Table for Seven

november





BLUE CHEESE AND BACON DIP

PTÉ DE CAMPAGNE

BACON-WRAPPED DATES

FONTINA CHEESE, CARAMELIZED ONION, AND BACON TART

GRILLED ASPARAGUS WITH GOAT CHEESE AND CRISPY BACON





AUDREY THOUGHT THAT LELAND would have liked his funeral. It was so unlike Ryan’s funeral had been. There, everyone had been white-faced with shock, and when his best friend from their boyhoods began sobbing during his eulogy, there hadn’t been a dry eye in the church.

Leland’s funeral was an entirely different affair. He had led a good long life, and his mourners were teary, yes, but more inclined to celebrate the man they had known and loved. One of Leland’s old law clerks—now a man in his fifties—flew in from Illinois to give the eulogy. He talked about how Leland had tasked him with picking him up every morning and driving him to court. He’d thought this was a regular duty for law clerks, and only found out years later that Leland had enlisted his services as a chauffeur because the Judge—that’s what the clerk and countless others called him, the Judge—had adored the clerk’s sporty red convertible.

The Leland these people had known was both different and yet the same as the Leland the dinner party club had grown so fond of, Audrey mused. The people from his previous life had known Leland when he was a man of consequence—a judge, a husband, a father. But the things they said about him—how funny he was, how thoughtful, the interest he’d taken in their lives—were exactly like the retired Leland that the Table for Seven Club had known.

Sitting in the church pew, Audrey checked her program and had a jolt of surprise. Coop was scheduled to speak. She hadn’t thought Coop was particularly close to Leland. All of the other speakers—Leland’s two sons, his old law partners, his former clerks—had known Leland for years. As far as she knew, Coop had met Leland at the same time she did, back at the first meeting of the Table for Seven Club, less than a year ago. Audrey craned her neck around and scanned the congregation, looking for Coop’s sun-bleached head. She saw him standing near the back—every seat in the church was filled—and her heart gave a little skip. Audrey had thought she had grown immune to Coop and any attraction he held for her.

Apparently, she was wrong.

The law clerk finished speaking, and everyone clapped politely. Coop strode to the front of the church, and took the clerk’s place at the lectern.

“Hi, there,” Coop said, leaning in close to the microphone. “I’m Preston Cooper. I didn’t know Leland as long as many of you did, but in the time I did know him, Leland impressed me as the rarest of men, in that he was someone who actually understood other men.”

There was a titter of laughter across the congregation. Audrey watched Coop intently, her hands fisted so tightly, her nails left marks on the skin of her palms.

“I don’t mean that in a Tim Allen, Home Improvement sort of way,” Coop said. “Where the men grunt like apes and wait around to be civilized by the womenfolk. What I mean is that Leland had a habit of assessing a situation and the people involved, and delivering a piece of advice that was so on point, I wondered at times if he was some sort of a psychic.”

There was another spattering of laughter. Apparently, the Table for Seven Club members were not the first people in Leland’s life to take note of his intuitiveness.

“Just before he passed away—the very night, in fact—Leland gave me some advice.” Coop paused, and looked directly in Audrey’s direction. She felt her face flush, and shrank back in the pew, certain that everyone was staring at her. “And like everything that Leland said, I realized, upon reflection, that he was right. Very right. And I was so very wrong.” A heavy man in the front of the church guffawed loudly, which caused another ripple of tittering. Coop smiled wryly. “I see I wasn’t the first person to benefit from Leland’s keen insight. But that’s a good thing. I can’t think of a better legacy than to have people grouped around your coffin, remembering you for the positive influence you had in their lives.

“So, Leland, know this: You left us all too soon. Nearly everyone sitting here benefited from your wise advice. And it is to our great detriment that we will have to go without it from now on.” Coop paused and smiled sadly. “We’ll miss you.”

Coop replaced the microphone to its holder on the lectern while applause rang out. Audrey sat still as could be, trying to make sense of what had just happened.



THE REMAINING MEMBERS OF the Table for Seven Dinner Party Club gathered at Audrey’s house the night of the funeral for a special meeting in Leland’s honor.

Audrey had offered to cook, but everyone wanted to contribute, so in the end, they decided to put together a potluck buffet, which they christened Bacon-alia. Fran and Will brought dates stuffed with blue cheese and wrapped in bacon and chocolate bars studded with bacon that Will had found at Whole Foods. Jaime made pâté de campagne, a country pâté seasoned with brandy, which had, she explained, been cooked in a layer of bacon, removed prior to serving. Audrey set out an onion, cheese, and bacon tart and a platter of grilled asparagus sprinkled with goat cheese and bacon. Coop brought a blue cheese and bacon dip.

Once they had filled their plates and sat at the table—a seventh place had been set in Leland’s honor—they raised their glasses to the empty chair and said, “To Leland.”

“I just wish we had thought to do this for him when he was here to enjoy it,” Fran said sadly, looking at her plate. “An entire meal of bacon. He would have been thrilled.”

Jaime patted her arm. “I think wherever Leland is, he would definitely approve,” she said.

“Leland’s sons look just like him,” Mark said.

“Really? Weren’t they both over six feet tall? And Leland was so short. I wonder how tall his wife was,” Jaime said.

“No, I know what Mark means,” Audrey said. “They both had his eyes. And the younger one—” she paused, trying to remember his name.

“Peter,” Coop said.

“Right, thank you,” Audrey said. She glanced at Coop, then looked quickly away. “He had Leland’s nose and ears.”

“His ears? Really?” Will said.

Audrey nodded. “Exactly the same.”

“I didn’t notice,” Will said.

“What do you think Leland meant when he said his wife never forgave him?” Jaime asked.

“Let’s not talk about that,” Fran said sharply.

“Why not?” Jaime asked. “I think Leland wanted to talk about it that night.”

“He wasn’t in his right mind,” Fran said.

“What are you all talking about?” Audrey asked. It was the first time she had directly addressed Fran since their fight.

Fran seemed so surprised by Audrey speaking to her that she answered, despite her unwillingness to discuss the subject. “Just before Leland died, he was talking about a woman who used to make him carrot cake,” she said.

“He said her name was Margaret,” Jaime said.

“And from the way he was talking about her, it was pretty clear that they’d had an affair,” Fran said reluctantly.

“Really?” Audrey said. She leaned back in her chair. “Wow. I always got the impression that Leland adored his wife.”

“He did adore her,” Fran insisted. “I don’t think we should remember him for a mistake that he obviously regretted.”

“And he was talking about his wife at the end,” Jaime said. “He said that he wished she’d forgiven him. I think she was really the one who was on his mind at the end, not the cake woman.”

The group fell silent, remembering how awful that night had been. One moment Leland had been there, and the next he was gone.

