"Maryland suburbs outside D.C. Lower middle class. My dad worked for the government."

"Doing what?"

"Don't know."

Father Mike looked over in surprise. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know. Dad worked for the Department of Defense. He took an oath of silence or something. I know what building he worked in, but that was all."

"That must have made for an interesting childhood."

Jenna pursed her lips. "You could say that."

"So what about your mother?"

Jenna carefully considered her response. The man was a priest after all. "She didn't take an oath of silence." she finally answered.

"Hmm, I see," Father Mike said. "A tad dominant? Demanding?"

"A tad," Jenna said dryly.

"Made you an overachiever?"

Jenna didn't have to think back. She could hear her mother's voice in her mind as clearly as Father Mike's. Demanding straight A's, saying her classes were too easy when she brought home perfect report cards. Critical. Always critical. "I was the valedictorian in high school, graduated top two percent from Duke, magna cum laude from Maryland, and with honors from UNC."

"And your mama never said she was proud of you."

Jenna was annoyed to feel a lump in her throat. She didn't like to think about her mother, much less feel wistful that she'd never gained her mother's approval. "No."

"And you were your daddy's girl?"

"Down to my Mary Janes."

"Which you could see your face in."

Jenna smiled ruefully. "If she weren't dearly deceased, I'd swear you'd met my mother."

"I've met enough mothers like her. And fathers too. Any brothers or sisters?"

"None that I know of," Jenna replied cheerfully. "Just little old me."

"Little old you that goes on to get a bunch of degrees, then goes to work teaching high school kids." He looked thoughtful. "I have to admit I haven't figured that one out yet."

Jenna shrugged. "No secret. I met a man in the doctoral program at UNC. Fell in love, got engaged. The two of us went to work doing pharmaceutical research. Then he got sick and died. I'd taken leave to care for him, but afterward, I didn't want to go back to research. It reminded me too much of him. My best friend is an English teacher at Roosevelt High and knew they needed another science teacher. Presto, chango, and voila! I am now a science teacher."

"Who flunks quarterbacks."

Jenna's lips thinned. "Yep, that's me."

"And reaches out to bright kids that flunk chemistry."

Jenna softened. "Yep, that's me, too."

"Well, I'd say that was the reason Helen thought Brad would listen to you. I think you know why she thought Steven would listen to you."

Jenna thought of Steven's face as he walked away the night before, so angry. And only God knew why. Her eyes narrowed. Or maybe Steven's priest. "Shows how much you know," she muttered. "Exactly how much do you know?"

"Nothing," Father Mike replied. But she saw his jaw tighten.

"That's what I thought," Jenna said, then shrugged. "So how did Helen track me down?"

"You'd be much easier to find if you had a cell phone," Father Mike replied.

"No welching, Father. I kept my end of the bargain. How did she track me down?"

"Ready to count on your fingers again?" he asked with a grin. "Okay. Matt's best friend on his soccer team has a big brother at Roosevelt who has… noticed you. From afar of course."

Jenna felt her cheeks heat. She was aware of the stares of the adolescent boys, which was one of the reasons she always wore business suits-to be as unsexy as possible. That didn't extend to her underwear, though, which was the only place she could be truly feminine. Which nobody knew about. Except Steven. She cleared her throat. "Of course."

"Matt's friend's big brother told Helen your best friend was Miss Ryan, the English teacher."

"But Casey's unlisted."

"This is true. But enter Steven's trusty assistant Nancy, add one simple search of the Bureau of Motor Vehicles, and presto, chango, voila! Miss Ryan tells us you routinely have Wednesday meat loaf with your former fiance's family, who, incidentally, she finds 'totally weird.'" He punctuated the air. "Her words, not mine."

"It's a fair cop," Jenna said. "Except I didn't have meat loaf tonight."

"What did you have?"

"Nothing." To her surprise her stomach growled. "And I'm starving.'"

"Well, we're coming up to our exit and they have one of every fast-food joint there is. What's your pleasure, Dr. Marshall?"

The answer was simple. "Anything that doesn't look like possum roadkill."

Father Mike choked on a laugh. "I don't want to know. Truly do not want to know. You do realize that you've just eliminated nine out of ten of the fast-food places on the pike."

Jenna looked at the upcoming throng of neon arches and crowns. "At this point I'd be satisfied with loaves and fishes."

Father Mike grinned. "I like you, Jenna. I have no idea what you see in Steven, but I know what he sees in you.

There's a fish place about a mile from here that looks like a dump but has good fish and buttermilk biscuits to go." "Then lead the way, good Father. My treat."

Wednesday, October 5, 8:00 P.M.

If looks could kill, they'd both be dead, Steven thought grimly, pulling the Volvo alongside Harry's Toyota. Brad sat sullenly staring ahead.

"Unbuckle and get out," Steven said, jerking at his own seat belt.

"Or what?" Brad asked, his voice sharp as a knife. "Or you'll lock me up?"

Steven twisted in his seat to study Brad's profile. The profile of a total stranger. "Do I have to? Do I have to lock you up to keep you from running away again?"

Brad turned to look at him, defiance in his eyes. "I'll be eighteen in four months."

Steven clenched his teeth. "I know when your birthday is, Brad."

Brad looked away. "Yeah, I guess you do," he muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steven asked sharply.

Once again his son met his eyes and this time Steven saw contempt mixed with the defiance. "Just that you should know my birthday. It's nine months to the day of your senior prom."

Steven felt the blood drain from his face. "Your mother and I never made any secret of the… circumstances of your… conception. You were free to figure it out from the day you learned how to add and subtract."

Brad's smile twisted. "The circumstances of my concep-tion. I like that. Very good, Dad." He looked out the window. "You are such a damn hypocrite."

"Don't take that tone with me, Brad." Steven drew a breath and counted to ten. In Latin. Backward. "I don't know what your problem has been this last month or who the hell you think you are, but I have news for you, son. I am your father. And I will continue to be your father in the four months until you reach the sacred age of eighteen. And I demand respect for no other reason than I am your father."

"Yeah, you brought me into this world, you can take me out," Brad said bitterly.

"I have never, never said that to you," Steven gritted. "In your seventeen years I have never, never laid a hand on you. Although at this moment, the idea holds considerable appeal.'" He reached over Brad, pulled the door handle, and pushed the door open, letting in the cool night air. "Now get your defiant ass out of this car or I may give in to my desire to whip the shit out of you."

"Why, so I can participate in the family business?" Brad asked with a sneer and Steven saw red.

"No, son. I don't need your help. I don't even want your help. What I do want is for you to take a look over there." Steven pointed at twenty bobbing lights in the distance. "Do you know what those volunteers are doing?"

"Looking for a body."

"Dammit, Brad, no. They are not looking for just a body. They are looking for a human person. They are giving of themselves. And that's something I haven't seen you do in weeks. Do you know who they're looking for? Do you even care?"