If one more person asked Caroline Moore if she was all right, she was going to explode.  And Caroline never exploded.  She breathed deeply.  She meditated.  She looked beyond any given situation, considering every possible angle.  But she didn’t explode.

Seeing the last of the neighbors to the door, she closed her eyes, her hand going automatically to her throat.  The collar of her silk blouse was open, her necklace a fine gold chain from which hung a delicate charm that had been her mother’s.  There was nothing physically restrictive, yet she felt a constraint so tight it was difficult to breathe.

She joined him at the French doors, their shoulders close but not quite touching.  Neither seemed to have any desire to move closer. 

“It’s been a long few days for you,” he said.

Forty-two years old, Steven was of average height and build.  The silver in his hair gave him a wizened look clients trusted.  Looking at him, it occurred to her that he had something on his mind.  That made two of them.  “There’s something I need to talk to you about, Steven.”

One of the reasons he won so many lawsuits for his clients was that he was good at bluffing.  He wasn’t just good at it; he was stupendous at it, which made whatever she glimpsed in his eyes more alarming.  Instinctively, she proceeded with caution.  “Can you come to dinner at my apartment downtown tomorrow evening?” 

“I can’t make it tomorrow night, Caroline.” 

Normally, he was a talker.  She found it strange that he didn’t elaborate.  Fighting a bout of queasiness, she said, “Perhaps this shouldn’t wait until tomorrow anyway.” 

He glanced sharply at her.  “I was going to tell you.” 

He was going to tell her?  What was he talking about? 

Luckily, she was good at bluffing, too.  “When?” she asked.  “When were you planning to tell me?” 

A muscle worked in his jaw, and something clicked in her brain.  She’d handled enough divorce cases to recognize someone guilty of cheating.  “God, Steven.”

“It’s not like that.”  There was nothing quite like a lawyer jumping to his own defense.  “Brenda and I have been talking, and we’ve come to realize the divorce was a mistake.”

A mistake?  That was a good one.  “The woman you’re seeing behind my back is your ex-wife?”

He ran a finger between his neck and the starched collar of his white shirt.  “She’s the mother of my children.  Believe me, this is not sordid.”

The floor pitched.  Regaining her equilibrium, she said, “Then you haven’t been sleeping with both of us?”

His mouth thinned and his expression hardened.  “I know this is a shock, but frankly, I’m a little surprised you’re upset.”

Trying to think, Caroline fingered the charm on her necklace.  Her life was falling apart around her, but this wasn’t the surprise she’d had in mind. 

“I’m sorry,” Steven said.  “I know this is a difficult time for you.  That’s why we didn’t want to tell you until you’d had a chance to—”

We? 

“Brenda knows about me?  About us?”

“I didn’t want to begin our trial reconciliation with a lie between us.  I’ve never seen my boys this happy.  Think about them.” 

He wanted her to think about his children.  That was priceless.

“They’ve been in counseling since the divorce.  Brenda and I have been worried about them.  You and I have talked about that.”

A few months earlier, Caroline had spent an afternoon at the aquarium with Steven’s sons.  The outing had been awkward and difficult.  Caroline didn’t pretend to know much about children, but the boys’ dislike for her had been painfully obvious.   

“I’m sorry about your grandfather.  I know how you felt about Henry.  In fact, I’ve always gotten the impression he was the only man you needed in your life.”

She felt hollow, empty and bereft.  She wanted to tell him she had needs, too, but her pride kept her still.  “I think you should go, Steven.”

She hated him for looking relieved.

At the door he said, “It’s not as if you’ve ever mentioned the future, let alone one that included marriage or a family.” 

It was difficult to know whether to laugh or cry. 

He was watching her, his head turned at an unnatural angle, accentuating his long neck and prominent Adam’s apple. “I’ve fallen in love with my ex-wife all over again.  Haven’t you ever been in love?”

He let himself out without waiting for her answer. 