Audrey shivered. “I feel terrible that I wasn’t there,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself.

“There was nothing you could have done,” Will said gently. “Coop and Fran gave him CPR, and then the EMTs came and used the paddles on him.”

“You gave him CPR?” Audrey asked, looking at Coop.

“Coop was great,” Fran said. “The rest of us were shell-shocked when Leland collapsed, but Coop just jumped right in and started trying to revive him.”

A shadow crossed Coop’s face. “Obviously, I didn’t do enough.”

“That’s not true. You did everything you possibly could have,” Jaime protested.

“Is that why Leland’s sons asked you to speak at the funeral?” Mark asked.

Coop nodded. “I told them it wasn’t necessary, that I didn’t do anything heroic, but they insisted.”

“No, I like that you spoke. It’s good that his friends and family knew he was loved and appreciated during his retirement years,” Fran said.

“And seriously, Coop. Leland was an old man. It was just his time,” Will said.

Coop shrugged away these soothing words and stared down at his plate. He hadn’t eaten much.

He’s taking this so hard, Audrey thought. Her hand lifted—why, she wasn’t sure, maybe to reach out to him across the table, to touch Coop’s hand—but she stopped herself, and folded her hands in her lap.

“I like what you said at the funeral,” she said instead.

Coop looked at her, his eyes meeting hers for the first time that day.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Audrey felt a sudden urge to get away for a moment.

“I’ll go get another bottle of wine,” she said, standing. “We seem to be low on both red and white.”

“I’ll help you,” Fran said.

Audrey was about to protest, but then shrugged and said, “Okay, sure.”

Fran followed Audrey back to the kitchen. Audrey pulled a bottle of Chardonnay out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter, next to several bottles of red. She tucked her hair behind her ears, and set about opening the bottles with a corkscrew.

Fran watched her silently for a moment. Then, finally, she said, “I’m not sure why you’re so angry with me.”

“I love Will. I love the two of you together.”

Fran nodded. “I know. And I understand that the end of a marriage affects people outside of the marriage. But it really hurts me that you haven’t even tried to understand my point of view.”

“I think I’ve always seen you and Will as perfect for each other. And if the two of you can’t make it …” Audrey shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do tend to idealize marriage. I’m sorry I was hard on you.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Fran said. “I did sort of drop a bombshell on you.”

“Yeah, it was a bit of a shock. But, to be honest, I think I was angry because you seemed almost happy about it,” Audrey said.

“I don’t know if happy is the right word. It’s going to be hard, I know that. But things haven’t been great in my marriage for a long time now. I know everyone thinks Will is the greatest guy in the world—and in some ways he is—but he’s not the most attentive husband. And that’s hard. I want to be with someone who adores me. I think I deserve that,” Fran said.

“Will adores you,” Audrey protested.

Fran shook her head. “I know he loves me. And I love him. But we’re not lovers anymore, and we haven’t been for a long time.”

Audrey hesitated. She didn’t want to get into another fight with Fran, not now that they were just making up. But she also didn’t think she’d be a very good friend if she didn’t at least try to talk Fran out of what was a huge mistake.

“Do you think maybe you have an unrealistic picture? In any relationship, the passion eventually fades. Hopefully it never fully goes away, but those shivery, exciting feelings you have when you first fall in love never last,” Audrey said.

Fran shrugged, turning away, and Audrey knew that this was not a point she was willing to concede.

“Just think about it, okay?” Audrey said.

Fran nodded. “Okay.”

“What happens now? Do you have a plan?”

“We’re going to stay together in the house until after Christmas. But that’s about as far as we’ve gotten. I’ve tried to talk to Will about the details, but, well …” Fran ran a hand over her face and closed her eyes briefly. “I’m having a hard time getting him to discuss it.”

“I’m sure he’s devastated,” Audrey said.

“I don’t know why he would be,” Fran said.

Audrey frowned. “Maybe because his world is falling apart? His marriage, his family? Of course that would upset him.”

“The only thing Will cares about is sitting out in the garage, working on those damn robots,” Fran said with heat. She shook her head. “Sorry. Ignore me. I’m still in the bitter phase. Hopefully it will pass soon. Anyway, let’s talk about something else. How’s it going with you and Kenny?”

“It’s not. I ended it,” Audrey said.

“I’m not surprised. I didn’t get the feeling there were a lot of fireworks between you,” Fran said.

Suddenly, Audrey’s eyes filled with tears. She set down the bottle of wine she’d picked up and pinched the top of her nose, trying to stop them from flowing.

“Oh, my God, are you okay?” Fran said, stepping closer and putting a hand on Audrey’s arm. “I had no idea that things were so serious between you and Kenny! Were you in love with him?”

“Of course not,” Audrey said. The tears started streaming down her face, and her chest heaved with sobs.

“I’m confused,” Fran said, shaking her head. “Why are you so upset?”

“I don’t know. This keeps happening.” Audrey lifted both hands, fingers splayed, and gestured to her tear-slicked face. “Ever since Leland died, I keep bursting into tears for no reason.”

“That’s understandable,” Fran said. “You were fond of Leland. But you know he had a long, full life, right?”

“That’s just it. I don’t think I am crying for Leland. I mean, I’m sad that he died, of course, and I’ll certainly miss him. But for some reason, I keep thinking of Ryan.”

“Oh,” Fran said and fell silent for a moment, as she considered this. “Do you think that your feelings of grief over Leland’s death are somehow dredging up similar feelings for Ryan?”

“No, I don’t think that’s it. I mean, it wouldn’t make sense, would it? Leland was a nice man who I was fond of. But Ryan was my husband. It’s not the same at all,” Audrey said. She picked up a paper towel and dabbed at her eyes. “Good thing I put on waterproof mascara.”

“Then, what do you think is going on?”

“I think … well, I think part of it is that I’m sad Ryan didn’t get to have the sort of life Leland had. I kept thinking that at the funeral today, about how everyone there seemed to want to celebrate Leland. At Ryan’s funeral, everyone was in shock. All anyone could say was what a waste it was,” Audrey said. She stopped and swallowed back another sob, which she could feel pressing upward in her chest. “And it was such a waste. Ryan was this smart, handsome, funny man. He had it all, and he just threw it all away.” She looked at Fran. “He’d been drinking that night.”

Fran nodded. “I thought he probably had been.”

“Yeah, well this was Ryan.” Audrey gave a humorless laugh. “The odds were always pretty good that he was drinking. And you know what? The worst part about it is that he didn’t just throw away his life. He threw away our life together. The children we never had. The holidays, and the memories, and the family vacations. He just crumpled it up and tossed it away.”

“Do you think his accident was …,” Fran began, but then stopped.

