A Stranger on the Beach

Michele Campbell

About the Author

A graduate of Harvard University and Stanford Law School, MICHELE CAMPBELL worked at a prestigious Manhattan law firm before spending eight years fighting crime as a federal prosecutor in New York City. You can sign up for email updates here.

ALSO BY MICHELE CAMPBELL

She Was the Quiet One

It’s Always the Husband

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

Copyright © Michele Rebecca Martinez Campbell 2019

Michele Campbell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © July 2019 ISBN: 9780008354510

Note to Readers

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For Jack

Acknowledgments

This book was so much fun to write. It started its life at a lunch I had with my editor and agent where we threw around ideas and laughed and drank wine. After that, the book was charmed, and flowed like magic.

I am so grateful to work with Jennifer Enderlin, who is not only the savviest woman in publishing but a true collaborator in the writing process. Her vision lights my way through all the ups and downs of the writing process. Her ideas and influence are apparent on every page of this book. And I could not write, nor would I ever want to, without the guidance, support, and friendship of Meg Ruley, who has always had my back and nurtured my books beyond the call of duty.

I am indebted to the amazing team at St. Martin’s Press for publishing my work so brilliantly. Thanks especially to Rachel Diebel, Jordan Hanley, Brant Janeway, Kerry Nordling, Erica Martirano, and Lisa Senz, and to my wonderful publicist Jessica Preeg who works so hard to get my books out there so readers can discover them.

A million thank-yous to the fabulous crew at Jane Rotrosen Agency for being so warm and supportive, and especially to Jess Errera for everything she does to help me.

Thank you also to Crystal Patriarche and her team at BookSparks, who are just so good at publicizing books in the digital age and have brought my work to the attention of countless new readers.

Finally, as always, I’m profoundly grateful to my husband. I couldn’t write without him. He is my rock and my inspiration. Plus, he cooks!

We are only as blind as we want to be.

—MAYA ANGELOU

Contents

1  Cover

2  Title Page

3  About the Author

4  Also by Michele Campbell

5  Copyright

6  Note to Readers

7  Copyright Notice

8  Dedication

9  Acknowledgments

10  Epigraph

11  before the storm

12  Chapter 1

13  Chapter 2

14  Chapter 3

15  Chapter 4

16  Chapter 5

17  Chapter 6

18  Chapter 7

19  Chapter 8

20  Chapter 9

21  Chapter 10

22  Chapter 11

23  Chapter 12

24  Chapter 13

25  Chapter 14

26  Chapter 15

27  Chapter 16

28  Chapter 17

29  Chapter 18

30  Chapter 19

31  Chapter 20

32  Chapter 21

33  Chapter 22

34  Chapter 23

35  Chapter 24

36  Chapter 25

37  Chapter 26

38  Chapter 27

39  Chapter 28

40  Chapter 29

41  Chapter 30

42  Chapter 31

43  Chapter 32

44  Chapter 33

45  Chapter 34

46  Chapter 35

47  Chapter 36

48  Chapter 37

49  Chapter 38

50  Chapter 39

51  Chapter 40

52  Chapter 41

53  Chapter 42

54  Chapter 43

55  Chapter 44

56  after the storm

57  Chapter 45

58  Chapter 46

59  Chapter 47

60  Chapter 48

61  Chapter 49

62  Chapter 50

63  Chapter 51

64  Chapter 52

65  Chapter 53

66  Chapter 54

67  Chapter 55

68  Chapter 56

69  Chapter 57

70  Chapter 58

71  Chapter 59

72  Chapter 60

73  Chapter 61

74  Chapter 62

75  Chapter 63

76  About the Publisher

before the storm

1

There was a stranger on the beach. He was standing in front of my house, staring at it like he was casing it to rob.

Sometimes fate sneaks up on you. But Aidan Callahan didn’t sneak up on me. He was brazen. He stood there in the middle of the sand, staring up at my brand-spanking-new beachfront house, looking like he was up to no good. I saw him clearly as I looked through the wall of windows, over the infinity-edge pool, to the ocean beyond. Yes, he was gorgeous. But I was a married woman of twenty years’ standing who loved her husband, and I barely noticed that. What I noticed was that this guy looked strong. Dangerously so. And he dressed like a townie. Baggy athletic shorts, tank top, the glint of a gold chain at his neck. People like him resented people like me, and sometimes, they robbed them. There had been a string of robberies recently, of some of the big houses. The summer people thought the local cops were dragging their feet about solving them, maybe because the culprits were local boys. When I saw Aidan standing there, those robberies were the first thing that leapt to mind, and a chill went down my spine.

I’ll tell you everything that happened, starting from the beginning. My first impression of Aidan was that he was a potential thief. If only I’d listened to my instincts, I would’ve turned and run in the opposite direction. But that’s not what I did. I walked toward him. And I will always blame myself for what came after.

2

It was a hot, sultry day, two weeks past Labor Day, and the bluff had cleared out. The summer people were all back in the city, leaving only me, and my next-door neighbor, old Mrs. Eberhardt. She lives in a saltbox shack on a wide lot that’s coveted by every real estate developer in the East End. I live in the type of place that people build after they tear down houses like hers. She has a yappy little dog that wakes me up at five thirty every morning. As you can imagine, we didn’t have much to say to one another, so basically, I was at the beach alone.

I’d been waiting around all day for the technician from the burglar alarm company to show up for the installation. The house had that fresh-paint smell. Details were still being attended to, and the alarm was one of the last items on the punch list. The company gave me a window from ten to two for installation, which I said was fine, because I had work to do preparing for the huge housewarming party I would be throwing in a matter of days. Finalizing guest lists, working out catering menus, scheduling the delivery of the tent, negotiating with the valet parking company, angling to get a photographer from Avenue magazine to show up and take pictures for the society column. On and on. Hours passed, and the alarm guy still hadn’t showed. At four, I called to complain, and they told me the technician was overbooked, and they’d have to reschedule for next week. Typical. I thought about reaching for the bottle of gin in the cabinet and mixing myself a nice strong cocktail to ease my frustration. But it was hours till sunset, and I decided to be good. I’d go for a run on the beach instead.

As I laced up my sneakers, I got the urge to text my daughter. Hannah had just left for college, and I was having trouble letting go. I gave the hair elastic on my wrist a good snap to feel the clarifying sting. My sister had taught me that trick. Aversion therapy. She’d used it to quit smoking, and now I was using it so I wouldn’t be a helicopter mom. It worked. The urge passed. I walked through the French doors onto the terrace and took a deep breath of the salty air. The ocean was visible beyond the bluff, the crash of the waves audible from here. The surf was rough today, yet it never failed to calm me.

And I needed calming. Hannah’s departure had set me adrift, leaving me all too conscious of how alone I felt in my life. My husband, Jason, traveled constantly for business. He’d never actually spent a single night at the beach house, despite the fact that we were pouring all our money into it. The house was a big source of stress between us. It was my dream, not his. We’d stretched to buy the land, which was postage-stamp-sized but in a primo location. We’d stretched even more to build the perfect house on it. Things weren’t right between me and Jason, but in all honesty, I didn’t fully know that yet. It was just a nagging feeling lurking in my heart, making me antsy and discontented. But I fought it. I told myself, He works a lot. He’s a good provider. A good father. And hey, somebody’s got to pay for the house, right? I shouldn’t complain.