Caroline couldn’t seem to stop shaking.  She closed the French doors, then stared through the wavy glass, shivering.  Lake Michigan was as gray as the May sky.  Thunder rumbled in the distance.  Her grandfather’s favorite mesh patio furniture faced the great lake.  How many times had she found him sitting there, quietly looking out across the vast water? 

He’d been her only family since her parents’ deaths when she was eight.  It couldn’t have been easy for him, and yet he’d taken her in, and made a home for her.  He’d devoted his life to raising her. 

She shivered again.  For some reason, Steven’s question bothered her.  She’d thought she was in love once or twice a long time ago, but the sentiment had faded.  It was a well known fact that women had to work twice as hard as men in this field.  She’d worked three times as hard.  She’d set goals and systematically met each one.  In doing so, she’d made sacrifices along the way. And no, she’d never been in love.  Until recently, that hadn’t felt like a tragedy.  But Caroline had bigger problems.  One big problem, to be exact.

Caroline looked at the family photograph Maria kept on the windowsill.  Maria and her husband Miguel had three children:  Carmen, Dominic, and the baby.  He must have been four now.  His name escaped Caroline.  Maria had come to work for Henry O’Shaughnessey the same year Caroline left to study law at Columbia University in New York.  She’d always treated Caroline well, and vice versa, and yet in all the years they’d known one another and all the times they’d spoken, most of their conversations had been about Caroline’s grandfather or the weather or the news.  Now she regretted that they’d never shared more personal information. 

Finally, Maria said, “You’re busy, but you’re not cold.  You’re like your shoes.  Beautiful, supple, exquisitely crafted, but out of the average person’s league.”

In so many ways, Caroline and Maria were opposites.  Their common link had been their mutual love for Henry O’Shaughnessy.  Caroline’s grandfather had been stubborn and well-spoken, kind and opinionated until he’d died suddenly of a heart attack four days ago.  There was no question that he’d loved them, too.  His last will and testament had already been read, Maria’s dedication rewarded handsomely.  She’d agreed to stay on until Caroline decided what to do with the beautiful old house.  Although not a decadent amount, the inheritance gave Maria options she hadn’t expected.  Caroline knew the other woman would have managed without the monetary gift, for she was one of those women who knew how to be happy regardless of her situation. 

Antonio.  The baby’s name was Antonio.  But Maria wasn’t old.  She was five years younger than Caroline.  “Look at all you have.”

Laying a hand over Caroline’s, Maria said, “You’re just a late-bloomer.  Now you will catch up.  There’s nothing like having a baby.  You’ll see.”

Caroline’s mouth dropped open.  She hadn’t told a soul about this.  She’d thrown the home pregnancy kit in the trash downtown.  Until this week, she’d had no morning sickness, and that she’d attributed to shock and sadness.  According to her calculations, she was only two and a half months along.  “How did you know?”

“When you’ve been there three times,” Maria said sagely, “you recognize the signs.  Plus, it’s been several months since anything has been moved on the middle shelf in the bathroom you use when you stay here.  Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

Until that moment, Caroline hadn’t allowed herself to think in those terms.  When she was late the first month, she’d blamed it on stress.  Two weeks later she’d researched early menopause on the Internet.  By the second month she’d decided it was most likely cancer.  She couldn’t be pregnant.  She was on the pill.  Besides, single, forty-three-year-old crackerjack attorneys who worked their butts off to make partner did not have surprise pregnancies.

“What did Senor Phillips say?”

“He’s going back to his ex-wife and their two kids.”

“But how—what about—you didn’t tell him?” 

Shaking her head, Caroline watched for Maria’s reaction.

Maria took the information in stride the way she took everything in stride.  She took life exactly as it was.  She didn’t try to manipulate it, change it, or get around it.

Caroline envied her that, as well.

“Now,” Maria said, “If you’re lucky, the baby won’t have a skinny neck and big Adam’s apple.  Just to be safe, let’s hope it’s a girl.”

Why on earth that struck Caroline funny, she didn’t know.  A tight little laugh squeezed out of her.  Half-hiccup, half croak, another followed, and another, and another.  Maria joined her.  Soon, they were both laughing uncontrollably.  Maria was clutching her middle and slapping at Caroline to stop, and Caroline was wiping tears. 

