“What are you suggesting? That we cut right to the divorce?”

Scott nodded. “One incision. Swift. Neat.”

Like hammer blows his words penetrated Meg’s consciousness. Her throat clogged with sudden tears, and she struggled to keep her voice even. “Is that what you want, Scott?”

Head down, he marched another thirty yards, then stopped and whirled to face her. “Want? I’ll tell you what I want. I want the girl I married.”

Anger replaced shock. “What’s that supposed to mean? Am I so awful?”

“You’re not awful.” His shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand tiredly through his hair. “You’re just…different. Meg, we started out with big dreams, and, hey, we’ve even achieved a lot of them.”

“But apparently they didn’t buy happiness.”

“That doesn’t mean they can’t, does it?”

“That’s up to you,” she said.

Laying his hand on her shoulder, he sought her eyes with his. “No, Meg. It takes two of us. But is there any us left?”

Dear Reader,

In most of my previous books, setting has been an important element. I’ve enjoyed researching various areas of the country and discovering how my characters not only belong in their particular environments but are molded by them.

This story, however, could take place anywhere in suburban America. The landscape is not one made up of mountains and rivers or rolling farmland. Rather, it is the territory of family.

Often when we think of romance, we envision the thrill of attraction and courtship or dewy-eyed newlyweds walking dreamily into an everlasting sunset. Yet the most enduring love stories are not always pretty. Sometimes it is not until a relationship is tested in the crucible of real-life crises that a genuine, lasting understanding of love and commitment is forged. This, then, is a love story that unfolds in the most important place of all—within a marriage.

In Second Honeymoon, Meg and Scott Harper are not unlike many of us who face the challenges of work commitments, child rearing, social obligations, community involvement and responsibility for extended family. As life grows more complicated, Scott buries himself in work, Meg devotes herself to their children and, along the way, they forget that marriage is a lifelong effort and that love can never be taken for granted. Bur where there is a spark, there can be fire. I hope you’ll enjoy discovering how Scott and Meg learn to tend the flame.

Laura Abbot

P.S. I enjoy hearing reader comments. You may write me at P.O. Box 373, Eureka Springs, AR 72632, or access the Superromance authors’ Web site, www.SuperAuthors.com.

Second Honeymoon
Laura Abbot

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my tolerant, accepting and loving daughters-in-law,

Lailan and Lynne.

Thank you for being such blessings to me and our family.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

Tulsa, Oklahoma

Early September

WHEN THE AUDITORIUM LIGHTS flickered, Meg Harper twisted around in her seat, scanning the latecomers straggling in the door. Where was Scott? He’d promised her. Promised their son. She glanced at her watch. Two more minutes.

The seat beside her remained conspicuously empty, but what else was new? She watched other children’s parents—other children’s fathers—scurry to find seats before the program began. Meg faced the front again, her eyes darting to the stage where in a few moments Justin would lead the Pledge of Allegiance. Her manicured nails bit into the flesh of her palms. She didn’t ask much of her husband, but Scott should be here supporting his son, and later accompanying her to the classrooms for the middle-school open house.

She craned her neck toward the door again. Her tennis partner, Jannie Farrell, and her lanky, absentminded husband, Ron, scuttled in just as the lights dimmed, leaving behind a deserted lobby. Meg’s jaw tightened in anticipation of Scott’s apology. Sorry, babe, something came up at the last minute. As if his son were a mere afterthought to some business deal. In all honesty, she hadn’t expected Scott to show up. But that didn’t make her disappointment any less painful or quell the childhood memories of all the times she’d searched the audience for the father she knew would never come, the father buried in the cemetery on the hill.

The balding principal stepped up to the podium, greeted the assembled parents and uttered the usual platitudes about the school year getting off to a great start. When he finished, he introduced Justin, who strutted with his athlete’s swagger toward the microphone, his baggy khakis bunching at his ankles, pretty much obscuring the new Nikes he’d insisted on wearing. “Please stand and join me in the Pledge,” he croaked into the mike.

As the crowd stood, Meg moved to the left for a clear view of her son, his spiked black hair, so like Scott’s, gleaming in the spotlight; his tall, skinny body braced at attention. He looked angelic, a far cry from the mouthy thirteen-year-old who, only an hour ago, had resisted wearing the freshly-ironed dress shirt she’d laid out for him. He’d held it up as if it were some odious life-form. “This is nerdy! I suppose you think I’m wearing a tie, too.” After a brief battle, they’d achieved a compromise. The shirt, yes. The tie, no.

Yet watching him now, seriously intoning the Pledge of Allegiance, she could almost believe that one day he’d grow into a responsible young adult.

As the audience sat back down, Meg felt a tap on her shoulder. Her neighbor Carrie Morrison leaned forward. “Justin did great,” she whispered. Then came the infuriating question Meg had heard all too often in the past several months: “Where’s Scott?”

WHEN SCOTT PULLED his SUV into the garage of their two-story Tudor-style house, he noted Meg’s missing Lexus. He slumped over the wheel. Hell. The middle-school open house. He buried his head in his hands, as if that act would both absolve his oversight and wipe away the exhaustion riddling his nerves. It would be only a matter of minutes before Meg returned and recited the litany of her complaints: his thoughtlessness, his forgetfulness, his self-absorption, his selfish disregard for her, his willingness to sacrifice his family on the altar of his ambition. He’d heard it all. And then some.

What was it about his goals she didn’t understand? She had no concept of the pressure he was under at the agency or how responsible he felt for his employees. Beyond that, didn’t she know that the reason he worked so hard was to support her and the kids in the lifestyle to which they’d grown all too accustomed?

Wearily, he picked up his briefcase and headed into the house, which was for once blessedly quiet. He set down the case and loosened his tie while he sorted through the mail—all of it bills, except for the monthly country-club newsletter and a cruise brochure from his university alumni association. It was no mystery why the brochure was prominently displayed instead of thrown in the trash. Meg’s suggestions that he needed a break had become tiresome. She kept pointedly reminding him that the Farrells took annual trips, just the two of them.

He slung his suit jacket and tie over the kitchen bar stool, grabbed a beer from the fridge and plopped down on the family-room sofa, foraging under the cushions for the TV remote. Tuning into the replay of a golf tournament, he took a swig of beer and rested his head against the sofa back. He felt burdened by challenges on all sides. The Atkisson project had hit a huge snag, John Miller’s sudden resignation had left the firm perilously shorthanded and there was the unsettlingly provocative behavior of his colleague Brenda Sampson. On the home front, he and Meg couldn’t have a simple conversation without its deteriorating into an argument. The subject didn’t matter. Child-rearing practices, social obligations, current events, the household budget. The list of triggers was never-ending.

Hoisting his beer, he watched Phil Mickelson sink a putt, then chugged half the can. As for sex? What was that? Either he was too tired, Meg was too tired or one of them was angry with the other. Would a cruise change that? Or would it just put a further dent in their savings? A romantic getaway was idle speculation, anyway, because he couldn’t afford to take time off from the advertising agency he and his partner, Wes Williams, had built from small capital and big dreams.

Meg needed to get a grip. His eyes swept across their expensive furnishings and decorative accessories. Did she think the good fairy made all of this possible? Just once he’d like a little appreciation.

Over the sound of the golf commentator, he heard a car door slam, followed by the front door opening. “I’m home,” his fifteen-year-old daughter, Hayley, shouted.

“In here,” Scott said.

“Where’s Mom?” Hayley looked around the room.

Who was he? A giant dust bunny?

“She’s at your brother’s school open house.”

“Ha! I can’t wait to hear what the teachers said about dork boy.”

“Is that any way to talk about your brother?”

She flopped in the armchair, her low-rise jeans revealing an expanse of bare flesh that caused him to gnash his teeth. She and all her friends made themselves fair game for every horny punk in the county. How often had he heard, Chill out, Dad, it’s the style?

“He needs to get a clue. Sports are all he’s got going for him. It’s sure not his grades.”

Scott tried to conceal his disappointment, but he had to acknowledge Hayley was right. His son wasn’t much of a student. Still, boys often lagged behind academically, or so he’d been told. “Hey, why don’t you try looking on the bright side for a change?”

Tugging on her thick, dark French braid, she gave a wry grin. “There is one?”

Sibling rivalry. Some things never changed. “Of course. Without Justin, you’d be an only child.”

“I wish!”

Scott decided to ignore that response. “Where have you been?”

“Cheerleading practice, then at Jill’s for supper.”

“Where’s your homework?”

“I finished it at school.”

He didn’t know whether to believe her, but until her grades dropped, he’d have to trust her. Lately she’d become more uncommunicative. Typical teenager behavior? Or something more?

She stood, her navel exposed in all its questionable glory. “Gotta call Jill. See you later.” She took the stairs to her room two at a time.

He shook his head. Why would she have to call Jill? She’d just been with her. A few seconds later, his tranquility was shattered by the reverberations of music—or what passed for it—blasting from Hayley’s CD player.

The half hour chimed on the hallway grandfather clock. Nine-thirty. Meg should be home soon. Would she be accusatory or icily stony?

Did it matter? They’d already discussed the S word. Separation. He didn’t know what had happened to the connection they used to have, the dreams they’d shared. They’d been so good together, once. There’d been a time when he couldn’t wait to get home from work. Now? They were hardly more than a habit to each other. And not a particularly pleasant one, either.

He missed their old closeness, but couldn’t begin to put his finger on when things had started to go south. The kids were the glue that kept them together. But at what cost?

Although he’d never imagined it would come to this, he had to admit the prospect of some time apart held a certain appeal.

But it was a big step. Maybe an irreversible one.

The whir of the garage-door opener soured his stomach. He knew that no apology, regardless of how sincere, would suffice. Meg would come in poised to take the offensive.

SCOTT IGNORED Meg’s withering gaze and went straight to his son, clapping an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, buddy, sorry I couldn’t be there tonight. How’d it go?”

Justin stiffened. “Good.”

Scott winced. Increasingly, Justin limited his responses to monosyllables. “Were you nervous?”