I picked up the pace, fighting the pull of the sugary sand against the bottom of my sneakers, legs working, oxygen pumping through my veins. A shaft of light broke through the clouds, illuminating the water to a sparkling green. I lived on the part of the bluff closer in to the main road, where land was “affordable” at a million-plus an acre. (I won’t say how much beyond a million.) The route I liked to run took me down the beach away from the road, toward the point, where the true mansions were. There was a house out there that last traded at forty million. You couldn’t see it, though, because of the tall, perfectly groomed hedge that its famous owners installed for privacy. I’d never met those people, and I guessed I never would. Jason and I didn’t rate. He was an investment banker, but not one of the famous ones who hung out with celebrities and owned a fleet of jets. I was an interior designer, but not the type with a million Instagram followers and houses featured in Architectural Digest. I’d stopped working when Hannah was born and had only recently gone back, trying to get my business off the ground, but facing headwinds. Jason and I moved in well-to-do circles, but we weren’t at the top of the heap. The thing about being rich is, there’s always someone richer.

I ran a mile-plus down the beach, not letting myself stop till I was out at the point. Then I doubled over, panting and holding my sides, till I caught my breath. I’d be forty-three in November, and I liked to think I still looked good. But lately there were hints of middle age coming on. Fine lines in the mirror that I covered with makeup, gray hairs peeking through that I masked with highlights. But you can’t fake exercise. I needed to get back to Pilates class, or hire a trainer. Getting the house finished had taken too much time and energy. With Hannah gone, I should focus on myself.

The clouds were rolling in over the water, turning the sky black. I could smell the rain coming. I hadn’t checked the forecast before I left, but generally they were saying to expect a stormy fall and a bad hurricane season. My superstitious mother had left me with a fear of electrical storms, to the point that I wouldn’t turn on a faucet if it was lightning out. So, when the first peal of thunder sounded, I turned around and headed back.

Ten minutes later, I was back on my stretch of the bluff, with a clear line of sight to my house. A huge thunderclap sounded, and a vivid bolt of lightning split the sky. And there he was again, like some demon who’d materialized from thin air. The stranger I’d seen an hour earlier from my kitchen window. Staring again. The sight of him stopped me short. I could tell he was a townie, that he didn’t belong in my neighborhood. Maybe that sounds snobbish. But I don’t come from money, and I didn’t mean it that way. As a matter of fact, Aidan that day reminded me of my own people. My brothers and their friends, playing street hockey back in the day on hot afternoons in front of our house. I loved those guys, but they were no angels. I know what I’m talking about. I know casing when I see it, and when I saw Aidan, I knew exactly what he was doing.

I’m not a shrinking violet, and I can take care of myself. I walked toward him, determined to say something.

“Hey! Hey, can I help you?” I yelled.

The wind took my words away. But somehow he heard, and turned and smiled at me. The smile, I definitely noticed. It was like the sun breaking through the clouds, and all my suspicions melted away. He fooled me. Anybody can get fooled.

“That’s your house?”

He spoke as if he already knew the answer. I should have noticed that, and realized it was odd. But I didn’t see it. I only saw him.

“Yes,” I said.

“She’s a beauty.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m Aidan,” he said, and held out his hand. I took it.

“Caroline.”

“Caroline. Pretty name.”

“Thank you.”

His hand was warm. His eyes were very blue. He looked at me searchingly. I felt tongue-tied. He had to be ten or fifteen years younger than me. He seemed like he was about to say something more. But then the skies opened, and it started pouring.

“You should get inside before you get soaked,” he said.

“Yes.”

That was it, our whole conversation. He gave me a little wave and turned and hurried off. He was so casual about it, so nonchalant, that I forgot all about the idea that he might be a burglar. The beach where he’d been standing was public. He had a right to be there, and I figured he was just a guy who stopped to look at a beautiful house. Twice. Okay. But that’s not a crime. I went inside and tried to put him out of my mind, but I didn’t entirely succeed. My interest had been piqued. My guard had been lowered. My life was not in order. The combination of those things would prove to be my downfall.

3

The night after I first saw Aidan on the beach, my twenty-year marriage fell apart. I swear to God, one thing had nothing to do with the other. It was a total freaking coincidence, the worst coincidence of my life.

I was sitting barefoot on the big L-shaped couch in the great room, going over my guest list for the housewarming and feeling pretty good about life, when Jason called to say he wasn’t coming to the party. And that’s not even the bad part.

“Honey, I’m sorry. I can’t make your housewarming thing” was how he put it.

“My housewarming? Last time I checked, this house belonged to both of us.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Seriously, Jason? That’s not okay. You have to come. It’s not just a housewarming. It’s for your birthday, too.”

“My birthday isn’t until next month.”

“But I put it on the invitation. I ordered an expensive cake. I invited people from your firm and your golf club.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, they’re coming. And you know who else is coming? People I need to impress for the design business.”

I’d been a successful interior designer once. I could be again, with my beautiful new house as my calling card. Did he not get that?

“You want me to start making money, right?” I said.

“Of course I do.”

“The party is important to that, Jason. Magazine people are coming, and decorators and architects. I need you there.”

“I’m sorry, hon. I would if I could, but I’m stuck in Cleveland on this deal.”

Cleveland? What the hell? He’d told me he was going to Denver.

And that’s when it hit me. He was lying.

I cradled the phone against my neck and picked up my iPad from the coffee table. With our family plan, I can track everybody’s devices. I’d done it a few times with Hannah, when she was out late, and I was worried she’d been kidnapped by the Uber driver. But I’d never checked up on Jason before—I was that oblivious. Now I hit FIND MY IPHONE, and waited for the map to load showing his location. My heart was in my throat. I could feel that something bad was coming. And boy, was I right.

That little dot loaded like a punch to the stomach. Jason wasn’t in Cleveland, or in Denver. He was in the city, a three-hour drive from me. But not at our apartment. At an address near Times Square. At ten thirty at night. I zoomed in on the map. That address—it was the Marriott Marquis. He was in a freaking hotel in Manhattan.

Why would a man go to a hotel at that hour, in a city where he owns a perfectly lovely apartment?

To cheat on his wife, obviously.

What an idiot I was. Jason was never home, and yet I never suspected. He was secretive, and hard to reach, and had been for a while now. He’d get a call late at night and walk out of the room to answer. Or rush to close a text or email when I walked up behind him. When he was away on business, it was impossible to get him to call me back. But somehow, I never saw it coming. I was way too trusting. No, wait, I’m letting myself off the hook too easily. The truth, warts and all. It’s not just that I’m trusting. I’m too damn full of myself. It never occurred to me that a man would cheat on me—at least, that Jason would. I was a cheerleader in high school and student body president in college. I got every guy and every job I ever wanted. Jason always said I was his dream girl. I never doubted him, because I never doubted myself. But I was wrong. His feelings had changed. When had that happened? How long had this been going on?

I was floored.

“Caroline? Are you there?”

I took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to cry. I would be calm, and dignified, but call him on his bullshit, because I wasn’t a doormat. I would make him tell me the truth.

“What aren’t you telling me, Jason?”

“What? Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re hiding something.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you cheating on me?”

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.

But I had proof. At least, I had proof that he was in a hotel in Times Square right this minute, when he claimed to be in Cleveland. I couldn’t tell him that, though. If I confronted him with the evidence, he’d know I was tracking his phone, and I wanted to be able to keep doing it.

