"All right. But don't wait too long to talk to your dad again. The longer you wait, the harder it gets, okay?"

"Okay. And thanks, Faith."

Faith and Kenny ate alone that night, inside rather than out at the picnic table. After supper she ironed four shirts for him and watered his mother's old houseplants. She added spray starch to his grocery list and took out his garbage. When she left for home it was after eight-thirty and already dark. Kenny walked her to her car, which was parked in the alley, as usual. They went slowly, spiritlessly, into the sound of crickets and the dewy smell of the spring night, their moods still flat because of his disagreement with Casey. The porch light dimly illuminated the surface of the picnic table and laid its extended shadow on the damp grass at its feet. It ran a strip of reflection along the paint on the side of Faith's car as they walked around it and he opened her driver's door.

She turned before getting in. "I think you're going to have to let her try whatever it is she wants to try with her music."

He sighed long and deeply and said nothing. When he finally spoke, his frustration was apparent. "Why couldn't she have gone to college or trade school? Something she could fall back on!"

"She'd be miserable in college and she'd probably drop out anyway."

Kenny stood with one hand folded over the top of the open car door, staring at the toes of his shoes, which were illuminated by the dome light.

"I saw an interview with Henry Mancini once," Faith told him. "He said that his father had never thought music was a serious enough occupation, and even after he'd had many hits, even won Academy Awards, his father still wondered when he was going to get a real job. I always thought that was so sad."

Kenny said nothing, just kept his hand on the car door, his eyes downcast, nodding repeatedly.

"Well, I must go," Faith said. "Good night, dear." She kissed him on his cheek and he murmured "Mm" as if scarcely aware she'd done it.

She got in and he slammed the door for her. She rolled down the window while the engine churned to life. "Bridge at the Hollingsworths' tomorrow night," she reminded him.

"Yes, I remember."

As the car backed up and centered itself in the alley, he stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, following it with his eyes if not his thoughts. The headlights flashed across him and he raised his hand in an absentminded farewell.

When Faith's taillights disappeared, he stood for a long while, listening to the crickets, thinking about what she'd said regarding Henry Mancini. It was as close to chiding as he'd ever received from Faith. Good old Faith. What would he do without her? Especially after Casey graduated and moved away.

His gaze wandered across the alley to Mary's house. The downstairs lights were off and the single upstairs window below the roof peak was gold. Pretty early for a woman like that to be in bed, he thought. Where Faith's departure had scarcely registered, the nearness of Tess McPhail, a mere backyard away from him, smacked him with a sharp, masculine reaction, much like when he was in high school and hovered around the halls where he knew she'd be walking between classes. He stood looking up at her window recalling the exchange they'd had in the backyard a few hours ago, wondering how she could still manage to do this to him after all these years. By the time that encounter in the yard had ended they'd been flirting, hadn't they? Damned stupid, but that's exactly what they'd been doing. And why?

He'd made a happy, well-adjusted life for himself and Casey. He had exactly what he wanted-a nice little business that brought in enough money to afford him a comfortable life, a circle of long-time friends, one very special friend in Faith. All in all, a calm, secure, small town life. Then she came back and things started changing. Not only could she still manage to get under his skin, she was getting under Casey's as well. No matter what Faith said, he didn't want his daughter hanging around with Tess McPhail. Casey was too starstruck and impressionable to be molded by a woman like that. And as for himself, he'd better start acting like a committed man and being the kind of guy Faith deserved.

When he returned to the house Casey was in the kitchen, smearing peanut butter and jelly on a piece of toast. Her hair was clean and wet, and she was wearing a knee-length sleep shirt with a picture of Garfield the cat on the front. She licked the knife clean, holding the toast on the flat of her hand and watching him enter the room.

"Well..." he said, pausing just inside the door. "You took a bath."

"Uh-huh."

"Still mad at me?"

"Uh-uh. Faith and I had a talk."