“Come on, Dad, everybody knows the Pledge. It was no big deal.”

Scott wanted to disagree. Justin needed as much affirmation as he could get. The big deal was being selected in the first place. “It was to me. I’m proud of you, son.”

Justin wriggled out of his embrace and grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry. Scott strained to hear his muttered words, which sounded ominously like “If you’re so proud, why weren’t you there?”

Meg shot him a scathing look as if echoing their son’s question, then picked up the phone and turned her back on him. Justin carried the chips into the family room, where he collapsed on the sofa, gangly legs splayed. Scott stood in the middle of the kitchen, abandoned. Persona non grata in his own home. Meg’s falsely cheerful voice rang in his ears as she called a list of soccer parents to inform them of a change of playing field.

Scott’s stomach growled, and he moved to the refrigerator, rummaging for cold cuts. He’d skipped dinner and was suddenly ravenous. He slathered two pieces of bread with honey mustard, unearthed a limp leaf of lettuce and a single slice of Swiss cheese and slapped the sandwich together. Meg glanced up, her brow furrowed, and mouthed, “I could’ve done that.” Wonderful. Now, on top of everything else, he had to feel guilty for making his own dinner.

He grabbed another beer and took his meal into the family room where he settled in his recliner, aware of the jarring sounds of both his son’s action movie and Hayley’s stereo. Chewing the sandwich, he thought about asking whether Justin had any homework, but why add to his troubles? Justin would be resentful and Meg irritated that he didn’t trust her to oversee their son.

Meg carried the phone with her as she paced back and forth in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. Between her chirpy voice and the clang of silverware, he longed for his earlier solitude.

He’d just finished his sandwich when Meg entered the room, phone held between her chin and shoulder, and stood behind the sofa. “Justin, did you finish the notes for your oral book report?”

He stared at the TV. “Yeah.”

She gave her son a you-better-be-telling-the-truth glance before strolling back to the kitchen. “I know, I know,” she clucked, “that coach just seems to have it in for our boys.”

Scott rolled his eyes. Women micromanaging sports. It didn’t seem right. Scott faced Justin. “What book did you read?”

“Huh?”

“For your book report.”

“I dunno. Everybody’s reading different books. Mine’s something about a dog.”

Before he could inquire further, Hayley came pounding down the stairs. “Mo-om, you’ve gotta help me.” She dashed past Scott holding a tiny piece of fabric. “Mo-om!” she repeated.

“She’s on the phone,” Scott said, to no effect.

“Look. The zipper on my cheerleader skirt broke. You’ve gotta fix it. It’s our uniform for tomorrow night’s game.”

Scott heard Meg mumbling a hasty goodbye before hanging up the phone. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve gotta have it.” Hayley was wringing her hands. “It’s required.”

Scott ambled into the kitchen. “You could explain the problem to your sponsor.”

“Oh, right, like that would do any good.” Ignoring him, she appealed to her mom. “Can’t you do something?”

Meg’s shoulders slumped and Scott noticed the dark shadows beneath her eyes. For a fleeting second, he thought about reaching out to her.

“I’ll run over to Wal-Mart and get a new zipper,” Meg said.

“Can you finish it by morning?”

Meg’s lips were set in a thin line. “I suppose I’ll have to.”

“Why?” Scott’s one-word question had a stun-gun effect on his audience. “Your mother’s tired. Not wearing your uniform for one day isn’t the end of the world.” Besides, Meg’s constant catering to the children made him feel oddly jealous.

Hayley glared at him. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. I’d rather stay home than wear something else.”

“That could be an option.”

Meg clasped her daughter around the waist, and the result was a solid line of defense against which he was powerless. “She needs her skirt. I’ll take care of this.”

Hayley gave her mom a quick hug and started from the room. “Just a minute, young lady.” Scott felt adrenaline pumping. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

“What?”

“You could thank your mother.”

“Oh. Sorry, Mom. Thanks.” As she brushed past him, she muttered, “Satisfied?”

He wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Not with Hayley, consumed by her own self-importance; not with Justin, a lazy, indifferent student; and not with Meg, who always put the children’s needs above everything else.

And what about himself? He obviously wasn’t doing so well in any aspect of his life except for his business. Little wonder that was where he invested his time and energy.

Meg scowled at him. “Do you have to be so hard on everybody? You hurt Justin tonight. Your absence sent a big signal. And Hayley is required to wear her uniform. If you spent a little time around here, you might actually begin to learn the lay of the land.” She picked up her purse and fished out her car keys. “I’ll be back in half an hour. Don’t wait up. The sewing project will take a while.” The door leading to the garage closed abruptly and she was gone.

If it wasn’t the sewing project keeping her from their bed, it would be baking cookies for teacher-appreciation day or assigning the pairings for the ladies’ golf event at the club. Any handy excuse.

When he passed through the family room on his way to their first-floor master-bedroom suite, he noticed Justin had already gone upstairs, leaving the television blaring. Scott turned it off, dimmed the lights and continued, head down, toward the bedroom. As sexual evasions went, wifely headaches were passé. Now Little League, PTA, the golf association and kowtowing to the kids served just as effectively.

He couldn’t remember the last time he and Meg had made love.

Sadly, he wasn’t sure he cared.

MEG LAY ON HER BACK coaxing sleep, yet unable to turn off her brain. She needed to quiz Justin on his spelling words at breakfast, call the upholstery shop about the fabric for the dining-room chairs, retrieve her cocktail dress from the cleaners before the country-club dance this coming Saturday, and then she had to find time to go to the supermarket. She closed her eyes, mentally composing a grocery list.

Beside her, Scott sprawled on his back, one knee drawn up, the sheet tangled around his legs. His gentle snoring used to comfort her. Now it punctuated her dissatisfaction. She glanced over at him—his dark hair against the white pillow, his strong chin, now lightly stubbled, his muscled chest tapering to a trim waist. One hand lay close to her hip. There was a time she would have picked it up and held it until she fell asleep. As she was often reminded by teasing friends, he was a handsome man. A charming, attractive man. She was so lucky, they told her. Earlier in their marriage she would’ve agreed. But now?

That train of thought led her not to Scott but to Jannie and Ron Farrell. Ron hadn’t missed the school open house tonight. On the contrary, not only had he made it, but the way he’d ushered Jannie through the halls, one hand at the small of her back, his head tilted to smile at her as if she were the only person in the corridor, said all kinds of things about his dedication to her and to his kids. There was a special glow about the two of them that set them apart. Like her and Scott, the Farrells were coming up on their twentieth wedding anniversary. Yet they still acted like honeymooners.

In contrast, she and Scott could hardly say two words to each other without getting into an argument. He was always so sure he was right. If he had his way, the children would live in a domestic boot camp. So what if she was busy? Hadn’t that been what Scott had wanted when he’d started his firm? It was primarily about contacts, he’d said. Well, she’d done her part, meeting all kinds of potential clients in the various organizations to which she belonged. And what thanks did she get? A husband who spent nearly every waking hour with business associates and couldn’t be bothered to help out in domestic crises. She squeezed her eyes shut. Good grief, I sound like the poster girl for self-pity.

She didn’t know who had been more hurt tonight by Scott’s absence—her or Justin. Oh, Justin didn’t want to let on. “No big deal,” he’d said. But his downcast eyes and silence in the car on the drive home had spoken volumes. She knew how he felt. Even though it was years ago, she remembered with painful clarity her humiliation at the Girl Scout father-daughter banquet. She’d sat red-faced, the only girl without a father, wondering how he could have just up and died before she ever really knew him.

Scott’s failure to come to the open house tonight was the final link in a long chain of disappointments. This was no marriage. The kids deserved better—and so did she.

Yet the prospect of separation terrified her. That was one step closer to divorce. What would that mean for the kids? For her? Was it what she really wanted?

But the reality was that she and Scott couldn’t continue on as they were. Living in an armed camp was no kind of life for any of them.

She flipped her pillow over, then lay back down, forcing herself to remember the good times, those heady days long ago when the mere sight of Scott could stop her breath, and the many nights they’d spent wrapped in each other’s arms, when they’d lose track of time, so insistent was their need for each other. That all seemed eons ago. Some other life.

A single tear moistened Meg’s cheek, and unrelieved tension stiffened her body.

When had romance faded to familiarity? And familiarity to contempt?

Silently she wept for what used to be. And for the inevitability of what was to come.

FRIDAY MORNING Justin groaned, then rolled over, burrowing his head under his pillow and ignoring the patter of his favorite disc jockey on the clock radio. He didn’t move, dreading his mother’s customary “Justin, are you up?” and then he heard her calling up the stairs. Well, she could yell all she wanted. He wasn’t moving. His stomach hurt. Big-time.

He didn’t have a soccer game today, so what did it matter if he stayed home from school? Mom would be running all her errands and going to meetings and stuff, so he could hang out watching TV and trying to get to the next level in his Nintendo game. Those other suckers could go to class. Take the stupid math test. Present their stupid oral book reports.

His stomach tensed as he remembered his father questioning him about his book. Dad would kill him if he found out he hadn’t read past the first two chapters.

“Justin?” His mother’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. Then she was standing in his doorway. “Get up. You’ll be late.”

He moaned for effect. “I’m sick.”

She approached the bed. “Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”

“I have a stomachache.”

“Is there a bug going around at school?”

Heck if he knew, but he glommed on to the excuse. “Uh, yeah. A bunch of kids went home yesterday.” He didn’t know if that was true, but it probably happened almost any day.

His mother placed a cool hand on his forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever. Are you nauseated?”

Crap. He didn’t want to think about throwing up and the grotty taste afterward. “No, it’s more like a pain.”

His mother sat on his bed looking worried. “Is it on the right side?”

Jeez, he wasn’t angling for an appendectomy. He just wanted to stay home.

“No, it’s kinda all over.” He scrunched up his face, hoping she’d figure he was in agony.

Just when he thought he had her convinced, she put on one of those mother looks, like she could see straight through him. “I’ll tell you what. Get dressed and come downstairs. Try to eat something. Then we’ll see.”

