ile she unpacked her bags in the attic bedroom。 She
brooded。 She agonized。 She wondered why she had e and why she ever
wanted his kiss。 Mitch whoever…he…was was stubborn and selfcentered。 He
was the exact opposite of gentle； caring； generous…to…a…fault Jeff。
But Jeff was dead。
An art teacher had once told her that a painting was successful when it
evoked a reaction； be it positive or negative。 For Anne； the months
since Jeff's death had been devoid of reaction； until Mitch。
So where did she go from there？ Into bed with the man at the very first
chance？
Unsettled by that thought； she exchanged her city skirt for a sweater
and jeans； grabbed her heavy parka； and ran down the stairs。 She needed
fresh air and a long walk。
She barely got out the back door when she spotted Mitch in the yard
splitting logs for the fire。 Bundled in a sheepskin jacket with its
collar raised； he didn't see her。 Time and again he raised the ax and
struck； time and again splitting each new log with a single sweep of the
blade； and all with his right arm。 She wondered how the left had been
injured。 It was none of her business。 Still she wondered。
She joined him in the yard and sat quietly on a pile of logs while he
finished his work； then as quietly helped carry the wood into the house
and stack it by the fireplace。 Shortly after that； they left for the