“Your turn,” Connor said to Josh. “Don’t put the spoon back in the jar. Your mother won’t appreciate that. Just use what’s left and see if it works.”

  The dog retrieved the ball for the boy, who held it above his head in triumph as the dog pranced around at his feet.

  “It works!” Josh proclaimed.

  “Soon you won’t have to use peanut butter,” Connor said. “His retriever genes will kick in. Throw it farther.”

  Josh and the dog ran off together across the yard.

  “Where did you learn that trick?” Lyle asked.

  “One of my uncles was a duck hunter and raised hunting dogs.”

  “I’ve never gone duck hunting, but I shot skeet once and loved it.” Lyle repositioned the wheelchair so he could watch Josh and the puppy.

  Connor began thinking about where he could take Lyle to shoot clays. There was a facility south of Atlanta that he believed had wheelchair access. They watched Josh and Rascal for a few moments.

  “Getting him a dog was a great idea,” Connor said.

  “Yeah, but it’s hard to watch and not join in. Let’s roll into the shade under that oak tree.”

  There were two large oak trees in the front yard. Connor followed Lyle, who positioned the chair so he could continue to watch Josh.

  “How’s your rehab going?” Connor asked.

  “I’ve graduated from occupational therapy. I’m pretty good at operating the hand controls for my van and using the adaptive devices they gave me for around the house.”

  “How’s Sarah coping?”

  “Still believing for a miracle. She prays for me every night and anoints me with oil.”

  Sarah came from a different religious tradition than Connor. She attended Rock Community Church, but he suspected it was because the church was a place Lyle would go as well. Sarah’s zeal was unsettling. Connor moved a leaf on the ground with the toe of his shoe.

  “Sometimes, I think what’s the use,” Lyle continued. “But then I’d rather be married to a woman who prays for me to get better than one who spends her time complaining. And Sarah has stories about people in the church where she grew up who were healed of all kinds of sickness and illnesses.”

  “Any who were paralyzed?”

  “One guy regained the use of his hand after it was torn up in a bushhog accident.”

  Connor didn’t ask for details.

  “I do have a favor to ask,” Lyle said after a few moments passed. “And feel free to say no. Would you be willing to take Josh with you sometimes for a hike in the woods? It’s killing me that I can’t do it.”

  “Of course,” Connor replied immediately.

  “Thanks, I was hoping you’d say yes.”

  “And I’d want to include you. There are wheelchair-accessible trails. The Bear Claw Trail is one that comes to mind.”

  “Maybe,” Lyle replied doubtfully.

  Before his accident, Lyle had joined Connor a few times for hikes in the woods. The Etowah County native had introduced him to several little-known, unnamed trails.

  Josh returned with a clean spoon and a tennis ball that was dripping with dog saliva. “He’s chasing the ball and bringing it back without peanut butter as a reward.”

  “I saw that,” Connor replied. “It’s bred in him to fetch. You just had to wake it up.”

  “Do you have a dog?” Josh asked Connor.

  “My dog died a few years ago, and I’m still waiting for the right one to come along to replace her.”

  Josh held the ball close to Rascal’s nose and then threw it. The brown animal dashed after it with the boy in pursuit.

  “What kind of dog did you have?” Lyle asked.

  “A German wirehaired pointer. It was fun taking her into the woods. I’ve mentioned Daisy a time or two in a sermon.”

  “I must have missed those Sundays. I’m sure I would have remembered it.”

  “I only brought her up to make a point.”

  Connor stopped and looked at Lyle, who chuckled and ruefully shook his head.

  “I don’t know, Preacher. I’m not sure I’d give that joke a passing grade.”

  “You laughed, didn’t you?”

  “Barely.”

  Connor lightly placed his hand on Lyle’s shoulder. “Hang in there,” he said.

  “Thanks. I appreciate you stopping by. And let’s talk more about a hike with Josh.”