Jason sighed, like I was the one causing trouble. “Enough drama, babe. It’s late. I’ll do my best to get to your party, okay? But no promises. You need to cut me some slack. Things are complicated at work right now.”

He was lying to me, and I knew it, but he refused to own up to it. What more could I do?

“Caroline?”

“I have to go,” I said, and hung up on him.

I sat there on the sofa, too stunned to cry. It was like I aged twenty years in the space of that one phone call. I hadn’t realized until right that minute that I wasn’t little Caroline Logan anymore, with my high ponytail, my cute figure, my cheerleader outfit. I was middle-aged Caroline Stark, semi-unemployed housewife, empty nester. And my husband was cheating on me.

4

At seven sharp the band began to play. They were set up in a tent on the lawn, to one side of the swimming pool. The music floated on the ocean breeze as the waiters dashed in and out in white jackets, passing trays of chili-lime shrimp and glasses of rosé. I grabbed a glass off a tray and thought, I ought to be enjoying myself. This is my big night. I can’t let Jason ruin it for me. Easier said than done. He hadn’t shown up yet, and I couldn’t stop watching the door.

In the living room, I took up position in front of the sweeping wall of windows that looked out over the ocean. I wore a white dress to match the décor. I could turn in one direction and watch the waves crash. Or turn in the other for a view across the double-height living room to the front door, where guests were arriving, stepping out of their shiny cars and tossing their keys to the valet. I’d been a little worried that nobody would come, that they wouldn’t drive out from the city this late in September. But they were showing up in droves. Everybody but the person I was waiting for.

Each time the front door opened, I looked up and plastered a smile on my face so big I felt like my cheeks would crack. And each time, when it wasn’t my husband, I had to take a deep breath to fight off the panic. I made excuses about Jason’s absence to the guests as we hugged and air-kissed. Important deal, flight delay, missed connection, on his way, yada yada yada. I hate to lie, but I do believe in putting on a good face for company. I couldn’t bring myself to tell the world that I didn’t know where my own husband was. All I knew was that, with every second that passed, I got angrier, and more insecure, and more hurt.

The guests were too polite to comment on Jason’s absence, until my sister Lynn walked in with her husband, Joe. God love her, Lynn’s a loudmouth, like all the Logans, but she’s not mean. Just oblivious. She’s the one sibling I’m close with now. Among the living, that is. It’s a long story, but let’s say we’ve had our troubles as a family. Out of three boys and three girls, I was the youngest. Two of the boys died young—one on a motorcycle, the other with a needle in his arm. My parents were hard livers, and they passed it down. Then we fell out over Dad’s will. It was ugly. Me and Lynn on one side, Erin and Pat Junior on the other. Mom was dead by then, thank God, she didn’t have to see it. That fight brought me closer with Lynn. She’s the one person I truly trust in this world other than my daughter. She doesn’t fit in with my uptown crowd, with her spray tan and her tight clothes. But like I always tell her, you do you, babe. I love Lynn to death, and I wouldn’t’ve dreamed of throwing a party without her.

“Where’s that handsome husband of yours?” Lynn asked, in a booming voice that made the other guests turn to look. She still talked with that old Lawn Guyland brogue, too, that I’d worked hard to get rid of, and that was nails-on-a-blackboard to everybody else in that room.

“Flight delay.”

“Yeah, right. Too good to show up for his own party is more like it.”

“Somebody has to pay for the house.”

“Ahright, I’ll zip it. But when I see him, I’m giving him a piece of my mind. Now, which way is the bar?”

Lynn started a trend by asking about Jason. The next guy through the door was Peter Mertz, Jason’s boss at the hedge fund, and instead of nodding politely when I said Jason was running late, he started probing. Why wasn’t Jason in New York? Why was he stuck in Cleveland? When I said he was there on a deal, Peter raised an eyebrow and said, Really? Really?—like he didn’t believe me. He basically implied that Jason was lying, or else I was. And yes, okay, it so happened that we both were lying. But that didn’t make it any less rude for Peter to call me on it in front of my guests.

After that, I couldn’t stand there watching the door any longer. I made an excuse and went out to the tent. Fresh air, fresh alcohol. But I couldn’t get that encounter out of my mind. Was Peter trying to tell me something by calling me out like that? Did he know something I didn’t, or more precisely, something I suspected but was praying was not true? In other words, did he know my husband was having an affair? Did everyone know but me? My cheeks were burning at this point. I felt humiliated. But little did I know, the festivities were just getting started.

I’m an experienced hostess, and I normally wouldn’t drink at my own party. But as time went by, and Jason still didn’t show, I guess I had a few more than I intended. By the way, I was drinking the signature cocktail of the night, a Moscow mule, which the caterer offered passed on trays. So, when the waiters walked by, I’d grab one. What I’m saying is, I don’t recall going up to the bar in the tent that night. Not once. Aidan tended bar at my party. I found that out later, but I didn’t know it at the time. I never saw him there, and I certainly didn’t hire him myself. Caterers bring their own staff. Everybody knows that.

Anyway, Jason.

I was talking, probably too loudly, to this woman who was a contributing writer for Dwell magazine, when Lynn walked up and snatched the drink right out of my hand.

“Hey!”

“Excuse us,” Lynn said to the woman, and yanked me away.

“What the hell. I was networking.”

“You’re not doing yourself any favors, getting sloppy at your own party. But at least now I know why.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jason’s here, and he’s with a woman. A real piece a’ work, too.”

The room went dark. I had to grab Lynn’s arm to steady myself. Everything had been so normal until two nights ago. And now my life was in smoldering ruins around me.

“Where?” I asked.

“Inside, in the living room.”

“Since when?”

“A few minutes. Why didn’t you tell me he’s having an affair? You know I’d go after that son of a bitch.”

“He actually brought someone here? To my house, to my party? I can’t believe he’d do that to me.”

“I’ll have Joe deck him if you want. Or I’ll do it myself.”

“No. You stay here. Distract people. They can’t know about this.”

“It’s too late, hon. Nobody could miss this chick.”

I walked away in a daze, heading for the living room. I had to find Jason, but I had no idea what I’d do when I did. Yell, scream, kick him out? Cry, beg? This didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel like us. Meanwhile, the guests were all watching me. I’d dreamed of throwing a party they’d talk about for years. And now they would, but for all the wrong reasons.

5

Heading for the house was the longest walk of my life. I was thinking, This can’t be happening. We’re not those people. We’re teammates, best friends. We’re inseparable. But then I thought, We’re not inseparable. We used to be, but not anymore. This had been a long time coming, actually. Hannah was a preemie, high-strung, not popular in school. I sweated parenting her. Maybe—I’ll be honest—maybe I loved her more than I loved my husband. Anyway, she sucked up all the attention. My life revolved around her. Volunteering at her school. Homework and dance lessons and her social life. Her clothes and her hairstyles and whether she’d go to summer camp. Her college applications. On top of that, yes—the house, the apartment, my Pilates class, my nutty sister who had plenty of drama of her own. None of it was about him. Maybe he felt slighted, or ignored, and so he did what men do. He looked elsewhere.

