Well, this was awkward. I came to a halt, since she was mostly blocking the door. She stepped aside when she saw me, though,

and rubbed her hand across her cheek.

"Hi," she said, in a low voice, turning away a little.

"Hi," I said. I put my hand on the door handle, preparing to pull it open. "Are you okay?" I asked. I mean, I couldn't just walk

past her without saying something.

Jill wiped at her face again, and said, "I'm okay. Just feeling a little bit blue, I guess." She tossed the half-smoked cigarette to

the ground, and pressed it into the dirt with her shoe.

"Don't smoke, Harlie," Jill said then, in a overly-cheery voice. "It's hard to stop once you start."

I settled for saying, "Uh huh," and pulled the door open.

"Hannah and Clare left earlier," Jill said.

I paused to look at her. "Where did they go? Do you know?"

"Clare had a doctor's appointment, I think," Jill said.

"Oh," I said. "I remember now. She said something about that-"

I went on in, thru the back porch, and into the kitchen. I washed my hands at the sink, as Jill came in after me.

"Hannah said there would be sandwiches for supper tonight," Jill said.

I filled a glass with water, and took a long drink. "Okay."

As I stood there, leaning against the counter, holding my glass of water, Jill stood opposite of me, her hip

resting against the table. "When do you think Daniel and all the others will be back tomorrow?" she asked.

"I don't know. Most likely in the morning sometime," I said. "They'll have work to catch up on."

"Okay. Good," she said.

I studied her. She, no doubt, knew what it was that had Daniel so preoccupied, and possibly what had everybody in

such a tizzy around here. This was my chance to see what I could find out.

And, I was curious about all this crying she did.

"How come you're feeling blue, like you said?" I asked.

She was surprised by my directness. I could tell.

"I'm homesick, I guess," Jill said.

I hardly knew her at all. But, I was nearly certain that she was lying. Missing Tennessee or Georgia, or wherever, wasn't what

her crying was over.

But, I took it anyway. "Homesick for Georgia?" I asked.

"Georgia?" Jill repeated, in an tone that suggested that Georgia was in the pits of hell. "No. Not Georgia."

I was watching her with intense interest at the emotion in her response.

"There's nothing for me in Georgia," she added.

"Your family's there, though, right?" I asked.

Jill let her eyes run over my face. She'd stopped crying, but her eyes were still red. And, again, it just didn't seem fair that

after crying like that, she still looked so darn good.

"I don't have any family, Harlie," she said.

At my puzzled look, she said, "None that matter, anyway."

"What about your sister?" I asked.

Jill shook her head slightly, and lifted her shoulders. "I don't have any real family," she said.

Even more puzzled, I wrinkled my forehead. "What do you mean?" I asked, determined that she was going to answer.

"I grew up mostly in foster care," Jill said.

"Oh," I said, trying to take that in.

"I've lived in so many foster homes that I've lost count," she said. "I did have a sister-we lost touch a long time ago."

"Is that the sister you were talking about? The one who had morning sickness when she was pregnant?" I asked.

"No. That was a foster sister. I haven't seen my real sister-" she hesitated, "For about seven years, I think."

"Oh," I said. "I'm sorry." She sounded more resigned than sad.

Jill shrugged. She went to sit down at the kitchen table.

"How did you get separated?" I asked her.

"Foster homes don't usually want to take more than one placement at a time," Jill said.

I took my glass of water, and went to sit opposite Jill at the table. I was feeling 'drawn in' to this conversation. She seemed to be

willing to talk, and I found that I couldn't resist taking advantage of that.

"How come?" I asked her.

"Too much trouble-not enough beds usually, to accommodate more than one at a time," she said. "Foster homes stay

mostly full, generally. There's more kids than there are homes available."

"I didn't know that," I said, sort of quietly.

Jill shrugged again. "Yeah."

I wanted to know just why she had ended up in foster care, but yet-maybe I didn't want to know.

"Daniel never said anything to me-about you having been in foster care, I mean," I said.

"He knows I mostly don't want people to know. At least right off," she said.

"I understand that," I said. And, I did.

"Some of the others know now," she said. By 'others' I was fairly sure she meant Adam and Hannah, probably Brian,

and Clare, too. Maybe Crane as well.

"How many homes did you live in?" I asked.

For a moment or more I thought that maybe I'd asked too much, too soon. Jill's facial expression darkened, and she

said, "Ten, or so, maybe. I was about six when I went to the first one-and I got out of the last one when I was seventeen-" Jill

paused, looking as though she was thinking.

"I guess maybe it was twelve or so homes, because two of them I only stayed a few months-" she said. "Like I said,

there were a lot."

"That must have been hard-" I said, and then thought how stupid and inane a remark that was.

