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buried somewhere inside him. It would happen one day, she knew it. Deep inside he had a heart of gold, Rip Porter. She would give him another chance, same as always, and maybe this time love would win out over all the anger.
    She eased her car back into the fast lane and picked up speed again. Yes, maybe everything would work out. Then when Rip’s temper was under control and he had a steady job, they could have another child, maybe two or three. A light rain began to pepper the windshield, and traffic slowed. Great. Rip hated when she was late.
    She flipped on the radio, gave each station three seconds to prove itself, and flipped it off again. Silence was better anyway. How was she going to bring up the subject, the idea that, hey, by the way, there was a baby and now he’s living with another family? Before they could move ahead, she had to give him the truth about the boy. No way around it; she had to.
    Brent and Bubba down at the pool hall both knew about her pregnancy. Brent lived a few blocks over. He and Bubba were on their way out one afternoon when she was at the curb getting the mail. She was days from delivering, and big as a house.
    Brent stopped and rolled down his window. He gestured at her belly. “That Rip’s kid in there?”
    Wendy glared at the man and gave no thought to her answer. “Of course it’s Rip’s.”
    “Well, I’ll be . . .” Brent cussed and chuckled all at the same time. “Poor kid. Future’s already written with Rip as a daddy. Him sittin’ in the pen and all.”
    In the seat next to him, Bubba slapped his knee and laughed out loud. “Got that right!”
    Wendy waved them off, angry. “Ah, go off and get drunk,” she shouted. “And mind your own business!”
    Months could go by without seeing the rusty backside of Brent’s beat-up Ford. Wendy didn’t see Brent or Bubba again for almost a year. But just yesterday she was mowing the yard—getting things in order for Rip—when Brent drove up and once more rolled down his window. “Heard Rip was gettin’ out.” He stretched his head through the window, shouting to be heard over the roar of the mower.
    “Yeah.” Wendy killed the engine. Sweat dripped down the side of her face, and she dragged her hand across her forehead. “Good news travels fast.”
    Brent craned his neck, peering into her side yard. “What happened to the kid?”
    Wendy was glad she was holding onto the lawn mower. Otherwise she would’ve fainted dead away, right there on the freshly cut grass. She had no family, no friends other than the people she’d met at church here and there. The baby was her deal, her decision. Not until that moment did it ever occur to her that just maybe the news might get back to Rip.
    Brent was waiting for an answer.
    “He, uh . . . we gave him up . . . to a family in Florida.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact, as if giving the baby up for adoption was common knowledge. “Rip and I didn’t want a baby while he was in prison. You know?”
    “Hmmm.” Brent hesitated. “Doesn’t sound like my main man, Rip Porter. Guy always wanted a son.” He shrugged. “Not that it’s any of my business.” After a minute of small talk, he flashed her a grin that showed his silver tooth. “Tell Rip I got first game when he chalks up his cue stick.”
    “Yeah.” Wendy rolled her eyes and gave the mower cord a jerk. “Sure thing.”
    The man drove away in a cloud of exhaust fumes, but the conversation stuck. Now, twenty-four hours later, she had a knot in her stomach, thinking about the task that lay ahead. She had to tell Rip the truth. Tonight. When she picked him up. If she told him right up front, he wouldn’t have to hear the news from anyone else. That had to be better, right?
    The Ohio State Penitentiary was outside the city limits. Over the last few miles she picked up the time she’d lost. She wheeled the car into the parking lot and hurried herself toward the visitor area. The heel of her right shoe got stuck in a