But then I thought, Hell no. This isn’t my fault. I don’t deserve this. I made that man. Jason was nobody when he met me. Meeting him now, you’d think he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, the way he dresses and talks and carries himself. Well, I’ve got news for you—that was all me. That was Caroline, telling Jason what to do, and how to behave, over a period of twenty years. It was hard work, too. When I met him, he was working two jobs, scraping by, struggling to pay for school. He had those dark, chiseled good looks, and he was smart. I saw the potential. But he was rough around the edges. I was the one with the drive, the vision, and, yes, the cold hard cash. I put Jason through business school, or he never would be the tycoon he is today. I used the money Dad left me to do it, blood money, that I lost siblings over. Everything Jason Stark has, every penny, is because of my sacrifice. And yet, he goes and cheats, right when our daughter left, when I’m so alone.

That bastard.

That’s how I was feeling as I walked back to the house. I was furious. I admit that.

Inside, I looked around the living room, but there was no sign of him. It was late, and the crowd was starting to thin out. I walked up to my friend Stacey Allen, whose daughter Grace went to high school with my Hannah, and whose lawyer husband, Josh, represents Jason’s firm. And I didn’t have to say a word. Stacey already knew. She knew who I was looking for, and she pointed at the door.

“He went outside a few minutes ago, with a woman. Caroline, what the hell’s going on?”

Stacey has one of those very expressive faces—wide-eyed, with big features—and it brimmed with pity for me, mixed with excitement, and a subtle touch of schadenfreude. People thought I had such a perfect life. To have something like this befall me would naturally be titillating, and Stacey could spread gossip like wildfire. By tomorrow morning, my entire social circle would know about Jason’s affair, whether I’d invited them to the party or not. As the realization sunk in, my head literally went hot, as if steam was coming out of it, like in the cartoons. I’ll kill that asshole, I thought. Stacey’s eyebrows shot up into her carefully trimmed bangs, and I realized I’d said that out loud. Well, screw her and her ladylike shock. I have the Logan temper. We say things.

“It’s a figure of speech,” I said.

“Of course.”

“Who is she? Do we know her?” I asked, because that was the biggest thing on my mind at that moment. Was Jason doing it with somebody I knew? That would make it so much worse.

Stacey shook her head. “I doubt you’d know her, and you definitely didn’t invite her. She crashed.”

“How could you tell?”

“Jason showed up first, alone. I tried to say hi, but he was on his phone, and he looked distracted. Less than five minutes later, the front door flies open, and she comes in. Rushes in. Almost like she’d chased him here. He basically dragged her out the door to get her away from people, but it was too late. Everybody saw. They’re probably still out there, it’s only been a few minutes,” Stacey said, nodding toward the front door.

“Don’t tell anybody about this,” I said.

“Caroline, they already know.”

I turned and rushed out to the driveway. Jason was still there, talking to her. Her back was to me. The first thing I saw was, she had dark hair. It made no sense. Jason likes blondes, or at least he used to. Like me (though I get a little help with the color). But he had her by the arms, like she was trying to run away, and he wanted to stop her. The intimacy of it made me sick.

I marched right up to them. “What the hell is going on?”

They turned in unison, and Jason jumped away from the woman, like he’d been caught. Goddamn right he had, and with a tramp, by the looks of her. And the smell. The woman reeked of this cheap gardenia perfume. I nearly gagged on it. I started thinking, Maybe she’s a prostitute. This is who he’s cheating with? She wasn’t young, wasn’t beautiful. She had one of those faces that’s almost catlike from too much plastic surgery. I’m sorry, but she was a big step down from me.

Then she opened her mouth, and it got worse.

“Who is this?” she says to Jason, and she’s looking me up and down like I’m dirt. In my own house. But it came out like—who is zis? She was Russian, or maybe Czech. Flashy, hard-looking, heavy eyeliner, a tight leather skirt and fuck-me pumps. A younger, more beautiful woman, okay. Or a more educated, a smarter woman, a woman who was powerful in her own right? I’d get that. But to get betrayed for this, this whore? I was devastated.

“I’m his wife, who the hell are you?” I said.

My hands were twitching, I wanted to slap her so bad. But there were guests within earshot, just inside the door. And I wasn’t about to give them more to gossip about than they already had.

Instead of answering my question, she made this contemptuous little noise—the sound of air escaping between gritted teeth. Like I wasn’t worth her consideration. A car drove up, a brand-new cobalt-blue Audi coupe that looked like it cost real money. The valet stepped out and handed her the keys. She made another impatient sound at Jason and slid into the front seat.

“I go,” she said.

“Galina, wait,” Jason said.

“You need to decide,” she said. Then she pulled the door closed and took off with a spray of gravel.

My jaw was on the ground.

“Decide what? What is she talking about?” I said.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Bullshit. You bring another woman to my house, to my party, and let her talk to me that way, and refuse to explain?”

Jason turned to me like he hadn’t even noticed I was there till that minute. He was so caught up with this Galina woman that I didn’t even register. And he got this appalled expression on his face and started sputtering.

“Wait, no, it’s not what you’re thinking. We work together. There’s a problem, a work problem, and she followed me here to discuss it, that’s all.”

“I know the people at your firm. That woman doesn’t work there. They wouldn’t even let her through the door.” Which was one hundred percent true.

“I didn’t say she worked there.”

“Yes, you did. You just did. Stop lying.” I was about to burst into tears. I mean, people were watching.

“Caroline. You’ve got this all wrong.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I told you, she’s a business associate.”

“And I told you that I don’t believe you.”

“After twenty years of marriage, you need to give me the benefit of the doubt,” he said.

“I don’t have to do a goddamn thing.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions. But I can’t fix that right now. I have a crisis situation on my hands. I need to go in to the city.”

“What?”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“If you leave this party to go after her, don’t bother coming back.”

I regret saying that. I certainly regret saying it in front of people. My threat didn’t work anyway. He went after her. And I’m thinking, Screw him, I’ll get the best divorce lawyer in New York and take everything. The beach house, the apartment, the cars, the jewelry. I’ll take custody of Hannah, or—since she’s too old for custody—I’ll make her hate him. Hate his guts. He’ll never see her on holidays. He won’t be invited to her wedding. No walking her down the aisle, I’ll do that. He gets shit. He can die alone and see how he likes it.

I thought all those things. Anybody would, if their husband brought another woman to their big party, and then left to run after her. But never once did I actually think, I’m gonna go buy a gun and shoot my husband dead. Okay, well, maybe I thought it. But I didn’t do it.

Swear to God.

6

Jason never came back to the beach house on the night of the party, or on the day or night after that. I must’ve called his phone twenty times. Finally, he texted me with some lame excuse about a work crisis, but since I was tracking his phone, I could see the lie in real time. His office was in Midtown, but his dot was way the hell out in Brighton Beach. Brighton goddamn Beach, also known as Little Odessa. Jason was with the Russian woman.

That night, I turned off my phone and drank myself senseless. Obviously, that’s a wrong way to handle stress, but it’s also an old family tradition. I learned to drink at Daddy’s knee. Pat Logan, Sr.—man, that guy could put away the booze, and he was none too pleasant when he did it, either. And Theresa, my mother—straight gin, I’m not kidding. Is it any wonder that, when my life to fell to pieces, I reached for the bottle? I’m not making excuses. I saw what it did to them, and I should have known better. I had known better, when my little girl was home. We like to think our children behave for us, but it’s really the other way around. I controlled my drinking around Hannah, to set a better example than my parents set for me. But she wasn’t here now, and I swigged blood-colored wine until the empty bottle fell from my hands and I passed out.

