Abigail Schoonmacher turned forty-eight on the first day of summer vacation. Forty-eight years of living with her pinch-mouthed mother had taken its toll.

She wished she had pursued teaching in higher education but the smart-ass teenagers had scared and intimidated her in high school and she just couldn't get up the nerve to face them again. Fourth and fifth graders were scary enough--you never knew where their hands had been last and she'd thrown enough apples away every year to make several pies.

So it was out of frustration and desperation that she started seeing Alexander Harlow.