Betsy sighed and rolled over. Margot hadn’t used to be such an early bird! It was barely light out, and already Margot was putzing around in the bathroom. Betsy pried an eye open and checked her watch. Six o‘clock. God, these Midwesterners; you’d think they all were farmers. Didn’t they know that early to bed and early to rise means you miss all the parties?

Betsy rolled back onto her side, seeking more sleep. After all, it was only four A.M. in San Diego; some of last night’s parties were just breaking up.

It was awkward living in someone else’s home. You had to adjust your sleeping patterns, your TV-watching habits, your eating habits. No more cereal for supper, no more cold pizza for breakfast. And in this place, lots more salads.

Which Betsy could use a little of. So okay, bring on the salads.

Very faintly, Betsy heard a series of beeps, and then a chord of music—just the one chord. Ah, Margot was surfing the net. Interesting how her sister, who, back in high school, had difficulty mastering the electric typewriter, was now so proficient on the computer.

Betsy herself was computer literate. A shame she hadn’t known Margot had an E-mail address; she could have saved herself this trip. A few weeks of E-mail exchanges and—no, that wouldn’t have done it. She had needed to get away, start over.

She had sold her own computer along with most of her other household items when she’d decided to come to Minnesota. Too much trouble hauling a trailer over those mountains, too expensive to put things into storage. And wiping the slate clean was part of the process of starting over.

Should she talk to Margot about her computer? Margot kept it in her bedroom, and had yet to invite Betsy into that sanctum. Margot might think she wanted to pry, though she didn’t. Certainly Margot hadn’t come into the guest room once she’d turned it over to Betsy. Not that she wasn’t welcome.

Margot was a much more private person than Betsy. That could be because Betsy had been such a snoop when they were kids. Margot had had to fight for privacy, and gotten into the habit.

But Betsy was willing to respect that. There were things she didn’t want to share with Margot, either. Such as how uncomfortable she felt taking her sister’s charity. She wasn’t sure whether her sister’s offer of a paying job in the shop was a sop to Betsy’s pride or because she could really use the help.

But did any of that matter right now? Betsy felt herself sinking into the pillows, a very pleasant sensation. She dozed until the smell of coffee brought her awake again, and had a good breakfast with Margot—mushroom-and-green-pepper omelette with toast—then Margot left for the city and Betsy went down with Sophie to open the shop.

Shelly was somewhat distracted; school was going to start in five days, and she’d just found out that there would be thirty-five children in her fourth-grade class. That was far too many, and with the list of children’s names came a little memo saying there would be no teacher’s aide until halfway through the semester.