On Sunday afternoon, I woke up to the smell of the Russian woman’s cheap perfume. I thought I was dreaming, but then I opened my eyes and Jason was standing over me, looking as bad as I felt. Which was very, very bad. He knelt down by the bed, and I could see tears in his eyes. At that point, I would’ve accepted an apology. Hell, I was praying for one.

“I can smell her on you,” I said, and my eyes filled with tears, too. “You can’t see her anymore, love. Please. I’m begging you.”

“I wish it was as simple as that, Car,” he said quietly. “It’s worse.”

I sat up. The room was spinning, and I had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting.

“Worse, how? Please, don’t tell me she’s pregnant.”

“I never meant to hurt you. Things got out of hand. It’s beyond my control now.”

“What are you talking about? Stop being so mysterious.” I dug my fingers into my temples. My head felt like it would split apart.

“I can’t tell you any more without—” He stopped.

“Without what?”

“I can’t say.”

“Jesus, what am I supposed to make of that, Jason? What am I supposed to do?”

“Honestly? I hate to say this. But you need to find a good divorce lawyer. It’s the only plan I have right now.”

“Does she have some kind of hold on you?”

From the look on his face, I’d hit the nail on the head.

“Jason, answer me, is she pregnant?”

He pressed his lips together, ignoring my question.

“We have to get a divorce,” he said. “I won’t contest anything. You take everything. The apartment, the beach house, all the money. I want you to.”

Divorce. Maybe at the party I was imagining getting a lawyer and taking him for everything he had. But that was not the outcome I wanted for my marriage. Even after everything that had happened in the past forty-eight hours, I still loved him. We’d been together twenty years. We had Hannah. And the apartment, and the house, and a life we’d built up from nothing, together. We were happy. Strike that, we were content. Okay, maybe we were treading water, but it was possible that with counseling and effort, we could’ve been happy again. But he had to go and bring that woman home and completely blindside me.

“Twenty years, and this is how you end it?” I was choking on my tears.

Jason’s face was pale, and his eyes burned dark. He made a choking noise in his throat, like he couldn’t get the words out.

“It’s the only plan I have.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

He grabbed my hands. “Yes, I do. But please know, I love you, and I’m truly sorry.”

Then he leapt up and walked out of the room. I heard his car start outside, and he was gone.

I staggered around the house, going from room to room, so dazed with shock that I could barely see what was in front of me. Maybe I cried, but I was too numb to notice. I had no clue how to get through the next hours, the next days—the rest of my life—without him. Or without the stability and continuity he represented. I walked out onto the lawn and listened to the waves crashing on the beach. And I thought, I could go down there and—And what? End it? No. That wasn’t me. I wasn’t a quitter. And screw him, that would make things too easy for him. I knew I had to get a grip on myself. I ran back inside and called Lynn’s cell.

“Jason left me,” I blurted, the second Lynn picked up.

Silence.

“Lynn?”

“I can’t believe he’s that big of an idiot.”

“He is. He did. Not five minutes ago. He told me to find a divorce lawyer.”

Lynn paused. “Stay there. I’m coming.”

“You’re coming—?”

“I’m coming out there. Pour yourself a drink, turn on the TV, zone out. I’ll be there in an hour, unless the cops get me.”

“Thank you, sis. I love you so much.”

“Love you, too, babe. You’re not going through this alone.”

Lynn lived in the same house in Massapequa where we grew up, which was a solid hour and a half away, but she had a fast car and a lead foot. Fifty minutes later, she walked in the front door, carrying a bottle of bourbon and a big glass bowl of spaghetti and meatballs, which she shoved into the microwave. I grabbed the bottle and poured myself a good slug, but the thought of eating was beyond me.

“I can’t eat that. I feel sick,” I said, as Lynn set a plate on the kitchen table.

“Just the spaghetti. It’ll settle your stomach. We have work to do. I have calls in to friends of mine who know all the good attorneys. We’re gonna get you squared away.”

Lynn stayed the night, slept in my bed with me, stroked my head when I cried. Before she left the next morning, she forced me to make an appointment with one of the divorce lawyers, who came highly recommended by a friend of hers who’d cleaned up in her divorce settlement. I wanted Lynn to come to the appointment with me. God, I wish she had, because then I would’ve kept it. But she had to leave. Lynn and Joe own a bunch of condos down in Florida that they rent out. The condos got hit with this big storm, and she had to go down to oversee repairs. I understand, it’s their livelihood. And I’m a big girl. But damn. I can’t help thinking about how different things would be if she’d stayed in the Hamptons with me for those few days. I never would have gone to that bar. I never would have met Aidan again.

7

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.

Aidan thought of that line the second Caroline Stark walked into the bar where he worked. It was a rainy Monday night, with the smell of woodsmoke in the air. Every time the door opened, he got a cold blast, and looked up. He recognized her right away. How could he not? She was the one who threw the party the other night. The one who built that house on Gramps’s land. She tore down their old fishing shack to build it. That place meant everything to him when he was a kid. It was imprinted on his brain—the sound of the waves, the salt in the air, the way the light slanted at the end of a summer day. Her house was the total opposite of Gramps’s old place. It was a freaking palace. He couldn’t decide if it was a nightmare or a dream, but he was dying to go inside it. He’d tried to get on the construction crew, but the site manager was a hard-ass, and wouldn’t hire him because of some bad blood that went back years. (People had long memories in this town.) So, when the bartending gig came along, with the chance to see the inside, he jumped on it. Then it turned out the bar was set up in a tent on the lawn. He couldn’t even sneak inside pretending to use the john, because they wanted the catering staff to use the facilities in the pool house. Didn’t trust ’em in the main house, apparently.

Here was the star of the show now, though, walking into the Red Anchor. The glow she gave off lit up the place, making it seem like something more than the average local bar and burger joint that it was. She carried herself like a queen. The shoulders thrown back, the tilt of her beautiful head, the thick glossy sweep of her honey-colored hair. The world should bow down. The place was deserted, and she threw a glance his way. She took off her coat. Shook it out. Took a seat at a booth along the wall. Fluffed her hair. Like she was waiting for him to come over and take her order. Did he look like a waitress? She could get her ass up here to the bar, or else wait for Nancy, who was on a cigarette break.

He pretended not to see her, turned his back, wiped down some glasses that were wet from the dishwasher. But then he changed his mind. Maybe because she was beautiful. Maybe because she lived on the land that ought to be his by rights, and he wanted to take her measure. Maybe both. Then there was the fact that the party had been a complete disaster for her. The husband’s mistress showed up and caused a scene. It was all anybody was talking about in the big tent that night, as Aidan poured their drinks. He knew what it was like to be gossiped about. People talked behind his back; had since he hit a patch of hard luck at the age of seventeen. The point was, on top of everything, he felt sorry for her. Imagine that—him feeling sorry for the likes of her. It would be funny if it wasn’t pathetic.

He mixed up a Moscow mule, walked over to the table and laid it down in front of her.

“On the house,” he said, and smiled.

Women rolled over for his smile. But she didn’t. She looked down at the drink, then back up at him, like he’d done something weird.

“I’m sorry. Have we met?” she asked.

Now, that was bullshit. She was playing games. Even if she didn’t remember him tending bar at the party, they’d met on the beach. She remembered that. He knew she did. Mind games. He didn’t need that shit.

