He waited for her to obey-Merle was nothing if not obedient-and collected his thoughts. Closing arguments were nothing compared to the talks a dad had with his kid.

Merle joined him on the hay bale and budged up to his side in a manner an older daughter would disdain.

"The word b.a.s.t.a.r.d used to mean somebody whose parents weren't married when the child was born," Trent said. "A long, long time ago, this was serious because it meant you had a real hard time inheriting anything from your dad if your mom wasn't ever married to him. Now, you can inherit from anybody who wants to leave you something, so being this kind of b.a.s.t.a.r.d is no big deal."

Merle twirled the end of her dark braid over her finger, clearly marshaling her patience for dear old Dad.

"Nowadays," Trent went on, "people use the word b.a.s.t.a.r.d to mean somebody n.o.body respects, like people used to not respect a child who couldn't inherit from a dad. If somebody calls me a b.a.s.t.a.r.d now, it's like saying I'm a real bear, or a..."

"A horse's a.s.s?" Merle put in helpfully. "Or a son of a b.i.t.c.h? A b.u.t.thead?"

Trent grabbed her around the middle and tickled her until she was giggling heartily.

"Yes, twerp, and a b.a.s.t.a.r.d is like all those other names you aren't supposed to hear me use. It's a nasty thing to call somebody, and Joey was being mean if he called your friend Grace a b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Merle wrinkled her nose. "Joey is a boy. Can I finish grooming Pasha now?"

"In a minute. I have a question for you: Did Joey mean Grace was a nasty person, or did he mean Grace's mom and dad never married?"

Merle tied a knot in her braid. "Why does it matter?"

"Because, if Grace really doesn't have a dad of her own, she might be able to ask you questions about having a dad. If she's that kind of b.a.s.t.a.r.d, you have something she doesn't."

Merle untied the knot. "Grace is really nice. Everybody likes her because she's so nice, even the boys, but Grace said her mom and dad never married, so it's that kind. She said her dad is a very handsome man, but she's never seen him. I told her you were handsome too." She drew her braid across her top lip. "Are we done yet?"

"Yes, but I bet you have more than one thing Grace doesn't have, even if he's a little old and slow."

"You're not that old," Merle said, hopping down.

Ouch. "I meant Pasha. Does Grace like to ride?"

Merle's smile became mysterious. "I promised Grace I wouldn't tell. It's club stuff, Dad. You wouldn't understand."

Club stuff? Pony Club? Or some second-grade precursor to a gang?

Trent had clearly exhausted Merle's tolerance for the subject of Miss Grace the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, so he took himself back into the house and got ready to serve the largest midday meal of the year.

Wondering all the while what secrets his daughter was having such a good time keeping from her only custodial parent.

"Mom?" Grace stood beside her mother at the kitchen sink, drying the Thanksgiving dinner dishes, or swiping at them with a damp towel before arranging them in stacks on the counter.

"Yes?"

"Why don't we ever have cousins and uncles and grandmas over for a big dinner? Or we could go to their house, like 'over the river and through the woods'?"

"We don't have those folks to visit us, Grace, because we're not related to anybody. I was an only child, as far as I know, and my parents died in a car accident."

"I know," Grace chirped wistfully. "You were only three years old, and they 'dopted you, and your mom and dad died, and you can't really remember them but you think the smell of lilacs reminds you of your mom. You own this house partly because of all the lilacs in the yard."

"I make payments on this house." Oral tradition was alive and well in the Stark family, however small that family was.

"I like lilacs too, Mom. Is that your favorite flower?"

Hannah pulled the stopper from the drain. She was about to list all her favorites when the phone rang.

"You think up your favorite while I get the phone."

Telemarketers wouldn't call on a holiday, would they? And yet the phone rang so rarely, who else could it be?

"Hannah Stark."

"How'd your turkey day go? This is Trent."

