"Now tell me what's going on."

Jonathan sighed, looking out the windshield instead of at her. "Martha—I realized something last night. I've been up all night thinking about it."

"You look it." She found herself trying to rally him out of his dark mood, at least a little. But for the first time, he didn't seem to hear what she'd said.

"This is really hard to say. I came here this morning because I wanted to tell you before I lost my nerve."

Martha's voice sounded very small. "What is it?"

Jonathan finally turned to look at her. "We—we can't keep seeing each other," he said hoarsely.

Now her voice was gone completely. But the shock on her face prompted him to keep going.

"I haven't been honest with myself—or you. I enjoyed being with you so much that I wouldn't look at the big picture. I kept telling myself it was okay for us just to hang around and have fun together." He cleared his throat. "But last night—I finally had to admit we've gone beyond that. I shouldn't have let it get this far."

"Why not?" she finally managed to whisper.

"Isn't it obvious? Martha, I'm a farmer—"

"Thanks, I didn't know that." Martha was cuttingly sarcastic.

"Let me finish. That's all I'll ever be—it's the only thing I'm good at. I don't mind that." He looked out the windshield again. "But if you and I got serious—you're not used to that life. It's uncertain, it's constant work, there's hardly any money in it at the best of times. I couldn't ask you to live that way. That's why I think we need to end this now, before we get to that point."

Martha couldn't believe she was hearing this. "You think I'm not strong enough to handle that kind of life?"

"Martha, you're one of the strongest people I've ever known," Jonathan said softly, looking into her eyes. "And the smartest. You could do anything, be anything—"

"You sound just like my father," Martha said bitterly, and saw him wince. He knew how she felt about the things her father said; she'd told him often enough. Immediately she was sorry, but she was too angry to let him know that.

"I'm not saying you should do what your father wants. All I'm saying is that I can't give you the kind of life you're used to."

"Jonathan, all you've ever heard me do is complain about the kind of life I'm used to. What makes you think that's what I want from you?"

"That's not what I mean," Jonathan said, a little impatiently. "I mean the kind of life you deserve. A life where you don't have to worry about whether you can pay the bills from one month to the next." His tone softened. "You should have something better than that, Martha. You have so much going for you. I don't want to hold you back."

Now Martha was the one to look away. So now you're trying to dictate what I can and can't do. You're trying to tell me what I want. You don't even care what I really want! At the back of her mind she knew that was unjust, but she couldn't help it.

"All right," she said very quietly, not trusting herself to speak any louder. "If that's what you think."

"Martha—" Jonathan sounded as if he were choking. She looked over at him again; there were tears in his eyes. "Martha, I'm sorry." He drew a shaky breath. "But I really do think it's best."

"Fine." Martha started to open her door. Jonathan automatically moved to get out on his own side. "Don't bother," she snapped. "I can get it." She opened the door and stepped out, then turned to look at him once more. The misery on his face almost undid her, but she lifted her chin and steeled herself.

"Goodbye, Jonathan," she said. He didn't answer.

She shut the door and forced herself to walk, not run, back to the building, head high and shoulders back. She was thankful he couldn't see the tears running down her own face.

TBC . . .