“Do I think it was suicide?” Audrey asked. Fran nodded. “No. But he was basically playing Russian roulette. He drank and drove all the time. It didn’t matter how many times I asked him not to, or how many business cards of taxicab companies I stuffed into his wallet. And I can’t tell you how many nights I went out, driving around, trying to find which bar he was at, so I could take him home.”

“You did?” Fran asked, looking surprised.

Audrey nodded. “I’ve never told you that before?” She shrugged, and shook her head, then dabbed at the tears that had started flowing again. “He was always drunk and I was always covering for him. Not exactly the stuff that healthy marriages are made of.”

Fran wrapped her arms around her friend.

“At least I think we know why you can’t stop weeping,” Fran said.

“Why? Because I’m just now realizing how stupid I’ve been? I was stupid to stay in my marriage while Ryan was alive and stupid to pretend to myself and everyone else that we were happy together,” Audrey said bitterly, turning away and folding her arms.

“No,” Fran said gently. “That’s not it. I think you’re sad because you’re just now grieving the real Ryan. Your real marriage.”

Audrey was silent for a few minutes. Her sobs had quieted, and the tears had slowed. “Maybe you’re right,” Audrey said.

“It’s bound to happen once in a while,” Fran said.

Audrey smiled weakly. “How awful do I look?”

“You look perfectly fine. Just a little teary. But no one will notice. Or if they do, they’ll think it’s because of Leland’s funeral. It has been a sad day, after all,” Fran said.

“I suppose we should go back in. They’ll be out of wine by now, and wondering what’s taking us so long,” Audrey said.

Fran threw her arm around Audrey’s shoulders and squeezed her.

“You’re going to be fine, you know,” Fran said.

“Despite all evidence to the contrary?” Audrey asked, with an ironic laugh.



A FEW NIGHTS AFTER Leland’s funeral, Fran drew in a deep breath and knocked on the front door of Coop’s condo. She could hear Bear’s nails scrabbling over the tile inside, and a moment later, the door swung open.

“Hey, Franny,” Coop said. “What are you doing here?”

He was wearing a gray T-shirt and well-worn khaki shorts. Coop hadn’t shaved that morning, and now, at seven o’clock at night, his chin was thick with blond stubble. Fran, already nervous, felt her heart give a few extra leaps.

“Hi,” Fran said. “Can I come in?”

Coop looked puzzled, but he held the door open and said, “Of course. I was just getting a beer. Do you want one? Wait, you don’t like beer.”

Fran smiled, pleased that he remembered this about her. “No, I’m not a beer girl.”

“Let me see what else I have.” Coop led her to the tiny galley kitchen and rummaged around in the cupboard. “I have a nice bottle of Cabernet. And I think I have some Grey Goose in the freezer.”

“A glass of wine would be great,” Fran said, petting Bear’s head. He sat on her feet and panted happily.

She wouldn’t have minded vodka, glugged straight from the bottle. However, this was not the time to lose her head.

Coop poured a glass of wine and handed it to Fran.

“Cheers,” she said and clinked her glass against his beer bottle.

“Let’s go outside,” Coop said, leading her back to the patio.

Fran followed him, Bear at her heels. They sat down at the round table, in comfortable mesh-backed chairs. In the distance, the ocean roared softly, rumbling as the tide rushed in. The scents of the beach—salt water and something slightly fishy—filled Fran’s nostrils. She imagined living in an apartment by the sea. So different from a suburban household. And so much more freeing. Fran breathed in deeply and sipped her wine. It was, of course, delicious. Coop had always had fabulous taste in wine.

“I bet you were surprised to find me on your doorstep,” she said.

Coop tipped his head to one side and shrugged. “Actually, not completely surprised.”

The breath caught in Fran’s chest. “Really?” she asked.

Maybe this would be easier than she had thought. Maybe rather than having to be the one to broach the exciting but incredibly uncomfortable topic of the feelings she’d developed for him, Coop would save her the trouble by announcing how he felt about her.

Coop nodded, and for a moment, Fran thought he somehow knew what she was thinking, and was nodding along to say, yes, he had feelings for her, and yes, it would be incredibly awkward considering his relationship with Will, but like her, he knew they couldn’t be ignored.

But then he continued.

“I’ve been worried about Will,” Coop said, taking a swig of beer and looking at her closely.

“You have?” Fran asked cautiously. If he was about to declare his feelings for her, this was an odd way to lead in.

Coop nodded. “He didn’t seem like himself the night … well, the night that Leland …”

He seemed unable to continue. Fran understood, shivering a little, even though it wasn’t chilly out. The sun was setting, wreathing the western sky in ribbons of orange and red. And for a moment, the night of Leland’s death loomed up, swamping them both with emotion. Fran felt like something had lodged in her throat, and she swallowed hard, trying to keep her tears at bay. Coop brushed something out of his eyes.

A tear? she wondered.

“It’s been tough,” Fran said.

Coop nodded. “And then again, seeing him after the funeral. Will didn’t seem like he was in a good place.”

“No,” Fran said. “He hasn’t been in a good place.”

“He said you guys were having some issues, and something was going on with Iris, but he didn’t go into details. I figured that was why you stopped by,” Coop said.

Fran froze. She kept her face in a neutrally pleasant expression, and moved her wineglass to her mouth, but the whole time, an alarm was going off in her head.

He thinks I’m here to talk about Will. He thinks I’m here to get his advice as Will’s friend, Fran thought, and for a moment, she had to bite down on her lower lip to keep from breaking out into hysterical laughter.

“That’s not why I’m here,” she said abruptly.

“What?” Coop asked, wrinkling his brow.

“I’m not here to talk about Will. Well, not to talk about him directly. It concerns him, I guess. But not in the way you think,” Fran said. She realized that she was babbling and took another sip of wine, hoping it would help her to compose herself.

“What are you here to talk about, then?”

Fran hesitated. Coop looked sexily rumpled sitting there in the hazy evening light. He had a very physical presence, taking up his space unapologetically. She tried not to stare at the flat of his tanned neck, which she had spent so many hours fantasizing about kissing.

“Franny?” Coop asked. He frowned again and leaned forward. “Are you okay?”

Fran nodded and took in a deep breath. It is now or never, she thought. It had taken all of her nerve to drive over to Coop’s apartment. She might as well get it out.

“The thing is,” Fran said. Her mouth suddenly felt bone dry, as though all of the moisture had been sucked out. She craved a glass of ice water, but thought it best not to delay this any further. Instead, she took a sip of her wine, her hand shaking. “I have … well, I have feelings for you.”

There. The words were out. She waited, her nerves vibrating with tension, as she anticipated Coop’s reaction. He looked at her, apparently clueless.

“What do you mean?” Coop finally asked.

Fran’s stomach seemed to fold over on itself. Part of her wanted to say, No, never mind, and scuttle back to her car. But she forced herself to stay calm and finish what she had come here to do.