Without warning, the sounds no longer came from Caroline’s belly, but from her chest, turning mournful, sorrowful.  Tears of laughter had fallen freely.  These tears burned her eyes, leaving hot trails down her face.  She cried and cried, for her grandfather, for her parents whom she’d lost so long ago, and for her life that was suddenly out of control.   

Her eyes wet, too, Maria placed a box of tissues on Caroline’s lap.  Standing beside her, she held Caroline’s face to her chest, rocking her as she would one of her children.  By the time the episode finally passed, Caroline felt depleted, wretched, spent. 

“Do you want me to stay for a while?” Maria asked after Caroline had blown her nose and dried her eyes. 

Caroline appreciated the offer.  “Your family is waiting for you at home.”

Removing her apron and hanging it on a hook inside the basement door, Maria said, “Now you’ll have a family, too.”

Maria hadn’t so much as considered the possibility that Caroline might choose one of her other options.  Perhaps it was Maria’s upbringing.  Or perhaps she sensed just how much Caroline wanted this child. 

She wondered if she was the only one who thought it was ironic that her closest confidant was the family housekeeper.  And until today, Caroline hadn’t even known the name of Maria’s youngest child.

“Something is seriously wrong with me and with my life, Maria.”

“Sometimes things must go wrong before you know what you need to fix.  Now you know.”

With that enormous vote of confidence, Maria left.  It was several minutes before Caroline realized something was different.

She could breathe.

           What had she done? 

            Most of her hair, her beautiful, long, lustrous hair, was gone.  What was left stuck out in four-and-five-inch tufts, as if she’d gotten caught in some cosmic blender.  She turned her head slightly.  It was no use.  It looked bad from every angle.

            What had she been thinking?

“A trim?” Rolf had asked when she’d arrived at the trendy hair salon located directly above Brynn’s, her clothing boutique in Portland’s waterfront district.

Surprise me?  Had she lost her mind? 

Mya loved new trends: clunky-heeled shoes and boots of all kinds, low slung pants and the latest jewelry.  But other than an occasional trim, she never changed her hairstyle.  Until today. 

“Whoa,” her after-school clerk exclaimed.

Joe, the kindly deliveryman said, “Don’t worry.  It’ll grow back.”

Looking at her reflection in the safety of her own living room, she pulled at the wayward tresses.  It was no use.  She turned her back on the baroque mirror.  Beseeching her two closest friends, she said, “What do you think?”

Suzette studied the uneven blond tendrils encircling Mya’s head.  Petite and at times just a little too perky, Suzette said, “It isn’t that bad.”

“Claire?” Mya asked the other woman. 

Suzette dropped into an overstuffed chair.  “I still can’t believe you’re engaged.”  Not many thirty-year-old women could pull off that whine.  “I’m the one who’s always dreamed of marrying a doctor.  It was my appendix that ruptured.”

 Pouting, Suzette said, “Fine.  It was my appendix that expanded violently, and who was just coming off duty in ER?  Only the best looking doctor in the English speaking world.”

“Where is the groom-to-be, anyway?” Suzette asked.

“The cavalry to the rescue,” Claire said under her breath.

What little hair was left on the back of Mya’s neck stood on end.  “This dice-job cost me eighty bucks.”

Mya had little choice but to succumb to the inspection that followed.  After much tongue clicking and head shaking, her mother rummaged through her big, red purse for a pair of red-tipped scissors.  Red was her mother’s favorite color.  She wore red nail polish, red lipstick, red blush on her cheeks, red shoes, red everything.  Even her ’95 Impala was red. 

“I think you paid too much.  I only charge my customers twenty dollars for a shampoo, cut and blow job.”

“That’s what I said.”

Of course, that was her mother’s dream.  “Let’s go to the kitchen.  I think I can fix this.”

And the thing was, Mya was sure she could.

