“Nope. I’ve had the same hair since high school.” She stuck out her chin. “I’m ready for a change now.”

I would never, ever cut my hair like that. But it was such a Jo thing to do—fearless, impulsive, defiant. I hugged her. “Good for you.”

“Dad’s gone to D.C.,” she said against my shoulder.

“What are you talking about?” Amy asked.

“Some conference,” I said. “Remember? He mentioned it at Thanksgiving.”

“But he didn’t say good-bye.”

“I need to talk to Mom,” Jo said. “Do you want to come?”

I drew back, my Momma Hen sense tingling again. “I’d love to. Oh, but the twins . . .”

“I can stay with them.” Amy looked at me. “Please tell me they nap.”

“No nap,” Daisy said. “Play. Play wiv us, Auntie.”

“Play,” DJ said, grabbing her hand.

“Right after lunch,” I promised Amy. “They’ll be down for an hour at least.”

We were in my mother’s room, waiting for her transfer to rehab. She held the plastic bag of her possessions on her lap, the T-shirts and sweatpants she needed for PT. The winter sun, slanting through the hospital windows, outlined the strong, clean lines of her face, bleaching the tips of her hair and eyelashes. She’d always been low maintenance. “Beauty is as beauty does,” she liked to say.

But even she couldn’t fail to notice Jo’s drastic haircut. “Bit sudden, wasn’t it?” she asked.

Jo ruffled her hair, shoving the longer strands behind her ears. “Clover kept eating my braid. I got tired of fussing with it.”

“I see.” Our mother’s gaze was sharper than it had been in weeks. “The shorter style suits you.”

I didn’t see that at all. Jo’s head looked like the goat had kept on grazing. Her hair was shorter than Momma’s now.

Our mother folded her hands. “Girls, I have something important to tell you,” she said. Which was how she had announced every one of Dad’s deployments, the death of our grandmother, the move to the farm. I felt that warning tickle again.

“You know,” Jo said with obvious relief.

Momma raised her eyebrows. “Know?”

“About the conference.”

Of course she knew. Honestly, it was too bad Dad was leaving now. But not unexpected. It wasn’t like our mother needed him at home. As far as I could see, his trip wouldn’t make any difference to her care or schedule at all.

“At least this time we’re sure he’s coming back,” I said.

Our mother cleared her throat. “Actually, that’s what I want to talk to you about. He’s not coming back. Not for a while.”

“You mean, while you’re in rehab.”

“And after I get home,” our mother said. “Your father’s not coming back to the farm.”

My brain stumbled. “I don’t understand.”

“He left you,” Jo burst out. “I will never forgive him.”

“No, honey. No. Ash didn’t leave me. And he hasn’t left you girls. I asked him to move out.”