Trenton Knightley? Hannah was abruptly catapulted back to adolescence, when the phone might ring for every other girl in the house, but never, ever for her.

"This is a nice surprise," she managed. "We're finishing up in the kitchen and looking forward to turkey pancakes for breakfast tomorrow." Across the kitchen, Grace made a yuck face, proof positive she was eavesdropping.

Of course.

"I require my guests to take home leftovers so we're spared tryptophan overdose. Do you have a few minutes, Hannah, or did I call at an awkward time?"

"I'm almost done cleaning up, the cats are in a turkey-induced coma and it's a good time to chat a bit. Did you cook for a gang?"

"For enough people that we had to clean as much as we cooked. Merle has dragged Judge Halverston out for the ritual visit to the barn, so I'm stealing a little peace and quiet in the kitchen."

What to say? This conversation was like dancing without music. It took focus and didn't feel smooth. "Merle enjoys having company?"

"She does," he said, sounding a little perplexed. "She's very shy, very serious, but now that you mention it, she does seem to light up when we have people over. She was particularly pleased when Tommie got caught sucking the pimentos out of the olives and putting the olives back in the dish."

"How old is Tommie?"

"Five. I introduced you to his mom when we went out to lunch. Her boyfriend is a cop who had to work, so we got the honor of hosting Tommie the Terror. He gets on well with both of my brothers."

And with Trent. Hannah was speaking to a man who would have liked to have a son. Sons, daughters, more children of either stripe.

"You love that pimento-sucking terror," Hannah said, certain it was true.

Cue seventh awkward micro-pause.

"Tommie laughs a lot. He leaps into life, he doesn't hang back and sort through a cost-benefit a.n.a.lysis. In other words, he is the exact opposite of my very dear daughter. Sometimes, I wish Merle would bust a gut laughing, bellow at the top of her lungs, have a complete meltdown, anything spontaneous and pa.s.sionate. But she's so disciplined."

While Grace's sole coping mechanism seemed to be her imagination. "Something wrong with being disciplined?"

"What? You were serious as a kid and you turned out all right? I won't argue that, if you say so."

This pause was a tad less strained.

"For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be on top of my game," Hannah said. "I could not stand the sense of my world being out of control, and I loathed the humiliation of failure. That fearfulness has abated as I've withstood a few of life's dings and dents, but I still have to work hard not to see every confrontation as a threat, and every failure as a comment on my value as a person."

Something about the anonymity of talking on the phone-the privacy of it-permitted the near occasion of confidences, apparently.

Though enough was enough. "You had both your brothers over too?"

"Merle insists, and they enjoy it. Did you cook a big bird?"

"Big enough, but the size of the mess can vary independently from the size of the bird. This is scientific fact." Across the kitchen, Grace was silently counting each stack of plates-and they were short stacks. "How many did you cook for?"

"Me-I do recall sitting down to eat-Merle, James, Debbie, Tommie and his mom, Mac, His Honor. Eight I guess, except Tommie should count double, and Mac and James can eat an entire pie between them."

"That's a lot of dishes. How does the judge get along with the children?"

"Interesting question. He dotes on Merle. He's her Uncle Judge, and he seemed to delight in Tommie too, much to Merle's consternation. She takes the doting fellows in her life pretty much for granted, which brings me to the rest of the reason I called."

"The rest of the reason?" Grace was wandering around the kitchen as if deciding what mischief to get into next.

"I called simply to visit, of course, but also in honor of the day. It's Thanksgiving, and you are one of the blessings I've been most grateful for lately. My department would have fallen on its sword by spring were you not willing to roll up your sleeves and wade in the way you have been, so you have my heartfelt thanks."

"You're welcome." Hannah had to swallow around a lump in her throat though. Was this what all those cousins and uncles and grandmas Grace longed for would say to each other on Thanksgiving?

"Hannah, you there?"

No, she was in the Children's Haven group home, helping Eliza get ready for the junior prom. "I said you're welcome."