He wandered a couple steps farther in. "Faith and I had a talk, too."

"What'd you two talk about?" "You." She finished licking off the knife and set it down. "Want a piece of toast? I made two." "Actually, that sounds kind of good." She handed him one and they rested their rear ends against the edge of the kitchen cabinets, munching. "Our fights never last too long anyway, do they?" she ventured, balancing her toast on five fingertips, nibbling the crust. "Nope." "Daddy, if I go to Nashville after I graduate, can I still keep Rowdy so I can come home and ride him on weekends?"

"Costs a lot of money to board a horse. And how often do you think you'll get home? It's a five-hour drive." "But would you go out and ride him sometimes so I don't have to get rid of him right away?" "I guess I could do that." She stopped eating her toast for a while and let it rest, forgotten, on her hand. He could nearly feel the wave of sadness wash over her as she thought about the changes ahead, the two of them separating, her living someplace else far away, leaving all the people and things that were so familiar and dear. He remembered her as a baby and got sad himself, his memories as clear as if they'd happened yesterday. He opened an arm and she curled against him, tucking her forehead beneath his jaw.

"Oh, Daddy, it's so hard growing up."

"Hard on parents, too."

"I'm going to miss you. And who's going to take care of you?"

"Faith will still be around."

"Then will you marry her?"

"Well, I don't know. Maybe eventually."

"What kind of an answer is that?" She drew back and looked up at him, perplexed, her battle with tears

forgotten. "Don't you want to get married again?" "I don't know. My life is all right the way it is." She studied him thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "Could I ask you something, Dad?"

"Couldn't you always?"

"You won't get mad?" She stuffed the last bite of toast in her mouth.

"I don't usually. Why would I now?" He polished off his toast, too.

"All right. Here it is." She brushed her palms together as they continued leaning against the cabinet.

"Does Faith put out?" He choked on his toast and coughed twice. "What kind of a question is that?" "Well, I was just wondering, that's all, 'cause you two are so... well, I don't know... comfortable together, I guess. I mean, it's like you've been married for fifty years. So naturally I wonder."

Kenny colored, and said, "Casey, you're impossible."

"That must mean you don't want to tell me." She glanced at him askance. "I figure she must. I mean,

everybody does it at some time or another. It's okay. You can tell me and I won't be shocked. Then I'll tell you if I ever have. Deal?"

"Casey Kronek!"

"Well, don't you wonder? I mean, I'm seventeen already."

"Who would you have done a thing like that with? You've never even dated any boy seriously!" "But what if I was curious? What if I just decided I wanted to know what it was like because all the other girls were talking about it?"

He frowned. "Did you?" Then a horrifying thought struck him. "Casey, you're not pregnant, are you?"

She burst out laughing. "Oh, Daddy, you should see your face!"

"Well, you might think it's funny, but I don't."

"I was just testing you to see how shocked you'd be."

"Well, I was shocked, all right!"

"So you figure I'll be, too, if I find out you and Faith sleep together."

"You know perfectly well she's never stayed overnight in this house and neither have I stayed at hers."

"Oh, come on, Daddy, even I'm not naive enough to think it only happens at night, tucked under the

covers." "Well, I tell you what, smarty. What happens between Faith and me is none of your business, and it would be a breach of faith for me to talk about it with you, don't you think?" "A breach of Faith... very clever, Daddy. Maybe you're the one who should be writing song words with Mac."

"Do we have to bring her up again?"

"Oh, I forgot. You don't like her because she used to tease you in high school."

"It's more than that. She's still got an attitude."

"No, she doesn't. Not when you approach her without thinking of her as a star, but just as the girl who

grew up next door."

"I'm not interested in approaching her at all. As far as I'm concerned, the less our paths cross, thebetter." "Do you think she'll come and sing with the choir though?" "I don't know. I hope not. I was appalled at Reverend Giddings asking her. Figured she'd think I put him up to it."