“Yeah, we met on the beach. Then I tended bar at your house this past weekend. For the party, remember? That’s why I figured you’d like the Moscow mule, because that was the cocktail of the night.”

“Oh, right. Well, thank you. I’ll take the drink, but I’d prefer to pay.”

He nodded, feeling stung. Why should he care what she thought of him, though? Some rich bitch from the city coming out here on weekends, acting like this town and everybody in it belonged to her. They were all like that. It was nothing to him. Rolled off his back.

“Suit yourself. Give a shout if you need anything, ma’am,” he said.

She didn’t like the “ma’am,” he could tell. Probably worried he thought she looked old. Which, to him, meant she wasn’t as untouchable as she pretended. Aidan sauntered back behind the bar. He felt her watching him from the safety of her table as she sipped her drink. Time passed. He ignored her. She’d look over at him, though, every few minutes, checking him out.

She wasn’t immune.

Wayne Johnson and Mike Castro came in and sat down at one end of the bar. They worked for his brother Tommy.

“Hey, Aidan. Coupla pints,” Mike said, stripping off his police department windbreaker. Water ran off it in rivulets.

“Still raining?” Aidan asked.

“Yeah, it’s getting worse.”

Aidan drew off two pints of Guinness and set them up on the bar. The guys were talking about some warrant they had to serve for the feds. A mobster with a foreign name, wanted by the FBI, holed up in a mansion on Harbor Lane. Aidan listened a little too intently, which made them exchange glances and clam up. They could piss right off. People always had to think the worst. Aidan could sell that information for good money, but that didn’t mean he was going to. He’d been on his best behavior for ten years now, and what did it get him? People still shot him suspicious looks just for walking down the street in broad daylight, minding his own business.

Not long after the guys came in, Caroline stood up and put on her coat. That was fast. He hadn’t really noticed what she was wearing before. Tight jeans, black boots, a sexy top. Had she come in here looking for company? Had he missed his chance? She had a great body for a woman her age. For any age, really. He caught her eyes, raised an eyebrow as if to say, Leaving already? She gave a half smile and a little nod and walked out.

Nancy was busy in the dining room, so Aidan bussed the table. Cocktails were twelve bucks, and the woman had left a twenty. The big tip annoyed him somehow, like she was putting him in his place. He’d offered her a free drink, and then she pulls this? He had half a mind to follow her outside, but she might take that the wrong way. It wasn’t worth getting his boss pissed off, or having people say he was up to his old tricks. He pocketed the money and thought, what the hell, if he wanted to see her, he knew where she lived. Right?

8

On Tuesday, I drove in to the city to meet with the divorce attorney. But at the last minute, I got cold feet, and called to cancel from the street in front of her office. My marriage fell apart so fast that I hadn’t had a moment to think. Was this the right thing? Could we avoid it somehow? Jason and I had been married for twenty years. You don’t throw that away without a fight. Shouldn’t we try counseling first? Okay, he wasn’t exactly giving me that option. He wouldn’t even take my calls. You might say that was all the answer I should need, but I couldn’t accept it. Beneath my every thought was Hannah. Your average kid who’d gone off to college would be upset if their parents split, but they’d take it in stride. Hannah was fragile. And she was a Daddy’s girl. Jason was everything to her. I didn’t want to burden her with our marital problems just as she started college. But I also didn’t want her blaming me for abandoning her beloved father. That’s the truth. That’s why I didn’t meet with the lawyer. It had nothing to do with Aidan. We’d barely spoken at that point.

I canceled the appointment. I went to our apartment in the city, pulled the blinds, drank an entire bottle of red wine, and passed out on the sofa watching Gossip Girl reruns. I was hiding my head in the sand.

At midnight, the shriek of the phone woke me. I grabbed it, hoping it would be Jason. But it was the alarm company calling, to say that a motion sensor had been tripped back at the beach house. The police had been dispatched, and found no evidence of a break-in. The guy thought maybe the system wasn’t calibrated properly, which didn’t surprise me. I’d had it installed the day before, and I’d chased the technician out prematurely, so I could go sob in the bathroom.

But this meant I needed to go back out to the beach. It was raining on Wednesday morning, and traffic on the LIE was a nightmare. But I was grateful to be back in my beautiful house, even if it had been the scene of my recent humiliation. I opened the French doors and sat listening to the rain, waiting for the technician to show up. I’d canceled the appointment with the lawyer, but I was obsessing over the thought of divorce. If we split up, I’d never go back to our apartment in the city. Jason could have it. I wouldn’t want the reminders of our life together, of raising our daughter. This house would be my future. I’d live here full-time. He claimed he wanted to play nice. Fine, then. He could give me a big settlement, one I could live well on. I’d walk on the beach, get a dog, plant a garden. Divorce wouldn’t be the end of the world. I’d survive. That was the Logan in me talking. We’re survivors.

When the alarm company didn’t show, it took me hours to figure out that something was wrong. They’d given me a window of noon to two o’clock for the technician to arrive. When he wasn’t there by three, I called the alarm company and got the runaround from the receptionist. At four I called back and demanded to speak to a manager. At six, the manager finally returned my call.

“I’m afraid we’ve had an issue with the payment, so I can’t dispatch a service provider at this time,” the manager, whose name was Shelley, explained.

“Wait a minute. I was told you accept personal checks. I wrote a check for the installation fee and first year of service.”

“Yes. But that check bounced.”

“It—?”

“It bounced. It was not honored by your bank,” Shelley said loudly.

“I know what ‘bounced’ means.”

Why the hell did the check bounce? As of Monday, when I wrote it, there was plenty of money in the account to cover that payment, and more. I was absolutely certain. This woman had to be wrong.

Right?

“No need to get snippy, ma’am,” Shelley said. “As soon as we receive payment, we’ll reinstate service and dispatch the technician.”

“Reinstate service? You mean the alarm’s not working now?”

“The sensors installed in your home should still function—”

“It wasn’t functioning. It was going off for no reason.”

“It will function to the level of installation.”

“You mean it’s still broken.”

“We’re no longer monitoring your signal, sending alerts or calling alerts in to the police. If your motion sensors get tripped, the alarm will go off in your home, but we won’t respond or relay the signal to the police. I’m sure you understand, we can’t provide service we’re not paid for.”

“Look, I don’t know why the check bounced. It must be an error. Can I pay you some other way?”

“Certainly. I can take a valid credit card over the phone.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Hold on.”

I went to get my wallet, telling myself to stay calm. But as I read off my Amex number and waited for the charge to go through, I had a sick pit of fear in my stomach. I’d logged into the joint checking account Monday, and there was over a hundred grand in there. Jason couldn’t possibly have spent so much in that short a time. For it to disappear, he would’ve had to move it somewhere. He’d told me I could have the money. But men lied to their soon-to-be-ex-wives all the time. They drained bank accounts, hid cash, ran off with mistresses. Was Jason better than other men? I’d thought so. But I was afraid to find out.

“Ma’am?” Shelley said. “I’m sorry, that card was declined.”

I went cold. I handled our household bills, and I saw to it that credit card balances were paid off monthly. No card of mine was ever declined. Something had happened, and Jason had to be behind it.

“I’m so sorry. Would you mind trying a different one?” I said.