Millicent Donahue owned a hair salon, aptly named Millie’s Hair Salon.  Despite the fact that the term had gone out of style in the eighties, she still called herself a beautician.  For years the salon had been a bone of contention between mother and daughter.  Eventually they’d called a truce of sorts.  Now, Mya needn’t feel obligated to have her hair trimmed at her mother’s salon, and her mother needn’t feel obligated to shop at Mya’s store.  Not that Mya carried red sweatshirts with glitter and sequins anyway.  

“I thought Jeffrey was going to be here,” Millicent said around the hair-clip in her mouth. 

“An ER doctor,” Suzette grumbled.  “Do you have any idea how many women aspire to marry a doctor?”

“I didn’t aspire to marry anyone.”

“I still say it isn’t fair,” Suzette said.

Pouring the wine, Claire said, “Don’t mind Suzette, Ms. Donahue.  She’s just bitter because Jeffrey saw her naked first and still chose Mya.”

Drolly, Mya said, “No goddess ever had this haircut.” 

For once, Mya wasn’t even tempted to argue.

Her mother said, “You haven’t had hair this short—” 

Their gazes locked. 

Mya should have known she needn’t have worried. 

Oblivious, Suzette said, “What do you say we move this party out to the dining room and away from any airborne hair?”  Taking a small tray in either hand, she headed for the door, disrupting Jeffrey’s three cats that had somehow wound up at Mya’s place.

Millie reached into the cabinet for the chips and into the refrigerator for the dip.  “Forget the health food.  I need all the preservatives I can get.”  When she was certain Suzette was out of hearing range, she lowered her raspy voice and said, “If that girl gets any perkier, I’m going to bite through my tongue.” 

It was quiet in the kitchen suddenly.  Too quiet.  Finding Claire watching her, Mya handed over the other tray.

“Serve red wine with cheese?  I’m living dangerously.” 

And Mya said, “Not you, too.”

“I’ll say my peace, and then forever hold it.  You’re going to get married.”

Another time Mya might have smiled.

Claire gaped.  “You chew up nice people for breakfast and spit them out before lunch.”

“Come on, Mya.  A woman like you hasn’t remained single this long for lack of opportunities.  Don’t even try to tell me Jeffrey’s marriage proposal was your first.”

Relieved, Mya said, “Jeffrey is attentive, intelligent, ardent and imperturbable.”

Leave it to a high school English teacher to notice that. 

The kitchen door opened, and Suzette stuck her head inside.  “Did you talk to her?”

With a flourish, Suzette took a sheaf of papers from her oversized purse.  “I put that question to my second graders this morning.  Claire, did you ask your class?”

Now Mya was curious.  “What did they say?”

New lease or not, Mya gave her the finger.

Mya smiled.

“Are you bringing more chips?” Millie called from the next room.

Suzette dashed toward the door with the bag of chips, practically tripping over one of Jeffrey’s cats.  When the door stopped swinging, Claire said, “And that’s another thing, Mya.  You’re a dog person.  You don’t even like cats.”

Claire looked worried, but she said, “Listen.  It sounds like Jeffrey’s here.  We’d better get out there and save him from Suzette.”

Right behind her, Mya said, “You mean from my mother.” 

Oh, sure.  Now Claire laughed.

                                            *    *    *

            “You’re positive you don’t want something to drink?”  Mya held up the bottle of wine.

Everyone had gone, and Mya was trying to put things away.  Uninterested in putting anything away, Jeff put his arms around her.  “I’d rather have a different kind of honey.”

Nuzzling her neck, Jeff said, “I have to be back at the hospital in thirty-eight minutes.  We can spend the next half hour doing anything you want, anywhere you want."

He turned her gently into his arms and kissed her again.  Holding her to him, molding and kneading until she groaned, he eased her backward toward the sofa, where they’d last made love.  She’d had a crick in her neck for two days. 

“I think what you have in mind is best suited to a bed, Doctor.”

There was no reason in the world to be thinking about this, especially when a virile, nearly naked man was undressing her, caressing her, kissing her.  Where was her blouse, anyway?  Jeff peeled away her bra and covered her breasts with his big hands.  Pleasure surged through her. 