“The thing is,” she said again, wondering when the thing is had become her big lead-in. “I think … well. I think I’m in love with you.” She stopped abruptly, not believing she’d actually just said it out loud.

Coop stared at her, apparently absorbing the weight of these words. She looked back at him, half relieved that she’d had the nerve to go through with it after all and yet half terrified at what his response would be.

Coop had gone very still and behind him, the sky had darkened. Fran leaned forward and placed a hand on his forearm. She’d read somewhere that touching someone’s forearm made them more likely to do what you wanted. She waited and watched as realization dawned on Coop’s face. His pale eyes widened.

“Oh, Christ,” he said. He shook his head slowly. “Oh, Franny.”

“I’ve felt this way for a long time. Pretty much since you moved to Ocean Falls. Although actually, that’s not entirely true. I think I’ve been in love with you for years. We’ve always had … well, I don’t know how to explain it. A connection. Haven’t you sensed that, too?” Fran knew she was babbling, but seemed unable to stop herself. Coop’s arm felt hot under her hand, but now that she was touching him, she didn’t dare move it. Coop leaned forward, and Fran wondered if he was going to kiss her. She felt almost sick with excitement, and her heart was beating so hard in her chest, she was amazed Coop couldn’t hear it.

Coop’s hand closed on hers.

This is it, Fran thought, thrilling at his touch. This is it.

But then she realized that he was gently moving her hand away. Away from him.

“No, Franny,” he said softly. “No.”

A starburst of embarrassment exploded inside Fran. She closed her eyes, trying to block out Coop, to block out everything that had happened in the last twenty seconds.

“It’s not that I’m not flattered,” Coop said.

“Don’t,” Fran said.

Fran opened her eyes and allowed herself one long, level glance at Coop. He looked embarrassed. She closed her eyes again and shuddered. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, worse.

“I should go,” Fran said. She set her wineglass down with unnecessary force—it was a miracle the glass didn’t shatter—and stood. Coop caught her arm, stopping her.

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re lovely. I do. I always have,” Coop said.

Fran hesitated, suddenly unable to turn away until she heard the rest of what he had to say. “But?”

“But you’re married,” Coop said. “To Will.”

“What if I wasn’t?” Fran asked.

Coop rested a hand on her shoulder. And for a moment, Fran wondered if he was going to kiss her, after all. She’d imagined the scene so many times. Coop’s pale unfathomable eyes searching out hers, the palm of his hand against her skin.

“It wouldn’t make a difference,” Coop said gently.

Fran stepped back, and Coop’s hand fell away from her. She swallowed hard and tried to focus all of her will on not crying in front of him. The danger signs were already there—her throat felt thick and pinched, her lips were quivering, tears burned at her eyes.

“I have to go,” Fran said, turning away.

“Wait,” Coop said.

Fran shook her head and began walking on leaden legs, heading for the front door. She knew Coop was following after her, although thankfully he didn’t try to touch her again. She couldn’t take any more of his kindly, commiserating pats.

“You don’t have to go,” Coop said, just as Fran finally—mercifully—reached the door.

Fran took a deep breath, willing away her tears. She had one last chance to get out of there still clutching the tattered remains of her dignity. Miraculously, when she turned to face Coop, her eyes were dry and her voice was surprisingly steady.

“I think it would be a good idea if we didn’t see each other for a while,” Fran said.

Coop leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

“It is. And I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t mention any of this to Will,” Fran said.

“Of course not,” Coop said.

“Thank you,” Fran said.

She pulled open the door and walked out. The good news was that she didn’t look back, not once, to see if Coop was watching her. The even better news was that she waited until she was safely in her car before she started to cry.



WILL WASN’T SURE HOW he felt about anything anymore. It was like he’d been in a fog for weeks. One thought kept coming back to him, over and over again, until it had become a sort of mantra: I thought we were happy.

And we were happy, Will thought, as he sat at his workbench, shoulders hunched with misery, fiddling with the motor on his combat bot, Brutus, getting him ready for the upcoming competition in Miami. He didn’t care at this point whether he won or lost, but Rory was enthusiastic about their chances, and he didn’t want to let her down.

He and Fran hadn’t told the girls yet about the looming separation, but their daughters were not stupid. It had not escaped their attention that Will was sleeping on the couch, and that their parents were avoiding spending time together when possible.

Rory didn’t say much about it, but she had started sleepwalking again, which she hadn’t done in years. Will had to believe that it was a manifestation of the stress.

Iris was more forthright.

“What’s going on with you two?” she asked sharply one night after dinner. Will had politely offered to do the dishes, and Fran had just as politely thanked him. Iris had turned on Will. “Why aren’t you and Mom speaking?”

“We are,” Will lied.

“No, you aren’t. You never talk anymore. Are you getting a divorce?”

Will’s eyes had slid to Fran, waiting to see what her response was. Fran shook her head.

“No, of course not,” Fran said briskly. “You’d better go get started on your homework.”

But Iris hadn’t been convinced. Will didn’t blame her. The problems in their marriage were taking up too much house space to ignore.

The door to the garage opened. Will glanced up, expecting to see Rory, who had promised to come help him with Brutus when she had finished her math homework. But instead, it was Iris. She was wearing a black and gray striped cardigan and dark too-tight jeans.

“Hi,” she said. “I didn’t know you were home.”

“I got back a few minutes ago,” Will said. “Where’s Rory?”

“She’s in her room,” Iris said. “Where’s Mom?”

“Out,” Will said. The word felt as heavy as a rock in his mouth.

Iris pulled the cuffs of her sweater down over her hands and she stood with one foot twisted over the other. Will felt a wrench in his heart. Iris always wanted to look older, act older, dress older, but sometimes she still stood and moved like the little girl she had once been. It always made him want to pull her into a bear hug, to whisper in her hair that there was no reason to rush, that growing up took time, but he knew that she would just pull away and roll her eyes, often adding a “Da-ad,” the word drawn out into two contemptuous syllables.

“Do you, like, need some help?” Iris asked. She nodded at Brutus. “You know. With your robot thingy.”

“Seriously?” Will asked.

Iris nodded.

Will frowned. “Come over here and let me see your head,” he said.

“What?”

“Come on, I need to make sure you haven’t suffered any recent head injuries.”

Giggling, Iris stepped closer. Will peered at her head, looking at each side.

“I don’t see any obvious bumps or blood. But you do have a lot of hair. What’s your name? Who’s the president? How many fingers am I holding up?” Will asked, making a V sign with his fingers.

“Dad,” Iris said, still laughing. “I’m fine. Stop being such a goofball.”

“I’m a dad. Being a goofball is part of the job description. Anyway, what’s prompting this sudden interest in Brutus?” Will asked.

Iris looked blank. “Brutus?”

