“Run off?” Rivera flung herself down on the couch, looked up at the ceiling, and frowned. “I knew she was feeling trapped, but this? No. Do you think the Mother Superior looks like Rosalind Russell in The Trouble with Angels? Caroline reminded me of Hayley Mills the minute I saw her. I had such a crush on her in that movie.”

Angie leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Rivera’s shoulder. “What a mess we’ve got ourselves into.”

Rivera said, “It’s a record, even for us.”

In the other room Tony was talking to Tommy Apples about the odd habits of southerners, and they listened to him for a while. Finally Angie said, “There are questions I’d like to ask you.”

“No,” said Rivera. “Please don’t, because I’ve got nothing useful to tell you.”

Less than a half hour after Kai handed him paper and pen, John folded three closely written sheets into an envelope and sealed it quickly before the urge to edit got the better of him. This morning he would have told anyone who asked that he was so used to composing on the computer he couldn’t write longhand anymore, and yet this particular letter had poured itself across the page without hesitation or pause.

Rob and Kai were waiting for him on the porch, Rob tossing the car keys from hand to hand.

“You don’t have to do this,” John said. “But I’m glad you offered.”

“Can’t have you driving into a ditch,” Rob said. “Not just when things are getting exciting around here.”

“I owe you.”

“Yes,” Rob said, clapping him on the back. “You do.”

For the next hour and a half John drifted in and out of a twilight sleep, vaguely aware of the darkening sky, of Kai’s profile when she turned her head to talk, of the weight of the letter in his shirt pocket. He thought of Caroline reading it, her head bent over the paper, and he was overcome by sadness and affection and fear. He didn’t want to hurt her and he couldn’t marry her; he couldn’t even remember how he had imagined he could make her happy.

He had loved her—he loved her still—for her intelligence and quick mind and shy smile, for her quiet thoughtfulness and her empathy, her kindness, but he had no idea what touched her most deeply. She never lost her temper, though there were times he had been angry for her, at her sisters, for the way they passed her back and forth like a doll; at her mother, for letting that happen. He had asked her, more than once, how she managed and she had given him her enigmatic smile.