He hated it when she said, “We’ll see.” That almost always meant no.

“You’ve worked so hard on your book report. I don’t want you to miss school today.”

“I’m not supposed to give my report until next week.” She didn’t look convinced. He tried one last ploy. “What if I go to school and puke?”

“I’ll come get you.”

Great. Now he’d have to take the dumb math test and worry about how to fake his book report in a few days. If his dad knew his current grade in English was a D, he’d flip.

But what else was new? Everything in his life was off track. The coach had moved him from goalie to center, his grades were in the toilet, his father was never around and when he was, all he did was criticize him. But Dad wasn’t the Lone Ranger. Both his parents nagged all the time. And argued with each other. He was sick of it. Some days he wondered why they’d gotten married in the first place. If that’s what love was like, no question about it—he’d stay a bachelor his whole life.

He closed his eyes. That might be okay. Yeah, he’d be a big-league pitcher or a pro soccer player and have lots of blond girlfriends with big boobs. But he wouldn’t have to marry any of them. Ever.

“Now, young man. Up.”

His mother ripped off the sheet, leaving him exposed. Thank God he didn’t have an early-morning boner. But that was the only good thing about the day so far.

SATURDAY EVENING Meg sat at the linen-covered table, nursing a gin and tonic, listening to the Earl Hines Orchestra and trying to muster a smile for Ward Jordan seated to her right. He and his inane wife, Melody, were their guests for the country-club dance. More importantly, they were potential clients. Meg bent forward to hear the punch line of Ward’s joke, finding it in questionable taste but managing to keep her mouth shut. Scott had come a long way. The chain of department stores the Jordans owned was well known locally. Now they were expanding throughout the Southwest, and Scott’s firm was bidding for the ad campaign. Meg sighed. More work, more travel for Scott.

His success and their affluence were a mixed blessing. Growing up with her hardworking, widowed mother in a cramped house on the wrong side of town she could never have imagined all the luxuries her marriage provided—stylish clothes, exclusive memberships, a lovely decorator home. She should’ve been satisfied. But something was missing.

She glanced over Ward Jordan’s head to see Scott steering Melody around the dance floor. The petite redhead had flung back her head to laugh up at Scott, who towered above her. They were flirting. Meg felt a pang of jealousy. Scott had that effect on women and he capitalized on his charm. Once, she’d been secure in his love and had found such innocent flirtation amusing. Not anymore.

Back then, there’d been no Brenda Sampson to worry about. Scott claimed his creative director maintained her professional distance, that her easy familiarity was simply a result of their working closely together. Brenda was a knockout—a big-boned Scandinavian blonde, comfortable with her own sexuality. Of course, she and Scott needed to stay late some evenings to work. Or… Meg shook her head impatiently. She didn’t want to think about it. She had enough problems without the disturbing mental picture that had just popped into her head. She paused, considering her choice of words. Disturbing because it highlighted yet another flaw in their marriage? Or because the image left a sudden emptiness in her chest?

Around her she heard a smattering of applause for the band. Scott escorted Melody to the table and helped her into her chair. Then he put a hand on Meg’s shoulder. “Dance?”

The band had segued into a slow number. Scott ushered her onto the floor and took her in his arms. He danced just as he did everything else—smoothly. He held her close, seemingly preoccupied. “How do you think it’s going?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the table.

“I have no idea. I’m doing my part, though.”

“You always do.” He whirled her around, then leaned closer. “I appreciate it. You’re a great asset.”

Wonderful. Just the sweet nothing every woman hopes to hear. Didn’t he understand she wanted to be his beloved, his everything? Not a business asset. Not just his housekeeper and the mother of his children. She ground her teeth in frustration. She ached for love and affirmation, knowing it was asking too much to expect romance. She longed to feel like an interesting, desirable woman again.

She stared, unseeing, over his shoulder at the kaleidoscope of moving colors. Twenty years. Simultaneously, it seemed like forever and a mere blip on the radar screen of her life.

When Scott nuzzled her cheek with his chin, she could hardly hold back the tears. She used to feel special in his arms, used to snuggle closer, teasing him with the pressure of her breasts against his chest. Suddenly, he dropped his hands and moved past her. “Lloyd, you son of a gun, good to see you,” he said, and he was off, schmoozing with a former client. Almost as an afterthought he turned to her and, encircling her waist, included her in the conversation.

Meg surreptitiously consulted the diamond watch Scott had given her last Christmas, a gift that had felt more like a payoff than a sentimental gesture. Another hour and a half to go. Somehow she would survive. But when they got home, it was time for a serious talk.

SCOTT ROLLED UP the sleeves of his dress shirt, fixed himself a brandy, then sat down in the family room, like the proverbial condemned prisoner awaiting his executioner. Meg had gone upstairs to change and check on the kids. On the way home from the country club she’d uttered the words no husband welcomed: We need to talk. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Why now, for God’s sake? He was on the brink of exhaustion.

After midnight there was no one to interrupt them, no phone call to distract her, no reason for him to hurry back to the office. Reluctantly, he acknowledged that they needed to settle some things. They couldn’t live in limbo indefinitely. Yet he couldn’t ignore the fear in the pit of his stomach.

He braced himself when Meg came into the room, her feet bare, her thin nightgown covered by an old chenille bathrobe she’d had since she was pregnant with Hayley. Her security blanket?

He lifted his glass. “Can I get you something?”

She shook her head, then took a seat in the big armchair, tucking her feet under her. She wrapped her arms around her chest and peered around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Or the last. His heart plummeted.

That was exactly where they were in their relationship. “So?” he finally said. “Talk.”

“What are we going to do? I don’t know about you, but I can’t go on like this, just coexisting in the same house. Wearing a phony smile in public.”

“Are you that unhappy?”

She glanced up. “Aren’t you?”

He thought about her question. About his feelings of entrapment and the weight of overwhelming expectations. “What happened to us?”

She shrugged. “We’ve been over everything more times than I care to count. Is there any point in rehashing it?”

“Do you want us to go back to Dr. Jacobs?” Scott knew he was clutching at straws. The marriage counselor had identified some of their problems, but had been of little real help. Whose fault that was, Scott didn’t want to think about. “Or find someone else?”

“We’re far beyond that.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

Her eyes held sadness. “A trial separation.”

Before, he’d always sensed that their discussions about separating had been rhetorical. The brandy warming his stomach turned to acid. “You’re serious?”

“I need some space.”

She needed space? Terrific.

“I’d hate to move the kids. Maybe you could rent an apartment.”

So he was supposed to pack his things and go merrily off into the night? Anger radiated through his body. Why him? Why not her? Oh, right, moving out was what spurned husbands did. One last measure of gallantry. He stood up and paced to the hearth, then turned to face her. “You expect me to make other living arrangements, just like that? And what are you proposing we tell the kids?”

“What we’ve already talked about. That we need some time to step back and figure out where we’re going.” She lifted her chin. “You don’t imagine they’re oblivious to the tension between us, do you?”

“No.” His gut curled in on itself. “When?”

“As soon as your parents leave.”

He groaned. He’d all but forgotten their upcoming visit, meant to coincide with his and Meg’s twentieth anniversary the very next weekend. Tulsa was one of his parents’ first stops on what they were calling their “big adventure.” They’d sold their house in Nashville and bought a huge motor home and were embarking on a two-year odyssey across the country.

“Are you suggesting we put on the happy-family front while they’re here?” He knew his parents better than that. They’d spot the act from a hundred feet away. His mother, who had been cool to Meg early in their relationship, might even utter the dreaded words I told you so.

“We could try. At least until we talk with the kids. Then I guess we’ll need to tell your folks, too.”

Scott felt his control slipping. This conversation bordered on the surreal. “Why not cut to the chase? Do you want a divorce?”

Her cheeks reddened and she ducked her head. “I don’t know.”

Scott waved his hands helplessly. “Hell, Meg, I don’t think you have a clue what you want. But I’ll tell you one thing. I can’t handle any more stress in my life. One way or the other, we need to decide this, once and for all. I’m not interested in putting the kids through any more suffering than necessary.”

She frowned at him. “You think I am?”

Weariness overwhelmed him. “I’m tired of arguing. I’m tired of accusations. This hasn’t been a marriage for quite a while.”

“No, it’s been a business arrangement.”

He couldn’t help raising his voice. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

He felt them moving perilously close to words they might regret. “Okay. You win.” He slumped back on the sofa. “After Mom and Pops leave, I’ll find an apartment.”

“Fine.” She gathered her robe around her. “We can work out the details later. Right now, I’m going to bed.” She started toward their bedroom, then turned back. “Maybe if you struggle really hard you can remember Justin’s soccer game tomorrow. Five-thirty at the south fields.”

He didn’t even bother to reply. He might not win any Father of the Year Award, but he cared about his son. Last week, he’d entered the game in his Palm Pilot. After Meg was gone, he reached for the brandy, swirling it in the snifter as he stared into space.

Fear—and an overpowering sense of failure—slowly drove out his anger. He was facing the big unknown, financially and emotionally. Yet there was no denying he and Meg were both miserable.

But what good could come of a separation?

He downed the contents of the snifter, knowing the liquor couldn’t begin to touch the emptiness growing inside.

CHAPTER TWO

“DO YOU THINK Meg and Scott will be surprised?”

Bud Harper took his eyes off the road momentarily to glance at his wife, who was dwarfed by the leather passenger seat of their new motor home. “They will be if our grandkids have kept their mouths shut.”

“Oh, I don’t think they’d spoil it for anything. I’m so excited.” Marie practically squirmed with satisfaction. “Twenty years. Why, it seems like only yesterday that Scotty brought Meg home to meet us.”

“Remember how you thought no one would ever be good enough for your baby?”

“Scott was—and is—pretty special. But so is Meg. Even if she did take some getting used to.”

