"She's not down yet."

Tessa lived over the garage of their parents' home. Sara's house was just a mile down the road, but that was far enough to give her some sense of independence. Tessa did not seem to mind the closeness. She worked with Eddie, their father, in the family's plumbing business, so it was easier for her to walk down the stairs and report for work every morning. Besides, part of Tessa was still a teenage girl. It had not hit her yet that one day she would want a house of her own. Maybe it never would.

Cathy flipped the chicken, tapping her fork on the edge of the pan. She slipped it into the spoon rest, then turned to Sara, her arms crossed. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Sara answered. "I mean, other than last night with the girl. And the baby. I guess you heard about the baby."

"It was all over the church before we even walked through the doors."

"Well"-Sara shrugged-"it was very hard."

"I can't even imagine how you do that job, baby."

"Sometimes, I can't either."

Cathy stood, waiting for the rest. "And?" she prompted.

Sara rubbed the back of her neck. "At Jeffrey's…" she began. "It just didn't work out."

"Didn't work out?" her mother asked.

"I mean, didn't work out as in…" Sara gestured with her hands, encouraging her mother to fill in the rest.

"Oh," Cathy finally said. "Physically?"

Sara blushed again, which was answer enough.

"Well, that's not a complete surprise, is it? After what happened?"

"He was so…" Sara looked for the right words. "He was… abrupt. I mean, I tried…" Again, she left out the details.

"Is this the first time that's happened?"

Sara shrugged. It was the first time it had happened with her, but who knew about Jeffrey's other conquests. "The part that was awful…" Sara began, then stopped. "As long as I've known him, I have never seen him that mad. He was furious. I thought he was going to hit something."

"I remember once when your father couldn't-"

"Mama," Sara stopped her. It was hard enough talking to her mother about this without bringing Eddie into the picture. Not to mention that Jeffrey would kill Sara if he knew that she had told anyone his performance had been less than stellar. Jeffrey's sexual prowess was as important to him as his reputation as a good cop.

"You brought it up," Cathy reminded her, turning back to the chicken. She snatched a paper towel off the roll and lined a plate to put the chicken on.

"Okay," Sara answered. "What should I do?"

"Do whatever he wants," Cathy said. "Or nothing at all." She picked up another piece of chicken. "Are you sure you even want to bother at this point?"

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning, do you want to be with him or not? Maybe that's what it boils down to. You've been dancing around this thing with Jeffrey since the divorce." She tapped the fork on the pan. "As your father would say, it's time for you either to shit or get off the pot."

The front door opened, then banged shut, and Sara heard two thumping noises as Tessa kicked off her shoes.

Tessa yelled, "Mama?"

"In the kitchen," Cathy answered. She gave Sara a pointed look. "You know what I mean?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Tessa stomped her way down the hall, mumbling, "Stupid dog," as she obviously stepped over Billy. The kitchen door bumped open, and Tessa came into the kitchen with an irritated expression on her face. She was wearing an old pink bathrobe with a green T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts underneath. Her face was pale, and she looked a bit sickly.

Cathy asked, "Tessie?"

Tessa shook her head as she walked to the refrigerator and opened the freezer door, saying, "I just need coffee."

Cathy ignored this, and kissed her on the forehead to take her temperature. "You feel warm."

"It's a hundred freaking degrees outside," Tessa whined, standing as close to the freezer as she could without actually getting in. "Of course I'm warm." As if to reinforce this, she flapped her robe open and closed several times to generate some cool air. "Jesus, I'm moving somewhere where they get real seasons. I swear I am. I don't care how funny they talk or that they don't know how to make grits. There has got to be a better alternative."

"Is that all that's wrong?" Sara asked, putting her hand on Tessa's forehead. As a doctor, Sara knew this was about as effective a gauge for a fever as Cathy's kiss, but Tessa was her baby sister. She had to do something.

Tessa pulled away. "I'm premenstrual, I'm hot, and I need chocolate." She stuck out her chin. "Do you see this?" she asked, pointing to a large pimple.

"I don't see how we could miss it," Cathy said, closing the refrigerator door.

Sara laughed, and Tessa popped her on the arm.

"Wonder what Daddy's gonna call it?" Sara teased, slapping her back. When his daughters were teenagers, Eddie had taken great delight in drawing attention to their facial blemishes. Sara still felt a flush of shame when she remembered the time her father had introduced her to one of his friends as his oldest daughter Sara, and Bobo, her new pimple.

Tessa was phrasing a response when the phone rang. She picked it up on the first ring.

Two seconds passed before Tessa hissed a curse and yelled, "I got it, Dad," as Eddie obviously picked up the extension upstairs.

Sara smiled, thinking this could have been any Sunday from the last twenty years. All that was missing was their father walking in, making some silly comment about how happy he was to see all three of his girls barefoot and in the kitchen.

Tessa said, "Hold on," then put her hand over the mouth of the receiver. She turned to Sara. "Are you here?"

"Who is it?" Sara asked, but she could guess the answer.

"Who do you think?" Tessa snapped. She did not wait for a response. Instead, she said into the phone, "Hold on, Jeffrey. Here she is."

Ben Walker, Grant County 's chief of police before Jeffrey, had kept his office just off the briefing room in the back of the station. Every day, Ben had settled himself behind the large desk that almost filled the entire room, and anyone who wanted to talk to him had to sit on the other side of this mammoth hunk of wood, their knees grazing the desk, their backs firm to the wall. In the mornings, the men-and they were all men then-on the senior squad were called in to hear their assignments for the day, then they left and the chief shut his door. Nobody saw him again until quitting time, when Ben got in his car and drove two blocks up the street to the diner where he ate his supper.

The first thing Jeffrey did when he took over the station was throw out Ben's desk. The oak monstrosity had to be disassembled to get it through the door. Jeffrey made Ben's old office the storage room, and took the small office at the front of the squad room as his own. One quiet weekend, Jeffrey installed a picture window so he could look out on the squad and, more important, so they could see him. There were blinds on the window, but he seldom closed them. Jeffrey made a point of leaving his office door open whenever possible.

He stared out at the empty squad room, wondering what his people would make of Jenny Weaver's shooting. Jeffrey felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for what he had done, even though his mind kept telling him he had not been given a choice. Every time he thought about it Jeffrey felt like he couldn't breathe right, like not enough air was getting to his lungs. He could not let go of the obvious questions in his mind: Had he made the right decision? Would Jenny have really killed that kid in cold blood? Sara seemed to think so. Last night, she had said something about having two dead teenagers today instead of one if Jeffrey had not stopped the girl. Of course, Sara had said a lot of other things last night that had not exactly been a comfort.