"Maybe sometime over the holidays we can get you here for a meal, and I can show my appreciation in more than just words."

"Maybe. My cleanup crew needs some direction. It was sweet of you to call, and I'll see you at the office."

"Not for three more days, you won't. Have a good weekend, and go sleep off your turkey."

"Good night, Trent."

She hung up, reached for a tissue, and stared at the phone.

What on earth had that whole phone call been about?

"You ever do something you still regret years later?"

Dan Halverston lounged against the jamb of Trent's kitchen door, though no question from a judge should be considered idle. James and Mac had been shanghaied by Merle into doing the evening barn ch.o.r.es, and from thence would be chained to her DVD player watching an old Garfield video.

While His Honor wanted a tte--tte, and Trent wanted to know why Hannah Stark had sounded near tears at the end of their phone call.

"Have a seat, Daniel. This sounds like a discussion to have over some spiked hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate sounds good, but it's dark out there, and my night vision isn't what it used to be, so easy on the spiking for me."

"Feeling old?" Trent asked as he got out the fixings and opened a cupboard over the refrigerator. "A few years ago I went on a liqueur buying binge. We have almond, hazelnut, raspberry, chocolate mint, orange. I ought to toss some of this out, or give it away."

"I've had years like that." The judge lowered his big frame to a chair at the kitchen table. "Put some of the hazelnut stuff in mine."

"Whipped cream?"

"But of course."

A judge had fewer opportunities to socialize than did the members of the bar. They had to watch appearances, exhibit good behavior at all times, and avoid anything approaching political use of their office.

Lonely business, being a judge.

"Your drink, sir." Trent pushed a handsome little creation across the table and straddled the opposite chair. Hannah Stark appreciated a well-made hot chocolate.

But did she know how to let somebody appreciate her?

"To your health," Halverston said, taking a sip.

"And yours," Trent said, doing likewise with his. "What has you looking so moony? You miss Helen more on the holidays, don't you?"

"The first year was the hardest. The first Christmas, the first anniversary of her death, the first Easter when we didn't go to Deep Creek. I tried going by myself a few weeks later, but it was a mistake."

"Does the grief fade at all?"

"It does," the judge said, staring at his drink. "At first you don't want it to because that's scary and disloyal, but then you begin to let it go, to hold on more to the good things, and to realize your life is still before you, whether you know what to do with it or not."

"When Sheila left"-dumped Trent and their daughter-"I felt that way. I was single again, but not quite, not with Merle glued to my hip and depending on me for every blessed thing."

"Sheila was determined to go, and you were doing most of the parenting anyway."

"I was?"

"I've gone fishing with Mac several times since Helen died. He doesn't say much, so one tends to recall what few words he parts with, and he does catch a lot of fish."

"I've had the pleasure," Trent said, though it had been years, since right after the divorce in fact.

"There was a woman," the judge said, stirring his drink slowly. "Way, way back in law school. She was brilliant, Trent, a far more apt pupil than I was. She'd worked her backside off to get through undergrad, and was doing law school on determination and scholarships. I got to be editor of law review because she'd gone over what I'd written and challenged me on it until my article looked as brilliant as she was."

There was a woman... Did every man's list of regrets start with that phrase? Did Hannah Stark's list of regrets include a man? "An old flame? Did you keep in touch?"

"We were so in love." Halverston pushed his half-full mug away by a few inches. "We were of different faiths, and her family was very conservative, and choosing me would have meant losing all of their approval and support. They'd helped her as much as they could with school, and it would have been a hard choice."

"Different faiths wasn't an insurmountable problem, even thirty years ago." Though meddling family could be the wrecking ball that dealt a relationship its death blow.

"We had other problems. I was compet.i.tive as h.e.l.l, much as I loved her, and she realized it."

"Most professional couples deal with the same thing. Sheila and I certainly did."

"Look how easily you got that resolved."