Maybe we did start over. Maybe in some respects the years that came after were the best we could manage. But in the end I can't believe that. Because I have to do better this time.
        I feel myself frown. In all this reflecting back and forth during Phil's version of the story, from the me that-was-then to the me-that-is-now, something seems missing . . .
        All at once, I realize what it is. Where is the third me, the me-that-will-be? Where is the experienced, wiser me, the one who will reconfigure his broken family, rebuild his relationships with his four children, and make a new life with this unimaginably strong young woman sitting beside the me-that-is-now, the me who faces a future that was unfathomable three years ago, and is still unfathomable today. Where is that third man? Has he begun to take shape as I write these words? Or is he merely another unbanishable ghost who eternally haunts the ongoing present?
        In the years ahead, all the Hellers will need the me-that-will-be. On the night Phil tells the story, Grandma Heller has recently described Rachael as spoiled rotten. It's true. When it doesn't suit Rachael to be charming, she'll whine, throw a fit, or hold her breath until her face turns the color of a ripe strawberry. But when I set her on my lap and speak to her in my quiet, I'm-disappointed-in-you voice, she still does what Daddy says. The fact that I'm around to do that only a few hours each day wakes me up at night. To Rachael, though, the division of her day is simply the world she lives in: Breakfast and lunch with Mommy, dinner with Daddy and Sheyene. Everyone can already tell that Rachael is smart and independent. She'll do well in school and have lots of friends. But one day, I can't say when, she will need the me-that-will-be. That better, wiser me will need to exist, even though at present he is merely the ghost of a future that may never come.
        In the meantime, Daniel will be the toughest. I am the only one in the family who can deal with Daniel when he freaks out, the only one who can absorb his anger, calm his tantrums, and ease his obsessive-compulsive behavior. Why CAN'T I have a leather jacket? . . . Well, GET some money. Daniel's fears, obsessions, and fixations—especially on tiny objects such as rings—have intensified. What did Mom do with your wedding ring after you gave it back to her? Does she keep it in her jewelry box? Why don't you know? Daniel's special ed teachers have given up on him. No, I don't have any homework . . . Dad, I don't WANT to read that—YOU read it . . . Who CARES where Egypt is?
        Daniel's latest obsession is weather, especially the enormous thunderstorms that batter the Flint Hills each spring and into summer. Like Rachael, Daniel spends his weekday evenings at our house on Wildcat Ridge. When the barometer drops, we all watch thunderclouds roll up in the west before they sweep over the Little Apple. The tightening fists of an approaching wall cloud make Daniel's eyes gleam with wonder and suspense. But the most powerful storm in Daniel's life is his new stepmother.
        I don't have to like her, Dad. I don't. You can't make me like her if I don't want to . . . Do you think she likes me? I want her to like me. Why doesn't she like me? How can I make her like me better?

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