I'm leaving him. This time, I'm actually going to leave him.

It had been the last thought in Janet's mind last night, and it was still there as the alarm dragged her out of sleep that morning. She started to get out of bed, then stopped.

Something had changed.

She listened.

Nothing in the house sounded different. A mockingbird was singing in the yard outside, not quite drowning out a rooster crowing in the distance, and when she went to the window, she saw only a sunny morning, the soft blue of the sky broken by a few fluffy clouds. Her gaze dropped to the landscape around the house, and as she focused on the kudzu that had wrapped itself around every growing thing in the yard, a wave of claustrophobia broke over her. She felt as if she couldn't breathe, and her arms-no, her whole body-were wrapped in layers of cloth from which she couldn't free herself. Dear God, what was happening to her? She was suffocating; she could hardly move-

No! She wasn't suffocating. It was only the kudzu. And once the house and the yard were free of it-She cut off the thought, refusing even to finish it.

Out, she reminded herself. I'm getting out. She turned away from the window and surveyed the room. Most of her clothes were still packed in the boxes they'd brought from Shreveport. Most of the kids' things were still packed as well. Would all those cartons fit into the Toyota? And she'd have to repack some suitcases…

The Toyota! Where was it?

She whirled back to the window and gazed down at the empty space where Ted had parked the car when he'd finally come home yesterday.

Had he put it in the carriage house?

Of course not-he'd left it outside, and spent the rest of the evening drinking. By the time she'd finally told him she was leaving, he'd been barely able to stand up, let alone-

Abruptly, she understood.

If he took the car, she couldn't take it herself. Her moment of panic when she'd seen that the car was gone dissolved into anger. How drunk must he have been to think that taking the car would keep her here?

Far too drunk to drive.

A stab of fear jabbed through her anger, and she sagged back down onto the bed, her roiling emotions draining the energy out of her. Automatically, she reached for the phone by the bed. How many times had she done this? How many times had she called the police, called the hospitals, even called the morgue, looking for her husband?

She couldn't even count them.

It wasn't until she'd started dialing the old-fashioned Princess phone on the nightstand that she remembered it wasn't hooked up. The telephone man was supposed to come today.

This morning, or this afternoon?

She couldn't remember.

And suddenly she didn't care.

Get through it, she told herself. Just get dressed, fix some breakfast, get the kids off to school, and get through it. He'll come back. He always does. And when he does…

When he did, she would be ready. She'd have a suitcase packed, and one for the kids, and as soon as he showed up, she'd take the car, and that would be that. She'd put Molly and Scout in the backseat, pick up the kids at St. Ignatius, and they'd be gone.

Pulling on her robe, she lifted Molly-who was rubbing her eyes sleepily-out of her crib, unlocked the bedroom door, and carried her youngest daughter down to the kitchen. Kim had already started a pot of coffee and was getting cereal and milk out of the refrigerator.

But there was no sign of Jared, who was usually up even earlier than Kim.

"Where's your brother?" she asked.

Kim's eyes clouded and she shrugged her shoulders. "Still asleep, I guess," she said. The listlessness in her voice spoke far more clearly than the words she had uttered.

They'd heard it all, Janet thought. They both heard the whole thing. "I guess you know I've decided to leave your father," she said carefully.

Kim turned to look at her. "You mean we're going back to Shreveport?"

Janet hesitated, then nodded. Now that Kim had spoken the words out loud, she realized that this time she really did mean it. She bit her lip, trying to hold back tears, but couldn't hold them back any longer. "I just can't take it anymore," she said, crying softly now. "I can't, and you and Jared can't, either. I don't know what we're going to do, but I don't know what else to do. I-" Janet sank into one of the kitchen chairs as Molly began crying, too.

Kim lifted her little sister out of her mother's arms. "It'll be okay, Mom," she said as Molly calmed down. "We'll figure it out. Jared and I can get jobs after school-"

She stopped abruptly, and Janet realized someone else had just come into the room. No, she said silently to herself. Don't let it be Ted. Not now. Not right now. Just give me a little time. But when she turned, she saw that it wasn't Ted, it was Jared.

Her son stood in the doorway, his worn denim jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder. His head was cocked and his eyes were fixed on Kim.

"What do you mean, we'll get jobs after school?" Jared asked.

Janet opened her mouth, but it was Kim who spoke. "Mom says we're going back to Shreveport. After last night-"

"Yeah, right," Jared cut in, rolling his eyes scornfully. "Mom's not going anywhere. None of us are." With a derisive toss of his head, he turned away. "See you at school."

He was gone before either Kim or Janet could speak. The front door slammed. As Molly began crying again, Janet once more struggled to control her own tears. "Oh, God," she said, her voice breaking as the turmoil of emotions she'd been through since she'd awakened overwhelmed her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. How could I have put you both through all of this?" She buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

"It'll be all right, Mom," she heard her daughter say, Kim's hand on her shoulder. "As soon as we get out of here, everything will be all right."

Fifteen minutes later, after cleaning up the kitchen, Kim left the house for St. Ignatius.

It wasn't until she was halfway there that it hit her.

Not once had she walked to school alone, she realized. Always before, until this morning, Jared had been with her.

But not today.

Today she was walking by herself.

But it was more than that: today she couldn't even find Jared in that strange corner of her mind where, for as long as she could remember, she'd always felt his presence, always felt a connection to her twin.

Today, that connection was gone.

Today, she was truly by herself.

The problem with being mayor of St. Albans-or anyplace else, for that matter-was that you had to be nice to everyone, whether you liked them or not. And with the man who now sat across from Phil Engstrom, who had held the office of mayor for ten years, and fully intended to hold it for at least twenty more, the problem became a double-edged sword. Mayor Engstrom's visitor that morning was Father MacNeill, who was not only a constituent-though the priest regularly assured him that the Church was always above politics-but was Phil Engstrom's confessor, as well. The cleric invariably provided the extra emphasis to the word always in his disclaimer of any church interest in local politics, as if somehow that would convince Engstrom of the statement's veracity. The fact that Phil had never particularly liked MacNeill only added to the problem, but at least this morning nothing so important as his soul was at stake. Of course, his dislike of the priest had long ago made him less than candid in the confessional. That, he thought, combined with his recent yearnings to skip mass entirely in favor of putting in eighteen holes at the new course up in Valhalla, had undoubtedly already condemned him to an eternity in purgatory, or worse. Now, as the priest finally came to the point after ten minutes of small talk to which Engstrom had made all the proper responses, he put on his best look of concerned interest.