What began in desperation to educate myself about Pa’s disease soon grew into a passion to help others going through similar mental illness. It was pretty easy to declare a major in psychology with my focus on becoming a counselor one day. During my senior year of college, I actually interned at a clinic near campus and was met by a great deal of criticism from my supervisor when she caught me praying with one of the patients.

“This is a clinic to treat mental illness. It’s not Bible study or prayer service. Can you leave your God out of our counseling sessions?” she asked me after giving me a lengthy berating.

I told her, “That’s impossible. God is in everything.”

Luckily, I found other facilities to work at that reminded me of the mental institute where Pa had been treated. I love helping others in the same situation my siblings and I endured most of our childhood.

Within miles, the city gives way to a rural setting of planted fields and barns. It has evolved, like everything else, to an extent. Most of the outdated dirt roads are surrendering to their destinies, trading in their dusty worn jackets for shiny black dressings.

Before I get too lost in the landscape of my childhood, I hit the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel. A few moments later the most alluring voice fills the inside of my SUV.

“Hey, babe. What’s up?”

Grinning, I reply, “Hey, handsome. I’m going to swing by the farm before heading home.”

“Everything okay?” There’s a touch of caution to his tone, but that has become a norm if the farm is ever mentioned.

“Yes. I just want to make a quick visit.”

For the record, Vance Cumberland was a man of his word when he said he wasn’t going anywhere all those years ago. The day I completed grad school, I drove out to Lake Murray and told him I was done waiting, and if he was in agreement with that, then we should go ahead and get married. I had a ring on my finger before I left that night. Apparently Vance had been prepared.

Vance pushes out a breath, sounding relieved. “I have one more meeting before wrapping things up for the day. I’ll pick up something for supper.”

“Make one of them young’uns of yours do it. Ain’t it ’bout time we make them heathens earn their keep?”

Vance’s rich chuckle echoes through the vehicle. “I love it when you talk country to me.” He grunts, turning on his flirt. “You getting me all riled up right before going into this meeting. You’re gonna owe me.”

“Oh, behave,” I tease. “Seriously, though. Have the twins order something for supper and I’ll pick it up.”