Bud let the remark pass. Over the years, the arrival of grandchildren—and geographic distance—had mellowed the relationship between the two women. “Scott works too hard,” he said, remembering their last visit to Tulsa, when his son had been frantically trying to meet a client’s unrealistic deadline.

Marie raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, I wonder where he learned that work ethic?”

“Guilty as charged,” Bud admitted, recalling the strains in their marriage when he’d been putting in eighteen-hour days to get his plumbing business up and running. “But look here.” He waved his arm expansively to indicate the interior of their rig and the open road before them. “If you wait long enough, there are compensations.”

“There always were,” his wife said, smiling fondly.

“Even as busy as I was, we had some good times. Maybe I’m an old fogy, but back then, families didn’t have the added frustration of learning how to operate all these doodads. Computers, Palm Pilots, cell phones, DVD players—it’s enough to boggle the mind.” Simply figuring out all the intricacies of the motor home had been enough to tax his ingenuity and patience.

But now there were months of camping by rushing mountain streams to look forward to. No schedules. No obligations. Time for the two of them at last. He and Marie had dreamed of this trip for years. She had boxes filled with articles and photos she’d clipped from travel magazines. Lulled by the hum of the powerful engine, he mentally ticked off some of their destinations: Yellowstone Park, Bryce and Zion canyons, Crater Lake, Vancouver Island. And that was only the first leg of the journey.

Hearing the comforting click of Marie’s knitting needles, he thought back to the first time he’d ever seen her at his marine buddy’s wedding. A little bit of a thing in a picture hat and flouncy bridesmaid gown. Summer of 1957. He’d taken one look and made an instant decision. Sidling up to the groom, he’d asked Marie’s name and then announced, “That’s the girl I’m going to marry.” And, by God, he had. From that day on, he’d never had a single regret.

They’d spent last night in Memphis and done the Graceland tour. He wasn’t a big fan of the King, but he’d never let on. Marie still listened to Elvis CDs, and he had to admit the songs restored an era for him.

West of Little Rock, Highway 40 ran in gentle ups and downs along the Arkansas River. Soon they’d roll into Oklahoma and catch the turnpike to Tulsa.

“Only two more days. I hope our little surprise works out,” Marie said. “It’s hard planning things long distance.”

He patted her knee. “Everything will be fine. I’ve never known anything you organized to bomb.”

She blushed. A seventy-two-year-old woman, still capable of enjoying a compliment and still as beautiful, wrinkles and all, as the first day he’d laid eyes on her.

He was a lucky man.

THURSDAY AFTERNOON Justin got off the school bus, flipped the bird at Sam Grider, then glared at the departing vehicle, choking on the noxious exhaust fumes. He’d had it with that guy’s bullying. Sam had ragged on him unmercifully for his stupid oral book report in English. “Whatsa matter, Harper? Can’t ya read? That’s not how the story ends, dork.”

Whether Mrs. Kelly, his English teacher, knew that or not, she sure did when Grider got finished. Even now, remembering the snickers and stares of his classmates, Justin reddened. Crap. He hated Grider, he hated books, he hated school. Actually, he hated his whole lousy life.

Which was about to get worse. Thrusting his hand in his pocket, he fingered the note that would probably get him grounded for a month. Mrs. Kelly had kept him after class, her steely gray eyes boring into him. “Justin, I’m extremely disappointed in you.” Then she’d written the note informing his parents that not only had he not finished the book, he’d “prevaricated”—Jeez, who talked like that in real life?—a form of cheating she found a “serious breach of morality.”

In other words, he’d screwed up royally.

He wondered briefly what would happen if he threw the note away. But Mrs. Kelly had asked him to have his parents sign it and return it to her. Ha! If he lived long enough after his father got through with him.

The only thing that might save his bacon was that his grandparents were coming that afternoon. Maybe his dad wouldn’t make a big stink in front of them. Or maybe his grandfather would remember some ancient story about a time when the perfect Scott Harper had actually messed up. Fat chance!

Out of the blue, an idea came to him. Tomorrow was Friday. He could tell Mrs. Kelly his parents hadn’t been home to sign the note, that he’d have it for her Monday. Lots of things could happen between now and then. Especially if his parents were pleased with the surprise.

He scuffed his toe against the curb, then started slowly for home. He had a feeling they wouldn’t be pleased. Not when they barely even talked to each other. Mom was always rolling her eyes at Dad when he was late getting home from work, and he kept telling her how important every darn business deal was. They acted like they didn’t even love each other, and it was enough to make Justin puke.

With a jolt, the familiar sick feeling punched him in the gut. He closed his eyes, holding back tears—and fear.

What if they didn’t love each other?

He crossed his fingers. The surprise just had to work.

MEG HAULED THE LAST BAG out of the grocery cart and stuffed it into the back seat of her Lexus. She glanced at her watch and swore. The Harpers would be arriving any time within the next hour and she still had to pick up Hayley at cheerleading practice, unload the groceries, marinate the steak, toss the salad and set the table. No doubt Marie, in her day, would’ve finished most of her chores by noon. Easing from the parking lot into the flow of traffic, Meg grimaced. Her mother-in-law was a wonderful person, but she was a hard act to follow and always made her feel like a Martha Stewart dropout.

Halfway to the high school, her cell phone rang. One hand on the wheel, she groped around in her purse, finally coming up with it. The caller was Jannie reminding her of their scheduled Saturday tennis game. “I’m sorry, but Scott’s parents will be here. I should’ve let you know.”

“No problem. I’ll find another game. Enjoy the in-laws.”

“I’ll try.” Meg steeled herself, wondering how on earth she could hide the state of her marriage from Scott’s parents. “They’re really nice people.”

“Right. That must explain why you get so uptight every time they come to Tulsa.”

Meg raced through an intersection on the yellow light. “I like them. But…they dote on Scott. He can do no wrong.” She could hardly restrain her sarcasm—or her sense of inadequacy.

“Ah, the golden-boy syndrome,” Jannie said knowingly.

“That about sums it up.”

“And you feel…what? Snubbed? Like you don’t measure up?”

Waves of insecurity swept over Meg, dating back to the first time she’d met the Harpers and realized no one would ever be good enough for Scott, at least in his mother’s mind. “Something like that.”

“Join the crowd, honey. But what these mamas don’t know is how happy we make their little boys, right?”

Happy? Meg controlled a snort. It was easier just to agree. Saying anything else would open the flood-gates of her emotions. “Oh, yes. What Mrs. Harper doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” The irony of her intentional double meaning brought her up short.

After setting another tennis date, Meg hung up, wondering what had happened to her sense of humor. “Mamas” and “little boys” once would’ve provoked a grin.

When she turned into the circular drive in front of the high-school gymnasium, she spotted Hayley and three other girls sitting on the concrete wall, their tanned legs swinging, talking to two young men wearing low-slung jeans and baggy shirts. Hayley hadn’t dated much, to Meg’s relief, but there was something in her expression, the high color in her cheeks, that made Meg suspect her daughter had more than a passing interest in one of these boys. Meg sighed. She wasn’t ready for the angst of teenage love. Especially with a kid who looked like a wannabe rap star.

Recognizing the car, Hayley hopped off the wall, waved at her friends and climbed in the front seat. “Who were those boys?” Meg asked as she pulled out from the school.

“Oh, just Zach Simon and some other guy in my biology class.”

“They looked like they were into you. What’s up?”

Hayley shrugged her shoulders. “There’s nothing to tell—”

Meg bought it until Hayley added, “Really.”

Acknowledging that her daughter probably wouldn’t welcome further inquiries, Meg dropped it. She glanced at the dash and realized she was speeding.

After several minutes of silence, Hayley turned to her. “When do Gramma and Grampa get here? I can’t wait to see them.”

“Not for about an hour.” Meg prayed that was true. She had too much to do in the meantime.

“Will Dad be home for dinner?”

Was Scott’s presence at the evening meal so rare that Hayley had to ask? “I certainly hope so. After all, your grandparents would be disappointed if he wasn’t.”

Meg thought she heard a catch in her daughter’s voice. “So would I.” Hayley’s mask of nonchalance slipped. In its place was—yearning?

Good Lord. How would Hayley react when she and Scott separated and she only saw her father on prearranged visits? If Scott took his role as a parent seriously.

Even as she formed that thought, she admitted it was unfair. Scott loved the kids. She’d never doubted that. But he loved his ad agency, too. And it was hard to compete with Harper Concepts. Especially when you were only fifteen.

“He’ll be there,” Meg said in a firm voice, as if emphasizing it would make it true. Hayley picked at the strap of her backpack but said nothing.

The sun was low in the sky when Meg turned onto their tree-lined street.

“What’s that thing?” Hayley asked, her tone of disgust unmistakable.

Meg followed Hayley’s gaze. There, parked in front of their third garage and taking up most of the length of their driveway, was a huge brown-and-beige motor home. Why, oh why, hadn’t there been a tie-up on the freeway, a rainstorm, anything to slow the Harpers down? No one but Justin had been home to greet them, no cooking aromas wafted from a dinner simmering on the stove, no welcome flag flew from the pole. Once again, Meg had failed the domesticity challenge.

“That’s your grandparents’ new motor home.”

“I didn’t know it would be so big.” Hayley stared incredulously. “It’s gross. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why on earth would you say that?”

“The other kids’ll laugh. Mom, it’s total senior-citizen geekdom!”

Meg stifled a giggle. The motor home did scream AARP. “Get over it. You will be gracious and accepting of your grandparents.”

Hayley gave her a mock salute. “Aye, aye, captain.” Then, to Meg’s surprise, she relented. “I’m sorry. It’s just…so big. But I do love Gramma and Grampa.”

“I know you do, honey.” Meg decided to capitalize on Hayley’s temporary good graces. “I could use your help with dinner.”

“Ask Gramma. She loves to putter in the kitchen.”

In one fell swoop, Hayley had removed herself from consideration and volunteered her grandmother—the very person whose help Meg had hoped to avoid.

But what did she deserve? Her marriage was falling apart, and now she couldn’t even pull off being a gracious hostess. Easing past the behemoth and into the garage, she muttered a silent prayer, then told her daughter, “The least you can do is help carry in the groceries.”