“My combat bot,” Will said, pointing to the robot with a game-show-hostess flourish. “Iris, meet Brutus.”

“He looks different from the other robots you’ve made,” Iris said.

Will nodded. “I thought it was time I went into the ring with some power behind me. Ka-pow!” Will karate-chopped the air. “Are you really serious about wanting to help?”

“Yep,” Iris said.

“Excellent. Take a seat.” Will patted the stool next to him. “You can hold the motor casing, while I tighten these screws.”

They sat side by side, working quietly.

“Can I ask you a question?” Iris said.

“No, I can’t get you an early parole on your grounding sentence,” Will said. “Sorry, kiddo.”

After her driving stunt, Iris had been grounded for two months, including a ban on all phone and socializing privileges. Because she was a first time offender, the district attorney had arranged a deal where Iris had to perform two hundred hours of community service and in return, her record would be expunged. Three days a week after school and all day every Saturday, Iris worked at the local animal shelter. She walked dogs, cleaned out cages, basically did whatever the shelter employees needed her to do. At first she hadn’t been enthusiastic, but after the first few weeks, it seemed as though she’d started to look forward to her time at the shelter. Just last week, Iris had brought home a flyer for a course that taught volunteers how to train Seeing Eye dogs.

“It’s not that,” Iris said.

“No? That’s good. Your mom and I have been really proud of how you’ve been working so hard on your community service hours,” Will said.

Iris’s head bent forward, her hair falling in two curtains on either side of her face.

“Really,” Will said, patting her back.

“I can’t believe I got caught,” Iris said suddenly. “Hannah and Ashley drive all the time, and they never get caught. I do it once and end up getting arrested.”

Will hated these types of conversation. He knew that, as a concerned parent, he should immediately contact Hannah’s and Ashley’s parents, and repeat what Iris had just said about their joyriding. He also knew he’d never do it. In the past, this was the sort of thing he’d tell Fran, and let her handle. She was hooked into the mom network, and after years of serving on the PTA and manning bake sale tables, Fran knew the low-down on every family their daughters’ friends came from.

Will suddenly had the uneasy sensation that this, his willingness to dump anything uncomfortable relating to the girls into Fran’s lap, had contributed to her discontentment with their marriage. He suddenly remembered the advice Leland had given him over the summer—about how he shouldn’t take Fran for granted, about how important it was not to let the connection between them fray.

When was the last time I took Fran out to dinner? Will wondered. When was the last time we went away for a weekend, just the two of us? Is that why she’s leaving me, because I’ve lost the ability to connect with her?

He’d always rationalized that money was tight. He didn’t earn a high salary, and they had two daughters in private school. They somehow managed to get by, but never actually got ahead.

Then Will remembered their younger days, back when they were first married. They’d had even less money then. But they had found ways to get away, ways to be together. They’d taken picnics to the beach, spent weekends camping, Will had given Fran spontaneous back rubs.

“What’s, like, going on with you and Mom?” Iris asked, startling Will out of this uneasy realization. “And don’t tell me everything’s fine. I know it’s not.”

Will put down the pair of pliers he’d been holding. “No, it’s not,” he admitted.

“I knew it,” Iris said, although any triumph she felt at being right quickly gave way to worry. “Is everything going to be okay?”

“This—well, this problem—it’s between your mother and me. It’s not something I can talk about with you,” Will said.

“Why not? Rory and I are part of this family, too. If you guys get divorced, it will affect us,” Iris said.

Will wanted to tell her that no one was getting divorced, that everything would work out, that everything would, in fact, be fine, but even as he opened his mouth to speak, he knew the words wouldn’t come out. The truth was that he had no idea what was going to happen. And he didn’t want to lie to Iris.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Will said instead. “But no matter what, your mother and I love you and Rory more than anything in the world. Nothing will change that.”

Iris’s eyes filled with tears. “So you are getting a divorce.”

“I didn’t say that,” Will said.

“Yeah, but that’s what parents always say when they’re getting a divorce. About loving the kids still. Well, it’s just a crock. If you really loved us, you’d stay together. You’d make things work,” Iris said.

“Iris,” Will said, reaching out an arm to put around her thin shoulders.

But Iris shook him off. She jumped to her feet. “Don’t,” she said. And then she turned and ran out of the garage, leaving Will alone in the dim light.

He rested his elbows on the workbench and put his face in his hands. He had not handled that well. Iris was at such a difficult age, and Rory wasn’t far behind. And now, on top of all of the usual struggles teenage girls faced, they’d have to deal with this, the dissolution of their family, as well.

“I screwed up,” Will said out loud.

“What?”

Will started. In his fog, he hadn’t heard the back door open, hadn’t heard Fran come in behind him. And these days, it was rare for her to seek him out. They had only short, businesslike conversations about bills to be paid, the children’s schedules, household tasks.

“Nothing. I mean … actually, it wasn’t nothing, I think I just handled something with Iris badly.” Fran moved closer to him, her arms wrapped around her body. Will peered at her in concern. “Have you been crying?”

Fran shrugged. But it was clear, she had been crying. Her eyes were red and her face was puffy. Red tear streaks stood out against the pale of her face.

“Are you okay?” Will asked.

Fran shrugged, said, “I’m fine,” and then burst into tears.

Will stood quickly and moved toward Fran. He folded her into his arms, and she buried her face in his chest. She cried for a long time, heaving, body-racking sobs. Her breathing gradually slowed, and finally the sobs shuddered to an end.

“I got your shirt all wet,” Fran said, her voice muffled against Will’s chest.

“It’s okay. It’ll dry,” Will said.

“And I got mascara all over it,” Fran said, leaning back a little to inspect the damage.

Will pulled her close again. “I’ll throw it out.”

“Don’t be nice to me. I don’t deserve it.” Fran’s voice was muffled again.

“Of course you do.”

“No, I really don’t.” Fran leaned back again and looked up at him. “After everything I’ve put you through. I’ve been so stupid. I almost walked away from our marriage. I almost … well, I did something stupid.”

Fear slashed through his stomach, hot and sickening. He didn’t want to hear whatever was coming next. Fran was about to tell him she wanted to come back. That was all he wanted to hear. That their marriage would have a second chance. He didn’t want any of the details of why she’d come to this decision.

“You’ve changed your mind about leaving?” Will asked.

“Yes. Unless you want me to leave. Which I would totally understand, after everything I’ve put you through.”

Will closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, inhaling the essential Franness of her. And then he asked the question he had to ask, no matter how much he didn’t want to know the answer.

“What were you doing at Coop’s tonight?” he asked.

Fran stiffened in his arms. “Did he call you?” she asked.

Will shook his head. “I followed you.”

“You followed me? Why?” Fran stepped back. Her face was pale and vulnerable. Dark circles under her eyes stood out like bruises.

