WEDNESDAY Kariss was into the fourth mile on the treadmill when her cell phone rang. She hoped it was Tigo. Hanging up on him had given her a sleepless night and more heartache. Caring for him was easy. Swallowing her pride meant digesting a horse pill. He only wanted what was best for her, and she’d reacted in her typical stubborn, reckless fashion. Now to confess that. But one glance told her he wasn’t the caller. She should have felt relief, but regret took its place. “Good morning, Amy. How are you doing since the bombing?” “All right.” Amy’s voice had that curt, emotionless tone—as in ultraprofessional—that Kariss had heard on more than one occasion. “Are you running?” “Yes. I’m on the treadmill.” “Can you talk?” “I’m a multitasking junky.” So much so that she’d already shed a few tears for a man she couldn’t have, but she knew who had the real answers to that dilemma. “First I need to apologize for not returning your calls.” Amy sighed.