Mya was five-four-and-a-half, and at times Jeff seemed as big as a house.  He was her safe place in the storm of life.  She’d discovered it that night in the emergency room.  It was the first time she’d set foot inside a hospital in years.  She wouldn’t have then if she’d had a choice.  She’d managed to remain stoic through the harrowing drive to the hospital, Suzette whimpering in the seat next to her.  And then she’d managed to get Suzette into a wheelchair and through the automatic doors.  She’d given the night-nurse all the pertinent information.  After they’d wheeled Suzette away, and Mya was alone in the cold, austere hospital, panic had set in.  She’d shaken with the effort to hold herself together.  And there was Jeffrey coming off duty, bringing her a cup of steaming coffee and the offer of a broad shoulder to cry on.

Jeffrey Anderson was just about the nicest, kindest man she’d ever met, and she’d found herself wondering if she’d been holding the wrong kind of man at bay.  He asked for her phone number.  And she gave it to him.  She was sure he wouldn’t call, even more sure she wouldn’t go out with him if he did.  She was wrong on both counts.

He’d called, and it had felt good to talk with him over dinner.  And later, it had felt good to kiss him.  After a few dates, it had felt good to make love with him.  What was so wrong with feeling good?  He didn’t curl her toes.  So what?

The wind howled and rain ran in sheets down her bedroom window.  The room was shadowy and drafty.  Goosebumps rose on her skin as he lowered her to the bed and eased down next to her.  Heat emanated from him, drawing her closer.  

The mattress shifted and their breaths mingled.  She was tangling her legs with his when she glanced at the foot of the bed.  Two cats sat nearby in the oblong patch of light spilling from the hall.  A third had stopped in the doorway.  All three were watching. 

“Jeffrey.  The cats.”

He groaned when she stopped doing what she’d been doing and removed her hand, but he heaved himself away from her and gathered up his cats.  “I swear you guys do this on purpose.”  Shooing them all into the hall, he closed the door.  “Now, where were you?”

She laughed, and it almost sounded wicked.  It had been a long time since she’d been wicked.  He returned to her, and he enjoyed it so much she couldn’t help laughing again.  He kissed her, stroked her, caressed her, until a deep feeling of peace entered her being.  She spoke his name on a whisper, and he came to her, the joining of man to woman pure and pleasurable.  Those first delightful tremors were just beginning when one of the cats yowled in the hall.  The other two took up the cry.

Feeling her stiffen, Jeff said, “Pretend we’re in the jungle.”

Mya laughed, and he smoothed one fingertip along her cheek, down the length of her neck, skimming the outer swell of her breast, her waist, until he found what he was after.  He was an ardent lover, mindful of her needs, and vocal about his.  And yet she was distracted.  Who wouldn’t be distracted with three cats yowling outside the closed bedroom door? 

A memory came, unbidden.  Hazy and as if from a great distance, she glimpsed, for but a moment, two lovers too young to know what they were doing, and a passion so consuming nothing could have kept them from doing it.  She stopped the thought, her mind suddenly blank, her body and soul empty.  

“I love your hair.”

Mya started.  “What?”

“Your hair.  I like it.  Very sassy.” 

He’d waited until it was pitch dark to tell her.  But it made her smile, and it brought her to him once again. 

She moaned softly.

“Do you like that?” he asked, his voice low.

“I think you should do it again, just so I can be sure.”

This time he chuckled, but he acquiesced, and yes, she liked it.  Maybe it wasn’t ecstasy.  Accepting the weight of him, and the warmth of him, it was enough. 

Ecstasy was overrated anyway.

                                                       *    *    *

“I love you,” Jeff said.  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”  He sauntered to the foyer, bending to pet each cat on his way.  He looked back at her from the door.  Giving her a smile, he was gone, sated and content. 

She envied him that contentment. 

Where had that thought come from?  Turning, she found all three cats staring at her, as if Jeff’s leaving was somehow her fault. 

“What?  He has his house.  I have mine.”

The white cat jumped onto the back of the sofa.  The yellow two continued to stare at her from the easy chair. 