WHERE THE HELL was Scott? Meg’s face was a mask of good cheer, but internally she was boiling. Did she have to entertain by herself? The Harpers were his parents, after all. Somehow she’d managed to light the gas grill, and Bud and Justin were presiding over the steaks. Marie, however, had not left her side during the rest of the food preparation, inserting culinary tips into the conversation like “You’ll want to chill the salad bowls, Meg”—which necessitated rearranging the refrigerator. Hayley had willingly set the table under her grandmother’s direction, but heaven forbid the salad forks went on the inside of the dinner forks.

Meg was within minutes of serving the meal, and still there was no sign of Scott. He hadn’t even bothered to phone. Despite the awkwardness, Meg refused to make excuses for him, but Marie more than made up for that. “Scotty works so hard. I know he’ll be here as soon as he finishes whatever business he has.”

Meg bit her lip. Marie’s very words got at the heart of the problem—Scott would be home when he’d addressed his more important obligations. Only then would he be ready to face priority number two—his family.

The sliding glass door to the patio opened. Beaming, Bud raised a platter toward the women. “Behold. Best darn steaks you’ll ever put in your mouth.”

Justin followed, rubbing a hand over his stomach. “I’m starving. Can we please eat?”

Well, why not? Meg thought to herself. Let the Harpers experience what we do. Dinner without the lord and master. “Call your sister,” Meg said, and instructed Bud to set the meat on the table.

Marie readjusted the parsley around a plate of deviled eggs. Apparently Meg hadn’t even done that satisfactorily. “Surely we’re not going to eat without Scotty.”

Meg clenched her fingers. “He should be here any minute. He wouldn’t want us to let the food get cold.”

“Those steaks are perfect now, sweetheart,” Bud added, by way of support.

Marie stared wistfully out the kitchen window. “It doesn’t seem right not to wait.”

Hayley and Justin took their places at the table. “Come on, Gramma and Grampa,” Justin pleaded. “Let’s eat.”

Reluctantly Marie picked up the plate of eggs. Meg gave one last desperate look down the street before following with the salad and baked potatoes.

Fortunately, the kids kept the conversation going and, to Meg’s relief, displayed obvious pleasure in their grandparents’ visit, asking them numerous questions about the great motor-home odyssey. Hayley, especially, seemed eager to make them feel at home. Meg toyed with her salad, resentment robbing her of an appetite. How could she and Scott maintain this charade of a marriage for even one more day, much less carry off an anniversary? And when would they have the opportunity to make the decisions so vital to their future? Find time to communicate those decisions to their children and the Harpers? First, though, before anything could happen, Scott had to appear.

As if her thoughts had conjured him up, she heard the garage door open, followed by the sound of a car pulling in.

“That must be Scotty.” Marie nearly knocked her chair over, bounding up to greet her son. Bud rose, too, but the kids went right on eating.

From her seat, Meg watched Scott embrace his parents, then heard him apologize for being late. “…last-minute changes the creative director needed to go over.” Meg flinched. Brenda Sampson. It figured.

“It’s good to have you here,” Scott said as he accompanied his parents back to the dining room, false heartiness apparent in his conciliatory gestures. “Sorry, honey,” he mumbled, resting a hand on Meg’s shoulder. “Kids, I’m glad you didn’t wait. I’ll bet you were hungry.”

“Starving,” Justin said, helping himself to a second steak.

Hayley pointed to her brother’s plate. “Too much red meat isn’t good for you.”

“At least I’m not a picky eater, like you.”

“Children,” Meg admonished.

Somehow Meg endured the rest of the dinner, watching stoically as Marie and Bud hung on Scott’s every word about the Jordan department-store account.

At one point, Marie leaned over, and, eyes glowing, asked Meg, “Aren’t you proud of your husband?”

Even as Meg reluctantly murmured, “Yes,” she had to admit that in some ways she was proud of his accomplishments. But why did she have to play second fiddle? Why couldn’t she feel as important to him as his new accounts?

Between the main course and dessert, Bud tapped on his wineglass. “I have an announcement to make.”

Hayley and Justin made eye contact as knowing grins formed on their faces. Meg went on alert. Her children were seldom in cahoots.

“Saturday, you two—” he nodded at Scott and Meg “—will celebrate a milestone twenty years of marriage, and if you don’t have anything special planned…”

Meg was overcome with bitterness. Anything special? Just a separation. Is that special enough?

“…Marie, Hayley, Justin and I have arranged to take you to dinner at the country club to celebrate.”

Scott caught Meg’s eye briefly as if to say “Don’t ruin this for them.” Then he said, “Mom, Pops, that’s really not necessary.”

“Nonsense,” Marie interrupted. “We are so proud of this wonderful family you’ve created. You’re both busy, talented people who somehow manage to keep the spark alive. That needs to be celebrated.”

Meg, cheeks flaming, nearly choked as she responded, “That’s very generous of you.”

What she was really thinking was that, unbelievably, she and Scott had his parents fooled. For the moment, anyway.

EXHAUSTED, SCOTT FINISHED brushing his teeth, turned out the bathroom light and made his way to bed where Meg was already sleeping—or pretending to—her back to him, one arm tucked under her pillow. There’d been no opportunity to talk with her, to apologize for being late. Not that he could have convincingly explained what had detained him. She wouldn’t care. Especially if his reason involved Brenda. And it did.

He should’ve been home to greet his parents. He could have called. But cowardly as it was, he hadn’t wanted to hear Meg’s nagging accusations; he was harboring more than enough guilt himself. On the drive home, he’d second-guessed his motives. Could his conversation with Brenda have waited until tomorrow? Not if they wanted to get the logo redesign ready for Monday’s pitch to the Jordans. Brenda had needed an immediate decision. They couldn’t afford to blow this deal—it was the firm’s big chance to nail a high-profile client.

He lay on his back, head cradled on his hands, willing sleep to come. Moonlight striped the far wall. He heard muffled movements above as his parents prepared for bed. He’d been glad to see them—and grateful for their presence, buffering him from Meg’s hostility. Lately it seemed most of his conversations with her centered on his apologizing. For what? Making a living? Seeking success?

Childish though it might be, he had basked in the approval in his mother’s eyes as he told about the possibility of getting the Jordan account. But lying there, he knew it wasn’t her approval he craved.

It was Meg’s.

He turned on his side, studying the curves of his wife’s body, one bared shoulder creamy against the soft green blanket. He raised a hand to trace the indentation of her waist, the rise of her hip, but stopped himself, knowing she would tense under his touch.

He desperately needed to bury himself in her, to leave behind all his macho bluster and immerse himself mindlessly in her love and acceptance. To lose the public Scott Harper in an explosion of pure lust—and intimacy.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Hadn’t happened in a long time. Meg didn’t want him. The sooner he came to grips with that reality, the better. But it hurt. And made him feel more vulnerable than he’d ever thought possible.

BUD JERKED AWAKE, the elbow to his ribs an urgent summons. “What?”

“You’re snoring again. Roll over,” Marie said, pushing gently against his shoulder.

“Okay,” he mumbled, sorry he’d disturbed her, but equally sorry she’d disturbed him. He’d been having a great dream about playing baseball for some high-school team. “Bud, Bud, he’s our man,” the crowd had chanted. Made him feel good. Young.

But now he was wide awake, while beside him Marie quickly settled back into the sleep of the dead. She could do that. Fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Didn’t seem fair. He’d probably be awake for hours now. Especially since he was unaccustomed to this strange bed.

Around him the house was silent except for the periodic cycling of the air conditioner. Tomorrow they’d be going to watch Justin play soccer in the afternoon, and then to the football game where Hayley was cheering. Good kids, both of ’em. A bit spoiled, though. They hadn’t even volunteered to clear the table, much less do the dishes. Maybe they did have homework, as they’d claimed, but while he’d been getting ready for bed, he’d heard Hayley chattering on the phone, and not about school assignments.

After dinner he’d talked with each of the grandkids privately. They’d both assured him they hadn’t spilled the beans and that their parents knew nothing about the anniversary surprise. Justin, though, had mentioned something that worried Bud. “Grampa, I don’t know if our surprise will help.” When Bud pressed him for an explanation, Justin had shuffled his feet and said, “Never mind.”

Bud propped himself up on a second pillow to alleviate a touch of heartburn. He replayed his grandson’s remark. Not that Scott and Meg wouldn’t like the surprise but that it wouldn’t help. Help what?

In the calm of the night, he reflected on their arrival. No Scott. Meg determinedly pleasant. Her careful avoidance of the issue of Scott’s lateness. Almost as if she didn’t expect him for dinner.

And what about Scott? When he’d finally shown up, he’d been the charming host, asking them all the right questions, entertaining them with his story of wooing the Jordan account.

Bud sat up and burped, relieving some of the pressure in his chest, then lay back down. The missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Meg. Scott had touched her rather perfunctorily on his return, but they hadn’t addressed any conversation to each other. Certainly, they hadn’t exchanged any of those silent, loving glances married couples use as romantic shorthand.

A sense of foreboding caused Bud to roll over on his side and cuddle Marie close. Not Meg and Scott. Surely it was just his imagination.

They’d been too polite, too reserved, too distant. What was the word he was searching for? Too unnatural. He tried to relax, tucking Marie’s head into the crook of his neck. Even her nearness failed to ease his worries. He had the strongest sense that something was wrong between Meg and his son.

And whatever the something was, he could only pray that the long-planned anniversary surprise would help. He wished Justin thought so, too.

What did the boy know that he didn’t?

CHAPTER THREE

SATURDAYS WERE ALWAYS HECTIC in the Harper household. If Scott didn’t have a golf game, he usually spent part of the day working. Justin’s athletic schedule frequently underwent last-minute changes and Hayley often came home from a Friday-night sleepover exhausted and moody. Meg longed for that impossible luxury—an entire day free of carpooling, errands and social obligations. But it wasn’t happening today. Oh, no, their twentieth anniversary had dawned with Marie’s sudden demand for a hair appointment.