“I wanted to find out if you’ve been having an affair,” Will said.

And then he waited.

Fran looked at him. In each moment that ticked by, Will felt his world falling down around him.

“I haven’t. Not exactly,” Fran said.

Will waited, but she didn’t go on. “What does that mean?” he finally asked.

Fran sighed. “It means that I wanted to have an affair with Coop. He turned me down,” she said flatly.

Will looked at her for a long moment. He could hear his breath, loud and ragged, in the quiet night. Fran looked back at him, her eyes large and somber, her makeup smeared. But Will barely noticed this. Mostly, what he thought as he stared down at her, was that he did not know his wife.

Then he turned and walked away from her, heading into the house.

“Will,” Fran called after him.

Will didn’t turn back. He’d spent weeks wondering what he could have done differently, what he could still do to keep his marriage together. And now, for the first time in their life together, he was no longer sure that he still wanted to be married to Fran.



COOP PUSHED OPEN THE door to the Seawind Day Spa, setting off the chime of a bell. The aroma of rosemary and olive oil and something else—Patchouli? he wondered—enveloped him. The cute but ditzy receptionist was behind the desk.

“Hi, there,” she said when she saw Coop. She smiled flirtatiously. “You’re Audrey’s friend. The mani-pedi guy.”

“Right. The mani-pedi guy. Just what I’ve always wanted to be known as.”

The receptionist giggled. “What’s your name again?”

“Coop.”

She smiled at Coop, showing off lots of large white teeth. “I’m Lisa.”

Coop had the feeling that Lisa would be thrilled if he popped a biceps for her. Or asked for her number. And he had to admit, there was a time when she would have been exactly his type. Young, beautiful, vapid.

“Is Audrey here?” Coop asked.

“If you want another pedicure, I can book it for you,” Lisa said helpfully.

“No, thanks,” Coop said. He grinned, taking care not to hit her with his most charming smile. There was no reason to punish the girl. “I was just hoping to talk to Audrey, if she has a free minute.”

Lisa shrugged in a good-natured way. “I’ll go check,” she said. “She might be in a meeting. That’s what she pretends, sometimes.”

Coop wondered if he should mention to Audrey the obvious deficiencies in her receptionist’s job skills—hitting on potential clients and/or business contacts, an inability to lie convincingly about her boss’s schedule—but decided that when it came to Audrey, he had enough complications to deal with without getting into her staffing issues.

Lisa got up and sashayed to the back of the office. She was wearing a very short plaid skirt that showed off her very long legs. Coop made a valiant effort not to notice.

I do not ogle receptionists. That is not my way. Or, at least, it isn’t anymore, he thought.

She reappeared a few minutes later.

“Audrey will be right out,” she said.

“Did you give her my name?” Coop asked.

“Mmm-hmm. I said that there was a Carson waiting to see her. Oh, and that you were a repeat customer,” the brunette said.

“It’s Coop.”

“Oh, well. Too late now,” Lisa said.

Audrey’s appearance was heralded by the clicking of high heels against hard floors.

“Lisa, have you called to confirm tomorrow’s appointments yet?” Audrey said as she rounded the corner into the waiting room. She saw Coop and came to an abrupt halt.

“I can, like, call, but people always say they’re coming in, even if they aren’t,” Lisa said, clearly dubious that such phone calls were worth her time.

“Hi,” Coop said.

“Hi,” Audrey said.

She looked beautiful, if a bit flustered. She was wearing a red blazer, a black and white striped shirt, dark jeans, and—as usual—black pumps with very high heels.

I love her, Coop thought. He knew it absolutely. It was like a spotlight shone down on her, highlighting the crown of her head, the angles of her cheekbones.

Coop opened his mouth. He wasn’t sure what he meant to say—declarations of love, perhaps?—but instead, what came out was, “What is it with you and high heels?”

Audrey frowned and looked down at her shoes. “What?”

“Why do you always wear such high heels?” He had absolutely no idea why he was going on about her shoes.

Stop it. You’re being a jackass, he told himself.

“Is that why you came here? To ask me about my footwear?” Audrey asked. She crossed her arms.

“Um, no. About something else actually.” Coop glanced at Lisa, who was watching them with frank, wide-eyed curiosity. “Maybe we can go somewhere a little more private?”

“Don’t mind me,” Lisa said, flapping a hand. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

Coop had to swallow back his laugh. And, for a moment, he thought that Audrey was also trying not to grin. However, when she spoke, her voice was cool. “Let’s go to my office.”

Lisa looked disappointed.

“Don’t forget the calls,” Audrey reminded her.

“Oh, right,” Lisa said without enthusiasm.

Coop followed Audrey back to her office.

“Is it wrong that I continue to employ someone I have absolutely no faith in?” she said once they were inside her office, and the door was firmly closed.

“Yes,” Coop said. “But I’m sure she has her good points.”

“I’m sure you noticed all of her good points,” Audrey said darkly. “She doesn’t exactly keep them hidden.”

Coop wasn’t about to fall for that one. “She seemed like a very nice girl,” he said lamely.

Audrey snorted and sat down behind her desk. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

“This is all very businesslike,” Coop said, sitting in one of the chairs opposite her desk. It wasn’t exactly the reception he was hoping for, but then again, maybe it was unrealistic to expect Audrey to strip off her clothes and fold herself onto his lap.

“That’s me. I’m all business,” Audrey said.

Coop had a flashback to Audrey in his bed, arching up under him, but decided that mentioning this distinct lack of businesslike behavior might not be in his interest at the moment.

“How was your trip? I never got a chance to ask you about it,” Audrey said.

“It was a mistake,” Coop said. He wished they weren’t having this conversation in an office, across a desk, but didn’t want to squander the opportunity. “I shouldn’t have gone. I should have stayed and worked things out with you instead.”

Audrey’s hand, which had been playing with the pen, stilled. “I told you to go.”

Coop smiled. “I’ve never been one to do as I’m told.”

When Audrey spoke again, her voice was gentle. “It wouldn’t have changed anything. You and I … we’re just too different. It would never have worked.”

This was not what Coop wanted to hear. His feelings were hurt and the childish retort came out before he could stop it. “And you and Kenny are?”

“No. We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

Although Coop welcomed this piece of information, he was still stung by Audrey’s lack of enthusiasm over his admission that he’d been wrong to leave. Still, he decided, he might as well make his case.

“You and I were great together. You just need to give it a chance. To give me a chance,” Coop said. He hesitated. “The thing is, I think … I mean, I don’t just think it, I know it … but here’s the thing … I love you.”

Audrey’s eyes seemed to grow darker and larger, and Coop found that he was holding his breath. He flexed his hands over his thighs, amazed to find that his palms were sweating.

“Thank you,” Audrey finally said.