We tried three more cards, and all three were declined. By the end, I was crying. When I hung up, it was nearly seven, getting dark, pouring rain, and the windows were all open. I got up to close them; then I sat at the kitchen table and logged onto my laptop in the darkness of the kitchen. My hands were shaking as I went through all the accounts. The brokerage account, the savings account, his IRA, my IRA—gone, gone, gone. He’d left me destitute, completely. Took every penny he could get his hands on, with one exception. He didn’t touch Hannah’s 529 plan. Her college tuition was still there.

At least he had the basic decency not to rob his own child. But he’d robbed me. Jason telling me I could have everything—that was a lie. A ploy so I would let my guard down. I trusted him. I fell for it. I didn’t rush to see the divorce lawyer, or to freeze our joint accounts. I gave him the breathing room he needed to take everything we had.

I called Jason’s phone. Got voicemail. I said a lot of things. I said I was going to kill him, but I didn’t mean it literally. The only person I was in danger of killing in that moment was myself. I could imagine life without my husband, but not if I was destitute. What would I do? How would I survive? My fabulous career as an interior designer existed only in my dreams. In real life, I didn’t have a single client. I didn’t have one red cent except for the money he’d just taken. I couldn’t bear it. I threw the phone down. I screamed. I pulled my own hair. I slapped myself across the face. I looked out the window at the dark waves and imagined walking into them. Imagined the briny water tugging at my clothes, up to my waist, then my chest, then over my head. I would die, and that would show him.

But Hannah.

I couldn’t stay in the house alone for one more second, or I would hurt myself. And I wouldn’t do that to my daughter.

I picked up the phone to call Lynn; then I remembered she was in Florida. I thought of the bar in town, where I’d gone a couple of nights earlier. There would be people there. And a stiff drink. I put a jacket on and got my car keys.

If I thought things were bad, I was about to make them much worse.

9

The bar at the Red Anchor hosted a two-for-one happy hour on Wednesday nights. The place was packed by seven, and Aidan was hustling to keep up when chief of police Tommy Callahan walked in. Even in the midst of the crowd, Tommy was hard to miss, with his bulk, his booming voice, and his ruddy face. The Irish sunburn, they called it. The bar at the front of the Red Anchor restaurant was Tommy’s favorite place to hold court, and if he was here, his men weren’t far behind. They’d sit around for hours, the guys laughing at Tommy’s jokes and generally licking his boots, all of them expecting a couple of rounds on the house. But Aidan knew better than to complain. His big brother had gotten him this job and bailed him out of trouble more times than he could count. Acting like a devoted kid brother was small price to pay for the cover he got from Tommy. He never knew when he might need that cover again.

As Tommy approached, Aidan reached across the bar and clasped his brother’s hand.

“Good to see ya, bro. The usual?” Aidan said, grabbing a beer stein.

“No. I got something to say to you. Outside,” Tommy said, jerking his head toward the door.

“Uh, I’m working here.”

“Don’t backtalk, Aidan. I’m not in the mood.”

The flash of anger was like heat in his blood. But he held his tongue. “All right. Give me a minute.”

He called out to Nancy, the waitress. A huge smile lit up her tired face as she caught sight of Tommy. She hurried over, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Chief!” Nancy said.

“Nance, you’re looking fine tonight,” Tommy said, and gave her a hug.

“Aww, thanks,” Nancy said, blushing with pleasure. “We got shepherd’s pie for the special. Want me to grab a plate for you?”

“You know I do.”

“Tommy needs to talk to me outside,” Aidan said. “Cover the bar for a few?”

“No problem,” Nancy said.

Yeah, right. She would’ve screamed bloody murder if Aidan ever asked that for himself.

Aidan followed Tommy out to the parking lot, which backed up onto the ocean. It was a blustery evening, with the tang of salt in the air. Clouds scudded across the dark sky, and gulls cawed around the trash cans. Tommy’s cruiser was parked in front of the restaurant in a spot reserved for the owner, who wasn’t in yet. If he did come in, what the hell, he could find himself another spot.

Tommy leaned against the cruiser and took out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, and offered the pack to Aidan, who shook his head.

“I quit.”

“Yeah? Good for you,” Tommy said, with a cynical half laugh that implied it wouldn’t last.

“What’s up?” Aidan said. “Ma complaining about me again?”

“No. But you really ought to call her.”

“I do call. It’s never enough.”

“You could come for dinner on Sunday.”

“I work Sundays. Some of us don’t make our own hours.”

Tommy shrugged and took a few drags off his cigarette before grinding it out under his shoe. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out something. Aidan saw a glitter of gold, and his heart skipped.

“What’s this?” Tommy said, dangling the St. Christopher’s medal so it swung in the breeze.

Aidan took the medal and put it in his pocket. “You know what it is,” he said.

Tommy had given that medal to Aidan when he graduated high school, the year after their dad died. For protection on your journey, the card had read. Trouble was, Aidan’s journey never took him out of this shitty town.

“The clasp is loose. I’ve been meaning to get it fixed,” he said in a defensive tone.

Tommy watched him with cynical eyes.

“Why did I find that on the bluff the other night, when I was checking out an alarm at the new house?” Tommy asked.

They both knew which house he was talking about. The one built on land that had once belonged to their family. Tommy pretended like that didn’t bother him. But Aidan knew better.

“I worked a job there,” Aidan said, gazing out at the oily, black water. Moments like this felt like déjà vu. For good reason. They seemed to come over and over again. Tommy questioning him, acting aggrieved and disappointed, Aidan having to defend himself against the accusations. He was exhausted by it.

“What kind of job?” Tommy asked.

Aidan sighed. Like it or not, he was going to have to explain himself to his brother.

“What do you think, teaching astrophysics? I was tending bar at a party. Remember Brittany Pulaski, Samantha’s sister? She’s the manager for Harbor Gourmet now. She hooked me up with the gig.”

“Brittany Pulaski hooked you up? Why would she do that? She hates you.”

“I was surprised, too. The lady who owns that house threw a big party. Harbor Gourmet was catering. Who knows, they must’ve been short-staffed, because Brittany reached out to me. You don’t believe me, ask her.”

“Look, I believe you were there. I believe you were working. But that doesn’t set my fears to rest. Where was the bar?”

“What?”

“The bar, for this party. Where was it set up? Inside the house, outside?”

“The bar was outside, in a tent on the lawn, next to the pool house.”

“Then explain to me how this medal ended up under the window of the master bedroom around the side of the house.”

“How should I know, Tommy? There must’ve been a hundred people there that night. The medal falls off, somebody picks it up, drops it, drags it on their shoe. Or maybe I have a thing going on with the lady of the house and I dropped it climbing out her bedroom window, so her husband wouldn’t see me.”

“Like she’d ever be interested in you.”

“She likes me. We met before, on the beach. She came looking for me after that.”

“Bullshit. And why the hell were you on her beach?”

“It’s not her beach. It’s public. I got as much right to be there as anybody.”

“Gramps is dead. Let it go already,” Tommy said, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t lie. You’re not making it easy to help you, Aidan.”

“Look, I appreciate everything you do for me. And I work hard to stay on track, so I don’t let you down. Give me some credit. Stop riding me when I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I can’t stand to see you backslide. That’s all.”

“I’m not backsliding. I wouldn’t do that to you. Don’t worry. Please, Tommy,” he said.