Getting her in with Giorgio had not been easy. Now Meg owed him big-time—he’d been appalled that his client actually expected him, stylist extraordinaire, to set Marie’s hair on rollers. Shortly after returning from the hairdresser’s, Meg had heard an anguished cry from Hayley. Upon investigating, she’d discovered her daughter, horrified expression on her face, staring out her bedroom window overlooking the front yard. “See, Mom, I told you it was embarrassing!” Gathered on the lawn were several neighborhood teenage boys examining the motor home. Justin, with the flair of a carnival barker, was pointing out the features of the oversize vehicle.

“Maybe they think it’s cool.”

Hayley snorted, then grinned. “In some alternate universe.”

Unbelievably, Scott had made it to both Justin’s soccer game yesterday and Hayley’s football game. This morning he’d slipped out of the house for a round of golf with Bud without a mention of their anniversary.

Fresh from a late-afternoon shower, Meg stood in the doorway of her closet studying her choices of party apparel. Darned if she’d wear the black chiffon Scott liked. No, she needed something flamboyant, in-your-face. Something to make a statement about her independence. She pulled out an electric-blue cocktail suit with a magenta silk shell. The short, hip-hugging skirt made her feel halfway sexy, and the color would bring out the blue of her eyes. This could be her last anniversary observance, so she might as well go down with all flags flying.

She’d just finished applying her makeup when she heard Scott return from his game. Fleetingly, she wondered what he was feeling today. Had he spent any time remembering the small college chapel where they’d exchanged vows? The way they couldn’t wait to escape the reception in their haste to get to the hotel? Had he recalled how passionate their lovemaking had been? How naively certain they’d been that theirs was a forever-after kind of love?

Scott walked through the door and stripped off his golf shirt. “How much time do I have?”

Like she was his keeper? “We’re due at the club at six.”

“I showered in the locker room. Is this a sport-coat-and-tie event?”

Meg bit her tongue. Had he even looked at her? Noticed how she was dressed? “Yes,” was all she said.

He removed his shoes and socks, then stepped out of his slacks. “Pops managed a couple of birdies today.”

“I’m sure he had a good time.” Meg groaned inwardly. Talk about a stilted conversation. She was well aware that neither of them had mentioned the anniversary. But what was there to say? Happy anniversary would ring false, and they were long past reminiscing about other anniversaries. The big question was whether she cared.

She ducked her head. Despite the brave front she put on, part of her did care. But she wasn’t sure there was any way to fix things. Somewhere along the line, their common path had forked, and new paths had led them farther and farther apart, shattering her long-held dream of a happy home, different from the one in which she’d grown up.

She fussed with her hair, then studied her jewelry box before deciding on a pendant necklace and matching earrings. With a stab, she realized Scott had given them to her on their fifteenth anniversary.

“Meg?”

She turned from the mirror to see Scott standing tall and handsome in front of her, his tan suit sharply pressed, his paisley tie matching his shirt nicely. “Am I presentable?”

“You’ll do,” she said, rising to her feet and, out of habit, straightening his tie. She could smell the fresh tropical scent of his aftershave, sense the wiry tension in his body. She stepped away, determined not to lose herself in his masculine charm. It took more—a lot more—than occasional pangs of sexual need to make a marriage work. Abruptly, she spun around. “We’d better get on with the show.”

“Show?” he mused. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. All we are is one big act, at least according to you.”

His words stung. He made their situation sound so impersonal. “A lot can happen in twenty years, Scott.”

“Yeah, more than I ever bargained for.” His voice took on an urgent tone. “Are you sure about this, Meg? About the separation?”

For a moment she thought she heard a plea in his question, but when she looked into his eyes, they were stony.

“I don’t see that we have a choice. We’re both too unhappy. And it’s not fair to the kids.”

With that, they made their way toward the front hall where the Harpers, Justin and Hayley waited. It was as if the curtain had just gone up and they’d walked onstage, smiles pasted on their faces.

“Happy anniversary,” Marie trilled, echoed by the others.

Hayley’s skirt was shorter than Meg would’ve liked and Justin’s shirt was sloppily tucked in. Hayley pirouetted, checking herself out in the hall mirror, but Justin stared, first at his father, then at Meg. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she read hesitation and dread in the look he sent them.

“Can we just go?” he asked.

Bud laughed, “Attaboy, son. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Show? There was that word again. Meg prayed she could get through this evening without ruining it for her in-laws or her children.

INSIDE THE HIGH-CEILINGED lobby of the country club, Scott nodded to the hostess, then, knowing it was expected, put his hand on the small of Meg’s back and started toward the main dining room.

“Mr. Harper, this way, please.” The hostess redirected them toward a private room.

Bud gave a satisfied chortle. “Nothing but the best for you two.”

Just as well, Scott decided, to be out of the public area where it would’ve been harder to pull off the charade.

Marie joined them. “This is so exciting. I love being able to share such a special occasion with you.”

It was special, all right. Short of a miracle, it was probably their last anniversary together. The thought made Scott queasy.

“Here we are, Mr. and Mrs. Harper.” The hostess flung open the door, and what she revealed made Scott’s stomach even queasier. Beside him he heard Meg’s small, sharp intake of breath.

Standing in the room, glasses raised, were friends from the neighborhood, the club, the office. Stunned, Scott barely heard the chorused, “Happy anniversary!” All he could think was that the ante for this evening had just skyrocketed.

Suddenly he felt more tired than he could ever remember. And older. But sure as hell not wiser.

Meg’s grip on his arm tightened, and as she caught his eye, a determined smile on her face, he realized what the crowd expected and protocol dictated. He lowered his head and kissed his wife, something he couldn’t remember doing for quite some time.

As he drew away, Bud clapped him on the shoulder. “Gotcha, didn’t we, boy?”

His mother was hugging Meg. “Did we pull it off? Are you surprised?”

Hayley and Justin stood to one side, observing the scene like proud directors of the drama.

Scott found himself stammering. An intimate family dinner he could’ve handled. But this?

This called for an Academy Award–winning performance.

JUSTIN HAD SCARFED DOWN three rolls waiting for the main course. That was the trouble with grown-up parties. They stood around boozing it up for ages before they even sat down. Then, all the waiters brought you was a salad with smelly cheese and ruffly greens that looked like his grandmother’s doilies. The rolls had saved his life. He hoped to God they’d bring the meat and potatoes soon.

His parents and grandparents were seated at the head table, but he was sitting with the Morrisons from the neighborhood and their kid Trevor, who was palming his roll into pellet-shaped balls.

Hayley looked ridiculous. Holding a champagne glass filled with orange juice, she was acting as if she were twenty-five instead of fifteen. Yet he knew she was as anxious as he was about how their parents would react to what was still to come.

Everyone seemed to be having a good time, especially his grandmother, who’d been working on the guest list and arrangements since last spring. He’d never been able to see what the big deal was about twenty years. What did you expect when you got married? “Till death do us part,” right? So what was twenty years?

Lots of kids in his class had divorced parents. In fact, sometimes he thought he was the oddball. Brian, a guy on his softball team, spent a month with his mother and a month with his father. How weird would that be?

Chewing thoughtfully on his fourth roll, Justin studied his parents. His mother was kind of a babe, he guessed. Sleek blond hair, slim figure, blue eyes the color of the Dallas Cowboys’ uniforms. She was laughing, but it sounded like glass breaking. And his dad? He had that puffed-up, I’m-a-success look, as if he expected to cinch a huge deal any minute. But they weren’t really looking at each other. They’d kissed, yeah, but after that? It seemed like they were more interested in the guests.

He’d thought everybody was supposed to be celebrating love tonight. So why didn’t it seem like they were?

Finally. The waiter approached and set a huge slab of pink prime rib in front of him. It came with a side of curlicue-shaped mashed potatoes. Looking at the meat, he was repulsed to find white streaks of fat running through it.

He glanced at the head table once more. His father was bent over his meal as if he’d never seen food before, and his mom had her back to him, flapping her hands as she talked to his grandfather.

Justin stared at his plate and knew he wouldn’t be able to eat a bite.

And the worst was yet to come. The party was only the first part of the surprise.

The next one? He was pretty sure it didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of working.

MEG EXCUSED HERSELF before dessert and sought asylum in the ladies’ room. Fielding all the well-meaning comments and fawning expressions of joy had strained the limits of her civility. She and Scott should’ve been allied in a facade of marital bliss, but he’d become unresponsive, glum. That left her to carry on the pretense that this anniversary was a lovefest.

Fortunately the powder room was empty. She leaned against the counter, studying her reflection in the mirror. The disappointment in her eyes was all too evident. She pulled a lipstick out of her evening bag and carefully redid her lips, knowing that no amount of makeup could mask her rising sense of panic. She dabbed some cold water on the back of her neck, the chill jolting her into awareness.

And just in time. As the door swung open, she could hear Trish Endicott, the wife of one of Scott’s colleagues, saying to the woman with her, “She and Scott make an incredible team, don’t you think?”

Meg gave a silent laugh. The two of them an incredible team? Then Trish completed her thought. “Brenda and Scott are awesome together. So creative.”

Meg swallowed the bile that filled her throat. Creative? She just bet they were.

When Trish caught a glimpse of Meg, she stammered. “You know,” she said, blushing, “their work on the department-store account.”

Meg put the lipstick in her bag and closed it with a snap. “Yes, they do work well together.” She stepped around the women. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the table.”

Outside, she leaned against the wall, controlling her breathing. Were Trish’s remarks innocent, or was there more to them? Had she merely given voice to Meg’s suspicions? Now, she’d have to go back into the dining room where Brenda was, of course, an invited guest, slap a smile on her face and somehow get through this endless evening.

No sooner had she rejoined Scott and her in-laws, than Bud, a cheery grin on his face, stood up, tapped a spoon against his water glass and called for silence. Beside her, Meg saw Marie straighten, her eyes twinkling as she watched her husband.

