No luck. Just as she was finishing, he walked into the kitchen from the garage where, presumably, he had spent the night. He’d come through the snack bar, and from the stormy look on his face she was sure he’d done a quick inventory. Angie jumped up and headed for the stove. “Coffee, Steve?” Pretending as usual there was nothing wrong, her voice artificially bright. “Yeah.” He sat down heavily at the table and let his head drop into his hands. Kate looked at him. Suddenly memories of how it used to be came flooding back. Movies on a Saturday afternoon with him, and ice-cream cones afterwards. Curled up in the big chair in the living room, on his lap, with the wonderful, shaggy smell of him, and the feel of his arm around her. She’d felt so safe then. He had been so strong. She’d been so sure he could protect her from anything. And things were going to be so great. He had it all planned out. He used to sit her mom and her down in the evenings and describe how it was going to be ….
