thanks for asking.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
    O n Friday, my alarm clock woke me up at 5:30 AM.  No way was I going to be late for my appointment with Andy Carmichael.  I hiked up to the barn and fed Buster and Emlie, then filled the water trough.  As usual, the cats’ bowls were licked clean.  Damn raccoons.  I filled the bowls and called the cats so they could at least have a bite.
    After everyone else was fed, I made a light breakfast for myself—homemade granola, organic Fuji apple, fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice, and a handful of vitamins.  I sorted through a half-dozen blouses before I finally picked my favorite one—a deep blue sleeveless that brought out the color of my eyes.  Not that I cared what Andy Carmichael thought about my eyes, since I had no intention of giving him the time of day—but I’d enjoy not giving him the time of day more if I knew he noticed my eyes. 
    As I applied mascara, I listened to my favorite country music station, which was in the middle of a news break.   “California Highway Patrol officer Tina Delaney held a press conference about the sniper incident,” the news commentator said.  “The shootings occurred at two-thirty this morning on Highway Forty-nine, two miles north of Grass Valley.  There were no injuries, but four vehicles were hit.  Early