"Well, it wasn't what dreams are made of," Jill said, in what I took to be an attempt at humor. I smiled before

I thought about it, and to my surprise she smiled back. Just a faint smile. But, still a smile.

"When Daniel talks about this place-" Jill lifted a hand and waved it around the kitchen, "And about all of the family-he seems

like he's describing something that I used to think only happened on TV, or in the movies."

That was nice. I thought then, that after a remark like that from Jill, I could forgive her a lot of the things that

I'd found annoying about her.

Maybe she was like she was because she'd grown up without a real family.

"Want to help me make a salad?" I asked her. "It could go along with the sandwiches for supper."

"Okay," she said.

I put eggs on to boil for hard-boiled eggs, and we began to shred lettuce and cut up tomatoes.

As we worked, I began a conversation again. "So, it's Tennessee that you're homesick for?" I asked.

"Yeah. I like it there," she said. "It's so full of energy in Nashville. And-I met Daniel there, so that makes it special."

I studied her carefully, trying not to be obvious about it.

I decided that we'd progressed enough in our conversation and all for me to ask some things that I thought needed asking.

"You see having a future with Daniel?" I asked. There. That was direct.

"Of course. If it wasn't for Daniel-" Jill let her voice trail off, until I was practically suspended in motionless, waiting for

her to finish that statement. If it wasn't for Daniel, WHAT?

"Daniel's like my lifeline," Jill said, scooping up the tomatoes in her hands. "Want these in the bowl now?" she asked me.

"Uh huh," I said, and she sprinkled the chopped tomatoes.

"Your lifeline, huh?" I asked, encouraging her to keep talking.

"Well, yeah," she said, with a smile. "I know it sounds sort of stupid, but that's the way I feel."

I thought that Daniel probably liked that-being thought of as a 'lifeline'. He has tended, in the past, to go for girls who

were a little needy, or in some sort of difficulty in their lives. Jill was sure enough needy.

"How come he has to be your lifeline?" I asked. It was, I thought, time for me to do my part to look after Daniel.

"I'm not very strong, I guess," Jill said. "I don't handle things well sometimes."

"Do you love Daniel?" I asked.

Jill looked at me in silence for the longest moment, and I thought maybe I'd gone too far. I met her look head-on though. I

wasn't going to back down. I had the right to look out for Daniel.

"Yes, I love him," Jill said.

There was something in her voice. Maybe I was imagining it. But, it just didn't ring totally true to me.

She must have been able to read my expression, because she said, "I do, Harlie."

"Don't hurt him," I heard myself say. I hadn't planned out that comment. It just came out.

We were interrupted by Nancy's voice, coming thru the living room. "Anybody home?" she called out.

"In here!" I yelled back.

Nancy appeared at the kitchen doorway, holding up two pizza boxes. "I brought pizza," she said.

"Awesome," I said, gesturing to the salad fixings. "We made salad."

Jill excused herself after that, saying that she was going upstairs for something. It was an hour later, and she still hadn't

reappeared. Nancy and I had spread some of the scrapbooking supplies over the kitchen table, and were working on pages.

Nancy, of course, had found pictures of Evan, and was working on those, putting small pictures of cowboy boots and lariats

around the edge of the page.

I was wondering why Jill hadn't come back downstairs. I thought there was a distinct possibility that she hadn't liked

all the questions that I'd peppered her with. And, telling her not to hurt Daniel. Maybe she thought I'd overstepped.

Hannah and Clare got home, with a wide-awake Isaac.

"What did the doctor say?" I asked, as Clare sat down in one of the kitchen chairs.

"He said the baby's heartbeat is good, and everything seems to be going along fine," Clare said.

"That's good," I said, feeling glad.

"It might be an Easter baby," Hannah said, putting Isaac in his walker, and going to pour herself a glass of iced tea.

"So, just the seven of us tonight for supper?" Nancy asked. "Well, and Isaac makes eight."

"Right. So, as soon as Evan and Guthrie come in, we can eat," Hannah said. "Then we'll just have a nice, relaxing

evening, hopefully," Hannah said. "Where's Jill?" she asked Nancy and I, as she joined us at the kitchen table.

"She was down here earlier," I said. "She said she was going upstairs, but I thought she was coming right back."

"She'll probably be back down soon," Hannah said, not sounding concerned.

"She told me about being in foster care," I said, quietly.

Hannah nodded. "Well, it sounds like she's had a rough time of it."

I knew Hannah had a soft heart, too, concerning people who were needy, or seemed "lost". So, of course she would be thinking

that Jill needed care, and kindness.

I met Hannah's eyes, and I would have said more, but I decided to wait until later, when it was just her and I.

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