  Chapter 3

  Thinking about some of the good times she’d enjoyed with Raphael, Liz had trouble falling asleep. When she woke in the morning, she braced for a fresh wave of sadness to wash over her. Instead, all she felt was a twinge of regret. There would be a wound left by Raphael’s departure from her life, but it wouldn’t take long to heal.

  Stretching her arms high in the air, Liz slipped out of bed and ate a breakfast of Cuban bread dipped into café con leche, a mixture of coffee and milk. There wasn’t a place in Bryson to buy the long baguettes she liked so she baked the bread herself, using the recipe passed down from her grandmother. No matter where she might be, the meal made her feel at home. It was a bright, crisp day, and she drove to work with the car windows down.

  “Good morning,” Jessica said when Liz approached. “I checked your calendar and saw that your boyfriend is coming into town this weekend. Would the two of you like to come over for a cookout Saturday night? Max is going to cook ribs on the grill. There will be two other couples there. Once we put the kids to bed, we could have a game night.”

  “Raphael isn’t coming,” Liz replied. “He broke up with me yesterday afternoon. He met someone else a few weeks ago.”

  Jessica’s face fell. “I’m sorry.”

  “It stings,” Liz acknowledged. “But I’m relieved too.”

  “I totally get it.” Jessica brightened. “The coolest thing about Raphael was his name. Otherwise, he was a dud. You can do a lot better.”

  “That’s what you thought?” Liz asked in surprise.

  “Yes, but it wasn’t my place to offer an opinion. I was only around him a few times and thought maybe you saw something in him that I didn’t. It’s one reason I wanted to invite you over this weekend. To check him out a bit more.”

  “No ribs for Raphael.” Liz shook her head.

  “Double loss for him. But you can still come.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll pass on showing up solo.”

  “Understood.” Jessica paused for a moment. “Let me know when you’re ready to meet the personal trainer I told you about a few weeks ago. He’s the total package.”

  “I’ll wait on that too.”

  “Of course. No rush.”

  Jessica picked up a stack of papers from the corner of the desk. “Harold came in last night and dictated a brief in the Braxton Properties case. Can you look it over and then take it to him at the courthouse? He’s in a motion hearing in front of Judge Conklin at nine o’clock.”

  Liz had worked on the case and knew it inside and out. Ten minutes later she returned the brief after making four corrections. She showed Jessica what she’d changed.

  “Glad you caught that,” Jessica replied. “I wasn’t sure about that one word. Harold was spitting it out like a machine gun. Let me make the copies.”

  The Etowah County Courthouse was located in the middle of town. Surrounded by intersecting streets, the original two-story building was constructed in the 1950s with an annex added fifty years later. There were two courtrooms. A small one downstairs near the clerk’s office, and a larger one on the second floor. After stopping by the clerk’s office to have one of the copies of the brief stamped, Liz walked up the stone staircase whose steps were visibly worn by everything from women’s heels to men’s rough work boots.

  She entered the courtroom from the rear. Harold Pollard was sitting in the front row. Judge Conklin, a perpetual scowl on his face, presided from his elevated seat behind a dark wooden barrier. This morning, he was hearing pleas in criminal cases. Liz had learned the judge’s scowl didn’t signify a bad mood. It was how the gangly man looked when he was concentrating. She slipped in behind her boss and handed him three copies of the brief. Their client was seated beside him.

  “Stay,” Harold said. “This should be fun.”

  * * *

  Connor lived in a compact one-story wooden cottage built in the 1940s. On one wall of the living room was a framed calligraphy of Psalm 78:72: And David shepherded them with integrity of heart; with skillful hands he led them. The verse was a seminary graduation gift from a friend of his mother.

  Finishing a light breakfast, he went into the living room. Tablet in hand, he was going to practice his Sunday sermon by reading it out loud. After writing, revising, rewriting, and again revising the message, he rarely strayed from his notes. Each sermon lasted between thirty and thirty-two minutes. He scrupulously avoided plagiarism and gave credit when he quoted another theologian or scholar. By studying the style of well-known orators like Abraham Lincoln, Winston Churchill, Martin Luther King Jr., John F. Kennedy, and Ronald Reagan, Connor hoped to make the leap from an essayist whose papers received high marks from professors to an effective oral communicator.