"I saw you glaring at me as if I'd put him up to it. Honest, I didn't have anything to do with that. Butwouldn't it be something if she'd do it? Wow." With a twist of sarcasm, Kenny mumbled to himself, "Yeah... wow." Moments later he was left behind while Casey wandered out of the room, daydreaming about her idol and the possibility of singing in thechurch choir with her. Yeah, he thought ruefully, that's all we need around here.

The next day when Tess went out to start her car she found a note stuck under the windshield wiper. It was written in pencil on a sheet of narrow-lined paper that had been torn out of a spiral notebook.

"Mac," it said, "I've got a verse two that I think will work. Try it out."

Mama's in the home place, never changed a lick, House as worn and tattered as a derelict, Same old clock a-tickin' on the faded kitchen wall. Mama won't replace anything at all. Mama's fine. Can't change her mind.

Tess stood in the alley, reading the verse, singing it to herself.

She loved it! It worked so much better than the second verse she herself had concocted. How surprising that a seventeen-year-old girl had the insight to come up with something this good.

On her way to the hospital she dialed her producer, and said, "Jack, listen, I want you to save space on the album for one new song that I'm writing down here. It's not done yet, but it will be soon. I'm getting good help from a high school girl who lives right across the alley, and you won't believe it, Jack, but it's good. She's good."

"A high school girl! Tess, have you lost your mind?"

"I'm excited, Jack. She can write and she's got a voice."

"Tess," he said with exaggerated patience.

"I know, I know, but this one's special. She's bright and she's got talent to go with it. I want to

encourage her and see what she's got. It's just one cut, Jack, okay? And if the song doesn't pan out the way I think it will, we'll use whatever you've got picked out from the demos."

He sighed-a man who'd lost the battle and knew it. "All right, Tess. What's it called?"

" 'Small Town Girl.' "

"A ballad?"

"Yes, upbeat. I'm working on the bridge, and if it turns out as good as the first two verses, the last verse will be easy. I'll let you know the minute it's finished."

"And you'll send a rough?" "Of course, with piano accompaniment." "Okay, Mac, you're the star. You know best." "Jack, for the hundredth time, don't say that, as if I'm the only one responsible for making my records hits. You know you're indispensable to me."

He laughed, and said, "Okay, Mac. How's your mother?"

Tess's mother was progressing normally, which, in the case of hip replacement, meant slowly. By the third day her catheter had been removed and when Tess arrived, Virginia, the therapist, was in the room running Mary through a series of exercises to increase her blood circulation. Mary lay flat in bed, flexing her feet, squeezing her buttocks together and tightening her thigh muscles. But when she was instructed to use a towel as a sling to pull her recovering leg upward, things got more difficult. A male aide arrived to help Mary to her feet for her first attempt at using a walker. The process was slow, with Virginia showing her how to use a leg lifter to support her leg while swinging it off the bed, and instructing her not to bend her hips more than ninety degrees.

"I know, I know," she said, "I've done this before."

"All we're going to do is get you upright first. There's no rush. Just sort of half sit, half hang on the edge of the mattress and don't put your weight on either foot."

When she had been swung around and tipped upright, it was apparent she grew dizzy. Her eyes closed and she gripped the arms supporting her.

"Take your time. There's no rush." Virginia gave her a minute, then said, "Okay?"

Mary nodded twice in fast succession, but her eyes remained closed and her nostrils flared.

Virginia instructed Tess, "Please pay attention, because your role will be to encourage and support. It'll help if you remind her to go slow and be systematic. Now, Mary, today we're going to do most of the work getting you up, but at home you'll push off the bed with both hands, right? Stay inside the walker, make sure you don't get your feet outside it or too far up in front because it can tip over."

Mary nodded. When they got her up off the edge of the bed she reeled.

"Do you feel nauseated?"

"I'm... okay," she answered breathlessly.

"If you feel nauseated, let us know."

She nodded again and pulled in a sturdy breath through her nose.