ith dandelions and pink with crab apple blossoms。
It was the countryside at its gayest and most promising。
Not so her heart。 Its sadness was all the more poignant by contrast。
Pebbles scattered before her shuffling feet。 She kicked a boulder or
two。 When she finally buried her head on her arms； the tears flowed as
fast and free as the brook beside her。 But while the brook's course was
one of liberation； Anne's was the opposite。 She was in an emotional
prison。 Loving Mitch did that。
In time； she knelt on the stones and splashed her face。 The water was so
cold that she gasped； but the pain felt good； and the invigoration was
wele。 She headed slowly back toward the cottage； winding in and out
among the forest paths； physically relieved from the cry； if no closer
to a solution。
Under the warmth of the high noon sun； she arrived at the house to an
unexpected silence。 Assuming that father and daughter were out in the
woods themselves； she passed through the kitchen to the living room；
only to stop short at the sight of Mitch； standing tall and lean at the
front window。 His hands filled the pockets of his jeans in a pose that
was more idle than she would have expected； given the presence of a
vivacious six…year…old。
〃Where's Rachel？〃 she asked。
He faced her。 〃She's gone。〃
〃Gone。〃 But he wasn't upset。 〃What do you mean gone？〃
〃My parents came by to pick her up。 They're continuing on to Montreal
for a few days。〃
〃You mean； she's gone？〃 The implication of it was only slowly seeping
in。
〃Yes。〃 His eyes held hers。 〃You've been crying。〃
〃No。〃 She felt justified lying。 He had tricked her aga
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