Coop swallowed. “Thank you?” he repeated.

“Yes. That’s a lovely thing to say.”

“Is that all you have to say?” Coop asked. It felt like there was a balloon inflating in his chest. Only no, not a balloon—which was soft and elastic—but something harder, that made it difficult to breathe.

“It’s just … I can’t. I can’t be in love right now,” Audrey said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Forget the balloon. Coop felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He actually had to remind himself to start breathing again. In all the times he had imagined this moment, he had never, not once, thought she’d first thank him—what the hell was that?—and then turn him down. And while some of his ex-girlfriends might chalk that certainty up to his innate cockiness, that wasn’t it. The truth was, he truly did love Audrey. And he thought she might just love him back.

Clearly, he had been wrong.

“Okay, then,” Coop said. He stood, feeling a little shaky.

“Wait,” Audrey said, standing, too, and quickly moving around her desk toward him. She put a hand on his arm. “It’s not you. It’s me.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Jesus, now I am talking in clichés. But this really is about me. I don’t trust myself enough to be with someone else right now. Does that make sense?”

“Not really, no,” Coop said, glancing at the door and wondering if he should just make a run for it.

“I need to figure out why I’m so bad at relationships. And until I do, getting involved with someone … with you … it wouldn’t be fair. Not to you, and not to me.”

“That sounds like a firm, definite no,” Coop said, trying to keep his tone light.

Audrey’s eyes softened, and her grip on his arm tightened. “I’m so sorry.”

Coop nodded stiffly and swallowed. “I am, too,” he said. Then he gently dislodged her hand from his arm, stepped around her, and walked out of her office.



JAIME WAS JUST FINISHING changing Ava’s diaper, when she heard her cellphone.

Crap, she thought. She’d left her phone in the kitchen.

“Let’s hurry,” she said to her daughter, stretching the diaper tabs to close them, and making a mental note to look into early toilet training. Who knew, maybe Ava would turn out to be a baby prodigy and pick up the idea quickly. It was unlikely. Logan, almost four, still hadn’t mastered the concept.

Jaime plucked Ava off the changing table, which she had outgrown, and, tucking her daughter on one hip, hurried across the house. She managed to grab the phone right before it went to voice mail.

“Hi, Jaime, it’s me.” It was Emily calling from her cellphone. She sounded upset.

“Emily? Why aren’t you in school?”

“I am in school.” Emily was definitely upset. In fact, it sounded like she was in tears, or close to them. “Something terrible’s happened, and I can’t get ahold of my mom.”

“Calm down. Take a deep breath,” Jaime said. “What’s going on?”

“Today’s my presentation on the early pioneers, and I left all of my stuff at home on my desk,” Emily wailed.

“Can’t you just ask your teacher if you can give your presentation tomorrow instead?”

“No way! Mrs. White is so mean. She’ll make me give the presentation today, even if I don’t have my notes and visual aids. And then she’ll fail me! You have to bring them to me. Please, Jaime,” Emily begged.

“But you said they’re at your mom’s house? How am I supposed to get them?” Jaime asked. She suddenly pictured herself trying to crawl into Libby’s house through a window and getting arrested for breaking and entering in the process.

“There’s a spare key hidden by the front door. It’s under the sundial,” Emily said. “Please, Jaime. Practice went so late last night, and Coach Sarah made me run wind sprints. And then I had to stay up past midnight to finish my presentation and I overslept this morning, and Mom made me rush to get to school on time, and I forgot it,” Emily wailed. “I swear, if you bring it to me, I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”

Jaime hesitated, but then sighed. “Where exactly is this key hidden?”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”



JAIME LOADED AVA AND Logan into the car. Ava was rubbing her stuffed turtle against her face. Logan had brought along three Thomas the Train engines with him, but was worried about the ones he’d left at home.

“Mommy, I need Percy,” Logan said.

“Don’t worry,” Jaime soothed. “Your trains will be fine. We’re almost at Emily’s house.”

“I thought our house was Emily’s house,” Logan said.

“This is Emily’s other house. Where her mother lives,” Jaime said.

“I want two houses, too,” Logan said.

Ignoring this, Jaime said, “Once we get there, we’re going to run into the house, pick up something for Emily, and then drive it to her at school.” Jaime glanced in the rearview mirror and groaned inwardly. Ava had fallen asleep. It meant that the already Herculean task of herding the kids from the car to the house, back into the car, then into the school, then back to the car yet again would be made even more difficult by the heavy weight of a sleeping child. It was one of life’s mysteries: Sleeping children always weighed more than awake ones.

Jaime pulled in to the driveway of Libby’s large home with its stunning view of the Intracoastal and found herself staring at Mark’s car. She felt a stab of irritation. Had Emily also called Mark and asked him to pick up the forgotten history presentation? And if so, why hadn’t she called back to tell Jaime he was getting it?

“Typical,” Jaime muttered.

Jaime pulled out her cellphone to call Mark to confirm that he was in fact bringing the school project to Emily before she bothered to unload the children.

The phone rang four times and then went to voice mail. Jaime tried again. This time, the phone rang only twice before it went to voice mail.

Did he just reject my call? Jaime wondered, her irritation growing tenfold.

Then, suddenly, Emily’s voice came back to her. I can’t get ahold of my mom.

Libby wasn’t answering the phone, not even for her daughter. And now Mark wasn’t answering his phone. And his car was parked in front of his ex-wife’s house.

Suspicion trickled down Jaime’s neck like cold water. No way, she thought. There was no way Mark would ever have an affair with Libby. He couldn’t stand his ex-wife. They always made an effort to remain polite for Emily’s sake, but when Mark and Jaime were in private, Mark rarely had a positive word to say about Libby or his marriage to her. He thought she was selfish and demanding, said that she had always put her needs ahead of his and Emily’s.

But then Jaime thought of all the late nights Mark spent at the tennis club, all of the weekend trips he took with Emily. Libby went sometimes, too. Jaime had never thought much of it—they were both committed to Emily’s tennis career, and besides, they always traveled separately and, of course, stayed in different hotel rooms.

Didn’t they?

No, Jaime thought. No way.

Then again. The weekends away would have given them plenty of opportunities to be alone together. When she wasn’t playing, Emily always spent most of the tournament weekend off with her girlfriends, hanging out by the pool or in the hotel coffee shop.

Jaime turned her ignition off. She glanced back at the kids. Ava was still asleep, but Logan was wide awake, kicking his chubby legs up in front of him.

“Come on, we have to go inside for a minute,” Jaime told him.

“Carry me?” Logan asked hopefully.

“I can’t carry both you and your sister. You’re going to have to walk,” Jaime said, wishing she could leave them in the car, but knowing it was probably a bad idea. Logan was perfectly capable of unhooking the straps of his car seat, climbing into the front seat, and putting the car into gear. Just the mental picture of the SUV rolling down the driveway, out of control with both of her children inside, gave Jaime the chills.

