“There’s something I found out. I wasn’t sure what to do. If it weren’t for the kids …”

Of course, those words are like gasoline on the candle of motherhood and Dance now said bluntly, “What? Tell me.” The tone was unmistakable: Don’t screw around. I’m your daughter but I’m an adult. I want to know and I want to know now.

“Jon brought some computer games over for the kids. And he got a phone call … Honey, he was talking to a broker about property. I heard him say he’d gotten a job and wanted to take a look at a house.”

This was interesting. But why the concern in her mother’s voice? “And?”

“It’s in San Diego. He’s moving in a couple of weeks.”

Oh.

Weeks?

Dance now understood what Edie meant about the children. They were still vulnerable from the death of their father. For them to lose the new man in their life would be very hurtful, if not devastating.

And then there’s me.

What the hell was he thinking of, not telling me anything? Here I was just offered a job in D.C. and the first thing I think of is talking to him about it.

Weeks?

So that’s why he hadn’t picked up the phone but used the coward’s hideout of voicemail.

But the first rule of law enforcement was not to make assumptions. “Are you sure? You couldn’t have misunderstood?”

“No, no. He was alone, in the back by the pool. He thought I couldn’t hear. And when Wes stepped out, he changed the subject completely. He basically hung up on the broker.”

Dance could say nothing for a moment.

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Mom. Just need to think about this a little.”

“You get some sleep now. The kids are happy. We had a fun dinner. They love camp.” She tried to be light. “And more important, can you believe it? They’re looking forward to school. We’re going book bag shopping tomorrow.”

“Thanks. ’Night.”

“I’m sorry, Katie. ’Night.”

A moment later Dance found she was still holding her phone, disconnected, in front of her face. She lowered it.

The loss of her husband was like a digital event to Kathryn Dance, as Jon Boling the computer genius would describe it. On or off. Yes or no. Alive or dead.

But Jon Boling’s leaving? It was analog. It was maybe. It was partly. Was he now in her life or not?

The big problem, though, was that he’d made this decision without her. It didn’t matter that the job had probably happened quickly and he’d had to move fast.

Dammit, she was a part of his life. He should have said something.

She recalled that Edwin Sharp had referred to a song of Kayleigh’s at the restaurant yesterday. “Mr. Tomorrow.” It was about an abusive, straying man who swears he’ll get his act together and mend his ways. He promises he’ll change. Of course, the listener knows he never will.

As Dance lay in bed now, the lights out, she stared at the ceiling and that song looped through her mind until she fell asleep.