“You heard him.  He’ll call tomorrow.”  And then, because she couldn’t be cold or cruel, even if she wasn’t a cat person, she added, “Don’t worry, he’ll be back.”

No swish of their tails.  No meows.  No purring.  Nothing.   

Why anybody bothered talking to cats, she didn’t know.  Cinching the sash of her long silk robe, she padded to the kitchen.  The moment she started the electric can opener, all three cats came running.

She doled out the bribe, and watched them enjoy it.  The white one even let her pet him, and she had to admit, his fur was soft and warm.  Leaving them to their late night snack, she wandered through her little house.  It was nearing the bewitching hour, and it had been an eventful day.  Her hairstyle had been salvaged, she was learning to coexist with Jeff’s cats, and she’d avoided a blow-up with her mother.  Maybe she’d finally grown up—perish the thought, but she was thirty-six.

She did an about face.  Instead of brooding, she was going to leave this mess for tomorrow and go to bed.  She hadn’t taken three steps when a knock sounded on her door.  She paused at the lamp she’d just turned off.  Her neighbors never stayed up this late.  Jeff had a key, so it couldn’t be him.  Maybe Claire or Suzette had returned for some reason.  She doubted it was her mother. 

            The knock came again. 

Turning the lamp back on, she went to the door and peered through the peephole.  The room pitched, and one hand flew to her mouth.  

A girl wearing faded blue jeans and no jacket stood on the porch.  Mya felt frozen in time and in place, and yet she opened the door, a wild gust of wind hitting her in the face. 

After looking Mya up and down, eyes the same brown as her own narrowed.  “I would have knocked sooner but I was waiting for the minute man to leave.”  With a snide curl of her lip, the girl said, “Hey Mom.  Long time no see.”

     The kitchen in Eve’s little house didn’t have enough counter space.  Or measuring cups.  Or mixing bowls.

      It hadn’t kept Brooke from improvising.

She’d prepared a big breakfast for Sophie hours ago.  Although complaining about boredom, Sophie had talked, more like her old self, before retreating back to the spare room to write in her journal.  An elementary school teacher who had summers off, Eve preferred cold cereal for breakfast.  The last Brooke knew, her sister was compiling her wedding guest list at her home computer in the living room.

It was Wednesday, and Brooke had a lot on her mind.  She thought best when she was busy.  Consequently, every inch on every flat surface was covered with the fruits of her labors.  The best evidence was in the mouth-watering aromas wafting through the house. 

Carter was the first person to follow his nose to the source.  As he so often did, he sauntered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and stood there as if he needed the cool air to wake up.  Not that he woke up here.  Brooke wasn’t sure where he slept, but she appreciated his and Eve’s efforts to set a good example for Sophie.  That didn’t mean Brooke hadn’t noticed fresh whisker burn on Eve’s cheek on a regular basis.  Evidently, Brooke wasn’t the only one good at improvising.

“Would you like me to fix you something for breakfast?” she asked.

He looked at the clock, scratched his chest through his faded tee shirt, and finally got out of the refrigerator.  “No, thanks.”  He snitched a lemon tart and popped it, whole, into his mouth.  Moaning in ecstasy, he said, “You are a wizard.”

 Carter McCall had grown up in a house full of men.  Jack had been a grade behind Brooke in school, Brian a grade behind that, and Carter a few grades behind him.  Somebody had made certain they all knew which fork to use.  Carter said please and thank you when it suited him.  It just didn’t always suit him.  Sophie found that aspect of his persona very interesting. 

 “Have you got me figured out yet?” he asked.

 He did that a lot, broaching a subject very close to what she was thinking.  “I’m not very adept at figuring people out, men especially.  My husband is a prime example.”

 “He’s a prime example of an asshole.”   

 “You haven’t met Colin.”  There she went again, defending him. 

 “I don’t have to meet him.”  Carter leaned against the counter, crossed his ankles, and ate another lemon tart.  “A man screws around on a woman, especially a woman like you, he’s an asshole.”