Meg’s heart sank. Toasts. Please, she pleaded to whatever deity was in charge of graceful exits, just let this be over.

Then Meg saw that Justin and Hayley had joined their grandfather, Hayley preening in her center-stage role and Justin casting uncertain glances at her and Scott.

“The children, Marie and I thank all of you for coming to help us celebrate Meg and Scott’s twentieth.” He beamed. “And for keeping this party a secret.” Raising his champagne glass, he invited the crowd to stand and lift theirs. Then he turned to Scott and Meg, and Meg felt Scott slowly—grudgingly—put his arm around her. “To a bride, still as beautiful as the day she made my son the happiest of men. And to you, Scott, for having such good taste in women. Here’s to you both with our wishes for twenty more wonderful years of marriage.”

Looking into her father-in-law’s loving face, Meg’s eyes misted. Then the congratulations of the guests engulfed her.

“Cheers.”

“Hear, hear.”

“To Meg and Scott.”

Scott pivoted her toward him and lifted his glass. She held her breath in anticipation of his obligatory response. “Thank you, Dad, Mother, Hayley, Justin and all of you who gave up your time to be with us tonight.” He paused and Meg could feel her husband gathering himself. “And to you, Meg. Thanks for twenty years of—” his hesitation seemed to last an eternity “—togetherness.”

That was neutral enough, Meg conceded. Honest. They had been together. Living in the same house. Signing Christmas cards as a couple. Hosting dinner parties. Rearing their children. Earlier she’d acknowledged that physical attraction alone couldn’t sustain a marriage, but neither could proximity.

“Thank you,” she murmured, averting her head, letting him kiss her cheek. Her gaze fell on the amply endowed, “incredible” Brenda Sampson.

Could this evening get any worse?

The question had just crossed her mind, when the answer came. And not the one she wanted to hear.

“Well, kiddos,” Bud went on, “the celebration isn’t over quite yet. Marie, the children and I have one last surprise for the two of you.”

Meg caught Justin looking at her pleadingly. Her skin prickled. She didn’t have a good feeling about this.

“Hope you don’t mind, but Marie and I are planning to stay here in Tulsa a little longer than you bargained for.” He grinned. “We’ll be babysitting.”

“What the—” Only she heard Scott’s muttered expletive.

Bud gestured toward Marie and the kids. “To celebrate your anniversary, the four of us are sending you on a trip to the Colorado cabin where you spent your honeymoon.”

Thunderstruck. That was the only word Meg could come up with to describe her reaction. Opening her mouth to protest, she felt Scott’s hand clamp on her forearm.

“Pops, that’s very generous and we appreciate it, but it’s out of the question.”

“Absolutely,” Meg murmured.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Scott added, “but right now it’s impossible for me to leave the office.”

“Nonsense.” Wes, Scott’s partner, came to the front of the room. “It’s all arranged. Brenda and I have everything covered. You’ll join us for the presentation to the Jordan people Monday morning and then take off for Estes Park.”

“You were in on this?” Scott’s tone carried an edge of accusation.

“Sure. Your mother’s been planning this event since last March. You’re not indispensable, you know. Brenda and I will take care of business while you play. Any red-blooded man would be thrilled to whisk a wife like Meg off for a second honeymoon.”

Scott shook his head, at a loss for words.

Meg cleared her throat. “Some other time maybe. My calendar is full and—”

Hayley stepped forward, a proud smile on her face. “No, it isn’t, Mom. I went through your day planner and canceled everything. You have a whole week free.”

Was the entire world conspiring against them? How could she and Scott possibly endure seven days cooped up in a cabin that would bring back so many memories, once pleasant, now nothing but painful?

Marie, twining her fingers nervously, said in a plaintive voice, “You won’t disappoint us, will you?”

Disappoint you? Wait until you hear about the separation.

Scott went over to embrace his mother. “No, Mom, of course not.”

Of course not! Was he out of his mind? Surely he wasn’t actually planning to accept this gift. It would be a mighty expensive farce.

Suddenly, Meg became aware of their guests and their slowly dawning bewilderment. Meg knew she had to say something to save face for her in-laws. “You’ll have to excuse us, but you really caught us off guard. We’re not accustomed to leaving home on such short notice.”

“About time you started, then,” Bud said as if the matter were closed. Again, he raised his glass. “To Meg and Scott’s safe travels.”

The guests echoed the words, seemingly reassured that all would go as planned.

Scott leaned over to whisper in Meg’s ear. “Don’t say anything. We’ll talk about this at home.”

They’d talk about it, all right. About how to reject this ridiculous gift.

BUD’S FEET HURT. He hadn’t danced that much in years. He sat on the side of the bed, massaging his instep.

Smearing night cream on her face, Marie stood in the doorway to the bathroom. “Tired?”

Bud reached for the Tiger Balm on the night table. “It’s way past our bedtime, sweetheart.” He opened the lid, took a dab and rubbed it on his neck, closing his eyes against the pungent odor.

Marie wiped her hands on a tissue and crossed the room. “Here, let me.”

She dug her fingers deep into his coiled muscles, reducing him to a sigh of satisfaction. “You sure know how to make an old guy feel good.”

She chuckled. “A far cry from the way I made you feel good when we were younger.”

Where had the time gone? Back then, he wouldn’t have needed a massage, so eager would he have been to get her into bed and do wonderful things to her. Now? There was no comfort like her hands soothing his aches and pain. “I love you,” he found himself saying.

She leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “And I love you, you old coot.”

She slipped into bed while he adjusted the drapes and turned off the bedside lamp before joining her. He picked up her hand and entwined his fingers with hers.

Sighing contentedly, Marie began recapping the evening, just as he’d known she would. In her voice he heard how pleased she was that they’d pulled off the party. She raved about the elaborate decorations and gourmet meal, the number of friends who’d come to help celebrate and his job as master of ceremonies.

She snuggled against him. “But you know the best part?”

He kissed the back of her hand. “No. What was that?”

“When we told them about the trip. Did you see their faces?”

Bud tensed, hoping Marie wouldn’t notice. He chose his words carefully. “I saw their faces, all right.” And they had not looked happy. For Marie’s sake, he hoped he was wrong. But he knew love when he saw it, and it had been in short supply tonight between Meg and Scott.

“There was just one odd thing,” she said. “I didn’t hear anything about Scotty giving Meg an anniversary present.”

“Maybe he did it in private.”

“I’m sure that’s the case.” She yawned drowsily and in typical fashion went straight to sleep.

Bud wished he could’ve had such a welcome release from his thoughts. He knew his son. He had not been himself tonight. Bud hadn’t wanted to worry Marie, but, if he had to make a bet, he’d say there had been no exchange of anniversary gifts.

WHEN SCOTT ENTERED the bedroom, Meg was sitting on the chaise longue, a book in her lap, waiting for him. He had loitered in the family room hoping she’d already be asleep, knowing all along that it was a vain attempt to postpone their inevitable discussion. At one time, the prospect of a week together in Colorado would have thrilled them both. The fact that now it most assuredly did not was one more nail in the coffin of their marriage.

Yet he’d seen the delighted look on his mother’s face, the kids’ smiles, his father’s beam of satisfaction. How in hell could he tell them—any of them—that a trip to Estes Park was out of the question? That the marriage was on the rocks? And he doubted that Ward Jordan would be happy to hear that he was going on vacation for a week.

Meg closed her book. “Do you want to put on your pajamas or talk first?”

He sat on the side of the bed, hands on his knees. “Shoot.”

Her eyes pierced his. “You have to tell them.”

“What?”

“That we’re not going.”

“And the reason is…?”

“Work.”

He sighed. “You heard Wes. That excuse isn’t going to cut it. Much as I’d like it to.”

“Then we’ll simply have to tell them the truth. We only have tomorrow before we’re expected to leave.”

Scott hedged. “I’m not sure I can disappoint everyone.”

She closed her eyes and let her head loll back. Finally she looked at him and said, “And you think I’m crazy about the idea?”

“Do we have to argue? What would be the harm in going on the trip? It would buy us time to get our story together.” He was grasping at straws, but he knew what joy planning this trip had given his folks.

“Are you suggesting we take the trip under false pretenses and then come home with the big separation announcement? That’ll thrill everyone.”

Damned if he knew what he was suggesting. He only knew that somehow they needed more time before deciding to take such a drastic step. If this trip would give them that time, then he was going. “Meg, here’s the deal. Before I move out, I want to be absolutely certain that separation is what’s best.”

“And you’re not?”

He searched his soul. Finally he said, “No, I’m not. What do we have to lose by taking one more week? Maybe being away from here will give us a different perspective. Allow us to figure out exactly why we’re separating. If going to Colorado means we let my parents and our kids have a few more days without heartbreak, is that so bad?”

“You’re sure you want to go?”

“I’m not happy about being gone from the office, but maybe this is an opportunity you and I need.”

She remained silent. Finally she stood, placed her book on the night table and turned to him. “Okay. Have it your way.” Then she walked into the bathroom, leaving him with no peace of mind whatsoever.

WHEN MEG OPENED HER EYES the next morning and realized she had another busy day ahead preparing for her absence, she groaned and pulled the covers over her head. Scott was already up, and she wished she never had to leave the protection of her bed. Never had to face Scott’s parents, Hayley or Justin—or her broken dreams. Just the idea of a week’s stay at the remote cabin with Scott made her restless. But maybe they did need time to decide how they were going to announce their separation.

Faintly, she could hear pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. Marie, the happy homemaker, was probably whipping up her famous apple-cinnamon pancakes. Hayley would still be in bed, but Justin and Scott were undoubtedly perched on kitchen stools applauding Marie’s efforts. Would anyone even miss her if she decided not to get out of bed?

That’s it. Keep that self-pity rolling.

She sat up, poked her feet into her slippers and headed for the bathroom, eyes puffy, mouth dry. She didn’t look forward to the separation. It wasn’t an easy choice to make. The fact was, she felt terrified.