  Connor took a sip of coffee and turned on his tablet. It was going to be “Homecoming Sunday.” Former church members who no longer lived in the area would be present, and a covered-dish luncheon would boost attendance. The title of Connor’s sermon was “A Place Called Home.” Connor considered it a feel-good message with an equal mix of sentimentality and substance.

  The brass knocker on the front door sounded. Laying his tablet on a coffee table, he went into the small foyer. Through a window sidelight he recognized the man wearing a lightweight green jacket and jeans standing on the front porch. It was Matt Thompson.

  “Good morning,” Connor said without inviting Matt inside.

  “I want to talk.”

  “I’ll be glad to set up an appointment for you at the church. That’s where I usually meet with people.”

  “Now.”

  Matt stepped forward, forcing Connor to move aside. They ended up standing awkwardly close to each other in the foyer. Connor wasn’t ready to surrender protocol.

  “Is there a time that would work for you later today?” he asked. “I normally don’t have counseling sessions on Fridays and take half a day off. But I could make an exception.”

  “Please,” Matt replied in a humbler tone of voice. “I won’t take up too much of your time.”

  Connor relented. “Okay, come into the living room.”

  The living room had a short upholstered couch and two side chairs picked out by one of Connor’s aunts who oversaw the decoration of the house. An antler he’d found in the woods the previous summer rested on the mantel to the right of the mirror.

  “Do you have any more coffee?” Matt asked. “I left the house in a hurry and didn’t have any.”

  “How do you take it?”

  “Cream and one teaspoon of sugar.”

  Connor went into the kitchen, a rectangular room with black-and-white floor tiles and a single window over the sink. When he returned to the living room, Matt was inspecting the antler. Connor handed him the coffee. He’d prepared one for himself too.

  “Do you hunt?” Matt asked.

  “Mostly with the camera on my phone. I may harvest a doe for meat. I’ve been to Montana and Idaho with my father a few times to hunt elk. I’m more into hiking and climbing.”

  Matt took a sip of coffee. “I have a deer hunt coming up in a few weeks at Burnt Pine Tree. It’s a company-sponsored event with people coming in from all over. Reg suggested it. He says they’re bringing in some big bucks from out of state and releasing them right before our weekend.”

  “Yes, that’s part of their annual program.”

  Connor motioned for Matt to sit in one of the side chairs. “What’s on your mind?”

  Matt clasped his hands in front of him before he spoke. “You’ve got to know something before Elena and I have any more meetings with you. I’m in love with two women, and I’ve been married to both of them. Even though I’m divorced from Anne, I’m still connected to her, not just because of the girls but because of my feelings for her. She stuck with me through the tough early years of beginning the company, and now that we’ve had this time apart, I realize the problems that caused the divorce weren’t bad enough to justify a split.”

  “But you’re divorced now.”

  “And I love Elena too,” Matt continued. “She’s different from Anne in just about every way, but I like being married to her. I’m never bored with Elena, and you have to admit she’s gorgeous. What she said the other day about not spending time together was an exaggeration. We enjoy hanging out on our deck with a glass of wine in the evenings and traveling together, which happened a lot the first few years of our marriage but not very much since. Now I’m in a super busy season at work. We’re in a bit of a tight spot, and my main business partner wants to sell the company. I disagree. I think the timing isn’t right, and we should keep building what we have. It’s caused a huge rift.”

  Connor wasn’t thinking about Matt’s problem with his business partner. He was stuck on the “I’m in love with two women” comment. Polygamy wasn’t an option he could recommend.

  “What are you asking me to do?”

  “Elena really likes you and thinks you can help us sort through our issues. I’m willing to go along but want you to include Anne too.”

  “How?”