 She looked across the small kitchen at her future brother-in-law.  It was nice having people in her corner, but it didn’t change what was wrong with her life or her marriage.  She’d watched Carter this past week, paying close attention to the way he treated Eve.  He truly seemed to be sincere in his actions and feelings. 

 “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Carter, but I read somewhere that if someone betrays you once, it’s his fault.  If he betrays you twice, it’s your fault.”

 “Who’s fault is it that he’s an asshole?  Men are easy to categorize,” Carter said.  “Unlike you women, who are complicated.”   

 Brooke removed the first batch of espresso fudge cookies from the oven.  “Tell me about these categories all men supposedly fall into.”

 “You already know about the asshole category, having been married to one for—how many years, thirteen?”

 “Fourteen.”

 She appreciated the fact that he didn’t gloat.

 “The assholes are by and large the worst.  Then there are the dumbasses, the smartasses, the sorryasses, and last but not least the wiseasses.”

 She’d never heard anyone use that particular word so often in one sentence, and smiled in spite of herself.  “What category would you say you fall into?”

 He tucked his thumbs into his pockets and rocked back on his heels.  “I’m a wiseass, of course.  Sometimes the boundaries overlap, but for the most part, one of the asses pegs us all pretty accurately.”

 Brooke was grinning openly now.  “You’ve certainly cleared that up.  Tell me this.  Why do we women bother with you?”   

 “Because we’re irresistible.”  There was a long pause.  “This is the part of the conversation where you get to say what you’re thinking.”

 She slid the second cookie sheet into the oven.  “But isn’t the art of conversation not only saying the right thing at the right time, but leaving unsaid the wrong things at the most tempting moments?”

 “What fun is that?”

 She blinked.

 “If it ain’t fun, it ain’t art.”

 “Isn’t,” she said automatically.

 “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

 She stared at him.  “Does anybody get the last word with you?”

 He shrugged, and it reminded her of Sophie.  “Eve has her ways, but that’s something I’d be more apt to share with the guys at the pool hall than her sister.  Never let it be said that a McCall doesn’t know his etiquette.”

 Brooke closed her eyes and shook her head.  Eve wasn’t going to have a dull moment with this one.

 Fluffy padded into the room, going straight to her dish.  Finding it empty, she stared with obvious disdain until Brooke shook out the last of the dry cat food.  “Nice kitty.” 

 Ignoring Brooke and the cat food, Fluffy walked stiff-legged to Carter and rubbed her head on his ankle.  Carter leaned down to pet her.  Of course she let him.

  “How can a cat I rescued from the animal shelter on the very day time was running out hate me?”

 “You try too hard.”

 She looked at Carter, and then at the cat purring beneath the slow, smooth motion of his hand.  “Seriously?”

He nodded.  “If you want a cat to like you, ignore her.  Let her come to you.  Works like a charm every time.”

 “I’ll take it under advisement.”

 “Glad I could help.”

 “Men!”  She muttered into the sink.

 Carter chuckled on his way into the next room.  “I warned you I’m a wiseass.”

 He was gone before she realized that he’d had the last word.

                                            *    *    *

 The cookies were done when Eve joined Brooke in the kitchen.

“Wow.”  Eve looked around.  “I don’t know how you do it.”

 Brooke squirted dish soap into the sink.  Turning on the water, she said, “Baking isn’t difficult, but it is messy.”

 Eve helped herself to the last cup of coffee in the pot.  “Speaking of messes, how did your phone call to Colin go this morning?”

  “Not so good.”

 “That explains the baking marathon.  What did he say?”

 Scrubbing a pan with unnecessary force, Brooke said, “He’s deeply saddened that I’ve run away from our problems.  Apparently, he mistook me for a woman who had more depth and strength of character.”

 Eve started to open her mouth.

 Brooke held up a hand.  “Before you call me a wimp, you should know that I told him his speech would have had more oomph if I hadn’t heard a woman’s voice in the background when he first picked up the phone.”

 “You said oomph?”

 “It was the best I could do on the spot.”

 “There was a woman in your house?”

 “He insisted it was the television, but that wasn’t Katie Couric’s voice.”