But she could no longer endure a sham marriage. Keeping up appearances for her in-laws’ sake had already proved quite a challenge, and she had several more hours to go.

She reached for her toothbrush automatically, wondering how often she’d taken her daily routine for granted. Taken her marriage for granted.

After she washed her face and put on her robe, she wandered back into the bedroom. There on her dresser was an envelope, addressed in Scott’s bold handwriting.

She picked it up and held it for several minutes. Finally, she slit the seal and removed one of his monogrammed note cards. She studied the words scrawled there.

I’m sorry, Meg. Yesterday I never wished you a happy anniversary, and I didn’t buy you a gift. I guess I thought you’d prefer it that way. Maybe the last few years haven’t been so great, but I’ve never regretted marrying you.

Then he’d signed his name. No “Love.” Just his signature. But there was a PS. “Thanks for agreeing to go to Colorado with me.”

Meg reread the message. The note was proof of how far they’d strayed apart. He couldn’t even tell her in person how he felt.

Stuffing the card into her robe pocket, she blinked away tears that both betrayed and confused her.

CHAPTER FOUR

MEG GAZED OUT THE PLANE WINDOW at the patchwork of farms and open range thousands of feet below. On the aisle, Scott hunched over his laptop, lost in concentration. Between them was the empty middle seat, a symbolic chasm. Never a confident flier, Meg clenched her fingers in her lap and wished away the headache assaulting her temples.

Somehow she’d survived Sunday’s frantic race to wash clothes, pack, write down the kids’ schedules and prepare detailed instructions for Bud and Marie—all while wearing the frozen smile of a painted marionette. Had she fooled anyone? Who knew?

Then this morning, Scott had awakened early, totally preoccupied with the Jordan ad-campaign presentation. While he’d dressed, she’d lain curled in a fetal position in their bed, dreading a trip that months ago might have excited her.

Now Scott’s heavy sigh interrupted her musings. “What?” she said, that one word representing as much conversation as she felt like offering.

Checking his watch, he shrugged with impatience. “I need to call Brenda before the office closes.”

The headache throbbed against Meg’s skull. “There’s no huge hurry, is there?”

“You’ve forgotten the switch to mountain time.” His patronizing tone grated on her nerves.

“Oh, I’m sure Brenda will be standing by for your call.” Standing by? More likely poised like a school-girl waiting for an invitation to the prom.

“She’d better be. We have work to do.”

So much for the idea of a vacation getaway. But what had she expected? While she read and took long, solitary walks, his work would consume his time. That is, whatever time was left after they finished dissecting their marriage.

She rested her aching head against the seat back and closed her eyes. How had they reached this point? When had their relationship started to unravel?

On paper Scott had fit the profile of her dream man perfectly—he was good-looking, smart, ambitious, caring. Great husband material. She could just hear her mother’s nasal twang followed by her embittered laugh: “Meg, honey, it’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man. Shoulda followed my own advice.”

She pictured her childhood home—a two-bedroom house with a sagging front porch in a run-down section of town. Remembered how it had smelled of bacon grease, cats and cloying gardenia air freshener. When she’d been in grade school, she would sit on the front steps in the late-summer afternoons watching fathers come home from work, wondering what it would be like to have a man in the house—a daddy who might hug her and ask about her day and maybe play catch with her out in the yard after dinner. But her father had died when she was three.

In high school, her fantasy had shifted from a daddy to an attentive, loving husband with whom she would live the perfect life. Although she’d never lacked for boyfriends, most fell far short of her ideal, and she saw no point in wasting time on them.

In the spring of Meg’s second year in college, her mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and had lived only until summer’s end, leaving Meg with significant medical bills.

Certainly, no Prince Charming waited in the wings to rescue her.

Given little choice, she’d sold the house, moved into university housing, found an on-campus job and scrimped to fund her final two years of college.

Following graduation, she’d worked as the office manager for a large dental clinic. One day, in a waiting room crowded with mothers and cantankerous children, a construction worker with an excruciating toothache and an old woman nervously awaiting a fitting for new dentures, there appeared a handsome young man with a gorgeous tan and a sexy smile that showed off his white, even teeth—a feature, given her line of work, she couldn’t help noticing.

After introducing himself as Scott Harper, an account executive with a small advertising agency, he’d proceeded to tout the benefits of promoting the clinic. “Dentistry is competitive. A practice can’t survive on word of mouth alone, if you’ll pardon the pun,” he’d explained, before launching into the various promotional services his firm could offer.

Never had a media spot sounded so fascinating.

Later, retelling the story of their meeting, Scott would laugh and say, “I didn’t sell the dentists on my wares, but I sold myself.” Then he would turn that killer grin on her and add, “I got the girl.”

He wasn’t rich, as her mother would’ve preferred, but he was all the other things Meg had wanted in a man. She’d always claimed not to believe in love at first sight, but Scott had changed her mind. Dinner that first night, flowers the next day, a weekend trip to the lake. He’d passed every test with flying colors.

Meg opened her eyes and turned to study her husband, poring over computer files. He was still good-looking, smart and ambitious. Emphasis on the ambitious. Just what she’d always thought she wanted.

But caring? Attentive?

Did the lack of those qualities explain the void inside her? The feeling that she was still sitting on that front porch waiting for her daddy to come home?

STANDING AT HIS LOCKER Monday afternoon, scrounging for some notebook paper, Justin suddenly remembered. In all the excitement of the party and his folks’ big trip, he’d forgotten about the note from his English teacher. He dug a hand into the black hole of his backpack and finally came up with the envelope addressed to his parents in Mrs. Kelly’s perfect cursive. He slumped against the wall. He was totally screwed.

While he watched other kids scurrying down the hall, ducking into classrooms, he stood frozen, debating. He could go into English class, march up to Mrs. Kelly’s desk and throw himself on her mercy. Yeah, right. The woman was born without a heart. Or he could hide out in a bathroom stall until the final bell sounded. English was his last class of the day. After that, he could sneak on the bus. If any teachers came into the restroom, he’d tell them he had diarrhea. Yeah, who’d want to question that?

Only a few kids remained in the hall. He glanced at the clock and watched anxiously as the second hand ticked up to the hour. Do something, idiot, he urged himself.

When the tardy bell rang, he grabbed his backpack, slammed his locker shut and, with his heart thudding against his rib cage, fled into the boys’ bathroom.

It was empty. Quiet. Too quiet. It smelled like pee and disinfectant. Gross paper towels overflowed the trash can and the faucets were slimy with liquid soap.

He slipped into a stall, ready in case “Bozo” Harris, the vice principal, or some other kid showed up.

Okay, he was safe for now. But he needed a plan. Eventually he’d have to show the note to one of his grandparents. They’d find out he’d been “prevaricating.” He rolled his eyes. He’d never get used to that word. Maybe Gramma and Grampa would feel sorry for him if they knew he’d been “sick” seventh period and would call the school and excuse his absence. He sure didn’t want to serve detention for cutting class.

His stomach cramped. Would Mrs. Kelly still make him read that stupid book?

Just then somebody entered the bathroom. Somebody big. Somebody with suit trousers and old-man shoes.

Perched on the toilet seat, Justin held his breath.

“Harper, you in here?”

Shit. Bozo. How did he know?

“Usually when a fella takes a crap, he’ll pull his pants down. Why don’t you come out and tell me what you’re doing in there when you’re supposed to be in Mrs. Kelly’s class? She was ticked when you didn’t show up.”

Ticked? He bet she was. He could just picture her grilling every last kid in the class about him. Probably called him a miscreant, another one of her fancy-shmancy words.

“I’m waiting,” Bozo barked.

Slowly, Justin stood up, slung his backpack over his shoulder and opened the stall door.

Bozo glared at him. “Follow me, son. We’re going to my office for a little chat. I just may have to call your parents.”

Jeez, not the chamber of horrors. That was what all the kids called Mr. Harris’s office. Nothing good went down there, that was for sure. Justin grasped at his last straw. “My parents are out of town.”

Bozo stopped and laid a firm hand on Justin’s shoulder. “I doubt they left you all by yourself.” He raised an eyebrow as if he could see straight into Justin’s brain.

Justin tried a new tack. “No, sir.” The “sir” business couldn’t hurt.

“Well?” Bozo increased the pressure on Justin’s shoulder.

“My grandparents are staying with me and my sister.”

Mr. Harris resumed his drill-sergeant march toward the office. “They’ll do.”

Justin’s insides turned to mush. “Do you have to call them?”

Bozo smiled in that smug way of his. “We’ll see about that, Harper. But it’s a distinct possibility.”

BECAUSE OF DENVER TRAFFIC, it was late afternoon by the time Scott and Meg reached the cabin. When Scott stepped out of the rental car, the clean mountain air, redolent of pine, served as a powerful pick-me-up. Overhead, the sun was sinking behind the peaks, and surrounding him was silence, broken only by the gentle tumble of a mountain stream flowing behind the cabin. He drew a deep breath, and for the first time in a long while, felt his muscles relax.

“Are you going to stand there all day?”

He turned toward Meg, who waited by the trunk of the car, her arms folded across her chest. He was inclined to say, “So what if I do?” but thought better of it. Meg had made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t happy to be there. At least not alone with him.

He pressed the button on his key chain to open the trunk, then pulled out their bags.

Meg eyed the log cabin with its deep front porch. “Do you think it’s the same one?”

“Seems familiar.”

“All the cabins look alike. I guess it doesn’t matter.” She grabbed her overnight bag out of his hand. “I’ll take that.”

Toting the two larger suitcases, he followed her onto the porch and fumbled in his pocket for the key. When the door swung open, he winced, recalling his insistence twenty years ago that he carry his bride over the threshold. Then another memory swept through him. That day the bags had been left on the porch, forgotten. He’d taken her directly to the bedroom where he’d hurriedly undressed her, shed his own clothes and made love to her beneath the goose-down comforter, not caring that they hadn’t turned on the heater. They’d created their own warmth with the delicious friction of skin on skin, with kisses hot and passionate and an abandon born of impatience.

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