  “Maybe the three of us should meet. I’ve wondered about inviting her to a joint meeting with Elena.”

  “All four of us?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is Elena willing to do that?” Connor asked skeptically.

  “I don’t know. I thought I’d ask Anne first. If she says no, that’s the end of it. When I leave here, I’m driving to Atlanta. I’ll see Anne and the girls this weekend and suggest she join us.”

  “What would be the goal of including both women? And how do you think they would react to each other?”

  “I know it’s tricky, but if I stay married to Elena, there’s got to be a way to have an ongoing relationship with Anne that Elena can accept. I thought it over after our meeting yesterday and realized we need a third party to step in and mediate.”

  “Are you thinking about divorcing Elena?”

  “That thought crossed my mind, but I’d rather learn from the mistakes I made with Anne.”

  Connor had run out of questions to ask. “Matt, what you’re suggesting is way outside the grid of anything I’ve done or studied. I have so many ethical and moral questions I’m not sure where to start.”

  Matt’s countenance darkened. “I thought your job was to help. That’s what Elena told me when she convinced me to come see you in the first place. When I’m in a business dispute, we get everyone involved in a room and either sort it out or end up in litigation.”

  “This isn’t the same.”

  “But it’s analogous. If there’s a problem, I’m not afraid to think outside the box. Would you at least be willing to talk to Anne on the phone if she agrees to it?”

  “Does she attend a church in Atlanta? I’d rather work with her pastor or counselor.”

  Matt shook his head. “Church wasn’t part of our life together, but she’s not opposed to religion.”

  Connor leaned forward. “Look,” he said. “My goal is to help you and Elena. The only way I’d bring Anne into the mix is with Elena’s permission and an understanding by all of you that my main goal is to save your current marriage and, secondarily, foster a healthy relationship for you with your children.”

  Matt nodded. “I’m good with that approach if Elena convinces me she wants to stay married. I can tell she’s considering an exit strategy.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Oh, she’s sneaking around collecting information about our finances. And I know she hired a private detective a few months ago to spy on me while I’m in Atlanta. I spotted him right off. I suspect she located the outfit he works for because our company has used them in the past.”

  “And you’ve not confronted her about any of this?”

  “Why should I? I already know what she’s doing without asking her to admit it. What’s the point of making her lie?”

  Connor paused for a moment. “Does Anne know you still have feelings for her?”

  “Probably. Women have a way of figuring stuff out. When you get married that’s one of the first things you’ll realize.”

  Matt checked his phone and took a final drink of coffee. He handed the cup to Connor.

  “I gotta go,” he said. “You brew a decent cup of coffee. It’s got punch to it. Thanks for breaking protocol to talk with me.”

  “Yeah,” Connor managed as he rose from the chair.

  He led Matt to the front door.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Matt said as he left.

  Connor returned to the living room and picked up his tablet. But he didn’t practice his sermon. Instead, he entered a summary of his conversation with Matt into an existing file labeled “Thompson Marital Counseling.”

  Chapter 4

  Harold’s opponent was a seasoned lawyer named Marvin Stancill. Stancill was a large man in his fifties with an ample belly. He and Harold had crossed legal swords for years. Today, Liz listened with admiration as her boss parried every thrust and deftly counterattacked. Harold included information contained in the brief, but also implications prompted by the other lawyer’s claims.

  Stancill became more and more frustrated. Finally, he blew up. “Judge, Mr. Pollard is twisting everything I’m saying!”

  “He’s arguing his case,” the judge replied dryly. “You’re free to do the same.”

  After several more minutes of rapid back-and-forth passed, the judge raised his right hand. “Enough,” he said. “Both of you will keep talking just to make sure you get in the last word. That’s my job. Mr. Pollard, prepare an order granting your client a temporary restraining order against sale of the property. I’m going to place this on the next trial calendar. And I don’t want to receive a request for continuance from either one of you. When you file something in my court, you’d better be ready to proceed.”