  “Oh, Brooke, no.  He never deserved you.”  Eve motioned to the newspaper lying open to the classifieds.  “Are you looking for a job?”

 “Not exactly.”

 Coffee in hand, Eve walked to her table where she read the ad Brooke had circled.  “You’re interested in renting a house for the rest of the summer?”

 “I think it would be better for Sophie if we had our own place.  You’re not angry?”

 Eve wore her long straight hair pulled back on the sides and secured with two red clips that matched her simple knit dress.  The color made her face look pale and her gray eyes like liquid pewter.  “Angry that you’re staying in Alcott for the summer?  Are you kidding?”  She moved the newspaper aside and reached for an espresso fudge cookie.  “You know you’re welcome to stay with me as long as you’d like, but I’ll honor whatever you choose to do.  Carter’s on his way to his studio, and I have to run, too.  The Pilgrim Women’s Society is meeting in five minutes and I’m acting secretary.”

 “Wait.”  Brooke arranged a selection of cookies and tarts on a large plate and hurriedly wrapped it with cellophane.  “Take these with you.  We’ll be ill if we try to eat all this by ourselves.”

  Eve winked.  “Expect compliments from everyone.”

 Brooke wasn’t thinking about compliments when Sophie’s footsteps sounded near the doorway a few minutes later.  She was thinking about that voice she’d heard in the background in her own kitchen back home.  Had someone been there with Colin?  Should she have stayed and faced this?

 She’d been devastated when she’d discovered Colin’s affair two years ago, and had mourned as if something precious had died.  She tried to categorize what she felt this time.  Throughout the process of stirring up lemon tarts and three kinds of cookies, she’d come to the conclusion that she felt sad, disappointed, disillusioned and stupid.  And underlying it all, she felt strangely unsettled.  She was thankful it was summer, for it gave her time before Sophie had to return to school.

“Smells good in here.”  By now Sophie knew her way around Eve’s kitchen, evidenced by her economy of motion as she made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  “I talked to Makayla again.  Guess what?”  Sophe moved her tongue across her lips in the same direction she moved her knife across the bread.  “The Prescotts are going to Europe for three whole weeks as soon as Toby’s over the chicken pox.”

 “That’s nice, honey.”

 “They’re so lucky.”  She added the top to her sandwich, then stood near the stove to take her first bite.  Looking at the stack of baking tins and utensils waiting to be washed, she said, “I bet you miss having a dishwasher, huh?”

 Brooke rinsed a handful of measuring spoons.  “I suppose.”

 “And there’s no warming oven, either.”

 “Aunt Eve isn’t much of a gadget girl,” Brooke agreed.

 “Guess not,” Sophie said amicably.  “Our kitchen back home has the best gadgets.  I bet you miss it, huh?”

 It didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand what her daughter was doing.  Brooke washed another cookie sheet.   

 “Hey, Fluffy.”  The girl lowered gracefully to the floor near the door.  Sitting cross-legged, she pet the cat with one hand and held her sandwich with the other.  “And there’s not much room for Fluffy’s litter box here, is there?  I don’t know how many times I’ve seen somebody trip over her food dish.”

 “It is crowded here.  I want to talk to you about that.”   

 “You do?”   

 Brooke nodded.  “We don’t want to wear out our welcome, do we?”

 Sophie shook her head dramatically. 

 “Feel like taking a walk in a few minutes?”

 “A walk?”

 Brooke nodded.  “It’s a beautiful summer day.”

 “But shouldn’t we be packing?”

 “First we have to take a look at the summerhouse.”

 “What summerhouse?”  Sophie jumped up as if bracing for a fight.   

 “The one up on Captain’s Row.  I circled the ad.”  Brooke gestured to the local newspaper open on the table.  “It’s reasonably priced, and vacant.  I’m concerned about its condition, but it won’t hurt to take a look at it.”

 “You don’t expect me to stay in this bumfuck town, do you?”

            Brooke spun around.  Hands dripping, she stared at her child. Maybe the cat gave Brooke the cold shoulder because she tried