Back in Carrollton, Texas, Nancy had finally talked Frank into going to therapy. From the get-go, she’d understood his resistance. Locally, the Howards had always been the family that others looked to for help. Admitting their own need for help did not come easily or naturally to them. But there was nothing easy or natural about the distance that had sprung up between them, either. Nancy had run out of ideas. And Frank would just glare and clam up when she brought up the state of their relationship.
Thankfully, their minister understood all of this and guided them with a firm, kindly hand as Nancy laid their problems out before him. Shy as she was, Nancy was also devoted. She’d told Frank so many times that she would do anything to heal this inexplicable rift in their marriage. Told him about how much she’d been looking forward to their years as empty nesters. About how good it would feel to rekindle the spark that had led to their marriage. She was sure that, together, they could fan love’s flames higher than they’d ever been. But Nancy had also begun to understand that if she had any chance of pulling Frank back from the ledge, she’d have to make him see just how bad things had gotten.
“Frank,” she said. “What we have here is a crisis.”
There on the couch in their minister’s office, Frank felt like he was dying beside her.
The minister’s face blurred. Nancy’s words had all stopped making sense.
Only the word divorce snapped him back to attention.
Divorce was something Frank could not afford. Not in the eyes of his children. And not in the eyes of Nancy’s lawyers—lawyers who’d charge $500 an hour to go through his finances and find Lord-knew-what when they got to his dealings with Richard Raley.
“No, honey,” he said quickly. “Believe me, things are going to get so much better.”
“Oh, Frank. I want to believe you. But I just don’t know what to do.”
Out in the parking lot of their church, Nancy said goodbye, tearfully.
“Do you want a ride home?” Frank asked.
“I’ll walk home, sweetie. To clear my head.”
But Nancy’s head was still cloudy as she crossed the road in front of the church.
Out of nowhere, a four-door pickup appeared. Moving much too fast, it nearly knocked her into the gutter.
Instinctively, Nancy’s head flew up to clutch the cross around her neck.
“That was a close one,” she gasped. But there was no one there to hear her.