Jaime could feel her heart beating hard and fast, as she climbed out and retrieved the children from the backseat. With Ava heavy in her arms and Logan’s small hand in her own, Jaime made her way slowly to the front door. The whole way, Jaime kept hoping the door would open, that Mark would come out with Emily’s school project in hand.

On the front step, Jaime hesitated, wondering what she should do. Ring the bell, or retrieve the hidden key and let herself in? If she rang the bell and waited to see if anyone answered, she might never know what was really going on. Mark might have an excuse for why he was here, why he wasn’t answering his phone. Then again, if Mark and Libby were having an affair, did Jaime really want to walk in on them, both babies in tow?

Jaime pressed the bell and waited. No one came to the door. Jaime pressed the bell again, this time leaning on it for longer. The third time, she hit it repeatedly, not caring how obnoxious this was. And the obnoxious behavior was rewarded: Footsteps echoed inside, and a moment later, the door opened. Libby was standing there, wearing white shorts and a man’s striped button-down shirt.

It was Mark’s shirt. One of the striped, French-cuff shirts Jaime bought him for Christmas the year before, ordered specially from London. This one was yellow and blue. She had a very clear memory of Mark pulling it out of the closet that morning. He’d said that the dry cleaner had used too much starch, and Jaime had promised she’d mention it the next time she went in to drop off the laundry.

Jaime’s skin suddenly felt too tight, and she struggled to focus her eyes. It felt like she was looking through a telescope, where Libby was at the same time right in front of her and yet very far away. She wondered, distantly, if this was what a nervous breakdown felt like. And then, with Ava’s heavy bulk to remind her, she remembered that she was a mother, and therefore couldn’t afford the luxury of a nervous breakdown.

“Hi, Libby,” Logan said, waving.

Libby was standing very still, her hand still frozen on the doorknob. She gave no indication that she’d heard Logan.

“Where’s Mark?” Jaime asked. She was shocked at how calm she sounded. As though it were a common occurrence for her to stumble upon her husband and his ex-wife in the sort of intimate situation that ended up with Libby wearing Mark’s shirt.

“Mark?” Libby asked. She shrugged and tried to feign surprise. “Why would he be here?”

She’s seriously going to try to brazen this out? Jaime thought. While wearing Mark’s shirt, with his car in the driveway? It was almost funny. Or else, it would be if it weren’t so horrific.

Ava was heavy in her arms, and Jaime tried shifting her daughter without waking her up.

“Please tell him I’d like to see him,” Jaime said. Libby opened her mouth as though to protest, and Jaime added, “And you might want to give him his shirt back before he comes out.”

Libby looked down at her shirt, and then back up at Jaime.

“He isn’t happy, you know,” Libby finally said. Her voice was quiet, but without contrition. In fact, she seemed almost defiant, as though daring Jaime to deny it.

“That’s funny. He always told me he wasn’t happy when he was married to you,” Jaime said. Her cool tone was belied by the tears that were welling in her eyes. “Isn’t it interesting how we keep believing him? Actually, it’s not really interesting at all. It’s tragic, considering there are three children involved.”

“Mommy, when are we going home?” Logan asked, pulling at the hem of Jaime’s shirt.

Libby looked down at Logan, as though she was just now seeing him and Ava. Her face went pale and slack, and she suddenly looked like she might be sick.

“I never stopped thinking of him as my husband. Even after we divorced. Even after he married you. And when this happened … it just seemed right. Like we were hitting a reset button,” Libby said.

Libby reached out to touch Logan’s head, but Jaime said, “Don’t.” The word was almost a growl, and Libby’s hand fell away. Logan looked up at his mother, clearly startled by how ferocious she sounded.

“Lib? What’s going on?” Mark’s voice called.

“Daddy?” Logan asked in a clear, carrying voice.

“Mark, can you come out here please?” Libby asked.

Mark appeared at the door. He was—thankfully—dressed, wearing a tennis jacket and shorts. Jaime wondered if he kept clothes at Libby’s house. He probably does, the bastard.

“Oh! Hey, honey, what are you doing here?” Mark asked.

He had clearly decided to take the same tack as Libby and pretend that there was nothing unusual about his being at his ex-wife’s house in the middle of the day, when he was supposed to be at work. Still, all of the color had drained from his face, and his eyes were moving shiftily from wife to ex-wife and back again.

“Daddy!” Logan said, his small face lighting up. He ran to Mark, who scooped him up in his arms.

“Hey, squirt,” Mark said, hugging Logan. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Emily asked me to come by and pick up the notes and visuals for her history presentation,” Jaime said. She was still amazed at how calm she sounded and wondered, distantly, if she was in shock.

“She did?” Libby asked. “She left her presentation at home?”

“Yes,” Jaime said.

“Why didn’t she call me?” Libby asked.

“You were apparently too busy to answer your phone,” Jaime said, raising her eyebrows.

Recognition dawned on Libby’s face, and she blushed and looked away.

“Oh. Right,” Libby said.

Mark looked back and forth between them again. “This is an odd coincidence. I stopped by to go over Emily’s tournament schedule with Libby,” he said, affecting the same breezy tone. “Too bad Emily didn’t call me, I could have saved you the trip over.”

Jaime stared at her husband, and decided that she officially hated him. In fact, all of the very characteristics that had first attracted her to him—his dark eyes, the sexy thin lips, the square jaw—were now the things she hated the most about him. Well, his face, and the fact that he was a lying son of a bitch.

“Mark, she knows,” Libby said wearily.

But even then, Mark wasn’t ready to drop the act. “Knows what?” he asked. “That we’re meeting to discuss Em’s schedule?”

Libby gave him the sort of irritated look that Jaime again thought might have been funny, had this all not been happening to her. She wondered if, like her, Libby was finally seeing Mark for the sort of man he was. Standing there with his young son in his arms, lying glibly.

“She knows about us,” Libby clarified. She gave Logan another uneasy look. “Maybe Logan should go up to Em’s room, so we can talk? And you can put Ava down in …” Jaime was sure that Libby had been about to say, my bedroom. But, as if remembering what had just happened in that bedroom, she quickly substituted, “the guest room.”

“I want to go to Em’s room,” Logan said, looking delighted at the idea. He adored Emily, and although she was very sweet to her younger siblings, this affection did not stretch to allowing them unfettered access to her room and its precious belongings.

“No,” Jaime said, raising a hand. “We’re going to leave.”

“You shouldn’t drive while you’re upset,” Libby said.

“I’m fine,” Jaime said. She looked at Mark, who was pale with shock and looking almost lost, as though he couldn’t figure out what to say or do. “Or I will be. Come on, Logan. Let’s go home.”