“Fine, I’ll back off. But you need to stay away from that woman’s house. You got it?”

A second police cruiser drove up, sparing Aidan from having to answer. Wayne Johnson and Mike Castro got out.

Tommy punched Aidan on the shoulder lightly. “You heard what I said. Now be a good kid, and set up a round for me and the boys, all right?”

For the next hour, Aidan hung around the edges of his brother’s party, keeping the drinks flowing, and basking in the reflected glory. When Tommy was around, Aidan became everybody’s kid brother. He felt almost included, almost like he belonged. But who was he kidding? Tommy’s guys thought he was dirt, and no matter what he did, they always would.

Then she walked in. Second time in two days, and he thought, She’s looking for something. Maybe she’s looking for me. Why else come to this place? Someone like her has got to feel a townie bar is beneath her. But maybe she didn’t. Or else she liked him enough to ignore that. It was possible, given the way she’d looked at him that day on the beach. His luck could still change. All he needed was one good break, and he had a funny feeling that this woman might be it. She hadn’t given him the time of day when she came in here the other night, and he offered to comp her drink. But then again, he hadn’t really tried.

He leaned over to his brother. “That’s her. That’s the woman who owns the house,” he said, under his breath.

“Yeah? So?”

“Watch, you’re gonna see I was telling the truth before. This lady likes me.”

“That rich chick likes you?” Tommy said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not lying. Watch. You’ll see.”

10

The bar was crowded and noisy, and all the booths were taken. I was lucky to find an empty barstool at the far end, near the bathrooms. The bathroom doors kept opening and closing, letting out powerful blasts of air freshener. The place was a dive, with kitschy beach décor—all anchors and ropes and fake lobster traps. I’d just taken off my coat, and I was already tempted to put it back on and leave. But then the bartender came over. I remembered him from the beach. I remembered thinking he’d seemed dangerous at first, then deciding I was wrong. But that moment was when I noticed him for real. I noticed that he had one of those perfect, lazy smiles that make the world seem warmer and more welcoming. There was even a dimple in one cheek. He was wearing this deep-blue chambray shirt that matched his eyes, and khaki pants. His hair was brushed. He didn’t look thuggish tonight. He looked like a college guy, the one in your dorm that all the girls had a crush on.

“Hey, you. I was hoping you’d come back,” he said.

I practically looked over my shoulder to see if he was talking to someone else.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. You ran off last time, before we got a chance to talk.”

“Um. Well. Doesn’t look like we’ll get much chance to talk tonight. Busy in here for a Wednesday.”

Stupid line. But I was feeling self-conscious. I’m not generally the sort of woman who goes to bars alone, and to have the hot bartender start flirting me up right away—it threw me.

“We have our two-for-one happy hour on Wednesdays. Everybody likes a cheap drink,” he said.

“I could use a cheap drink myself tonight. I’m Caroline, by the way.”

“I know your name. You told me on the beach, and then I tended bar at your party. I wouldn’t forget a woman like you.”

He had a sexy voice, gravelly, a little rough. I extended my hand. He gripped it for half a second too long, gazing into my eyes. He was extremely handsome. Sandy hair gone blond at the ends, blue eyes that crinkled at the edges from staring into the sun, tall and broad-shouldered, perfect white teeth. Like a surfer from a beach movie, or an underwear model. I should have gotten up and walked out right then. But things were so messed up, and I needed to dull the pain. So instead, I asked his name.

God, was I stupid.

“You forgot my name?”

He actually looked hurt. I told myself he was probably pretending, and anyway, I secretly liked it. His reaction should’ve been a warning sign. Instead, it gave me a cheap thrill.

“I’m sorry. I’m not good with names.”

He nodded. “Aidan Callahan. Nice to meet for real this time, Caroline—?”

“Stark.”

“Can I get you a Moscow mule, Caroline Stark?”

“Oh. No. Those were just for the party. I’ll take a vodka and soda, if you don’t mind. That’s my drink.”

“Good to know. Be right back.”

But he didn’t come right back. A lot of the customers seemed to know one another, and they all knew him. I liked that. I like a guy who’s outgoing. Jason’s reserved, even sullen sometimes. I can’t always tell what he’s thinking. But I watched Aidan glad-handing the cops at the other end of the bar and thought, That’s a simple, down-home, easygoing guy. And easy on the eyes. If only I were ten years younger, or not married, I’d … No. I’d better stop thinking like that, or I’d end up acting on it when I shouldn’t. I absolutely shouldn’t.

They were teasing him as he poured another round, calling his name. Aidan. Aidan Callahan. An Irishman, obviously; we had that in common.

Aidan came back smiling, carrying two drinks and a dish of mixed nuts.

“Are those both for me? Do I look like that much of a lush?” I said.

I gave him a seductive laugh, and thought, Where the hell did that come from? It had been a long time since I flirted. I wasn’t sure I’d remember how, but apparently it was like riding a bicycle. As he slid one of the drinks closer, his hand brushed mine, and I got this thrill. He was looking at me with—I have to say it—lust in his eyes. It was blatant. And I’m thinking, this could be my chance for revenge on Jason. Not to murder him, okay? To sleep with the hot bartender, like any red-blooded betrayed American wife would do in similar circumstances.

“Nope, one of ’em’s for me,” Aidan said. “You don’t mind if I drink with you, do you? Or would you rather not associate with the riffraff?”

“Are you the riffraff in that scenario?”

“The help.”

To be honest, on any other night, I might have been above having a drink with him. Not because I’m a snob, but because it’s pretty low to walk into a bar and start drinking with some random guy you barely know. But that night, I was willing to lower my standards of behavior. That night, I was not proud.

“If you’re the help, then count me in,” I said, and raised my glass.

He clinked his glass against mine.

“Sláinte,” he said.

“Cin cin.”

We both took a swig. He’d made the drink powerful. I liked feeling it burn going down. I liked feeling the room fade away and start swaying. I needed to forget, and this guy was helping me do it.

He leaned down and put his elbows on the slick wooden surface, his face a foot from mine. Even in the dim light, his eyes were very blue.

“Cin cin? That’s Italian, right?” he asked.

“My mom’s side. And boy, did she like to drink. I get that from both sides actually.”

“The other side—?”

“Irish.”

“Ah, that explains the freckles,” he said, and traced a finger gently across the bridge of my nose.

Wow. His touch was so unexpected, so forward, it made me squirm on my barstool.

“Drat, thought I covered those with makeup,” I said, and my voice came out several octaves lower than normal. My breathing was quicker. I flashed on this movie I’d seen years ago. A woman picks up a guy in a bar and within minutes they’re screwing like animals up against the fence in the alley. I told myself, That’s crazy, stop this, calm down, act your age. I picked up my glass and downed the rest of it in one gulp. Then I held it against my cheek, and my neck, hoping the icy coldness of the glass would still the throbbing in my blood and make me behave. But no.

“Never cover those freckles. They’re perfect. Irish and Italian together is the most beautiful combination. But I bet you’ve heard that all your life.”

I was not entirely certain whether he was flirting with me for real, like he truly found me attractive. Or whether he was joke-flirting with an older woman, to get a tip or something. Not that I cared. But I was conscious of the gap between us—age-wise, class-wise, whatever-you-want-to-call-it-wise. I wasn’t taking myself too seriously, and I wasn’t sure yet that I’d be taking Aidan home. In fact, I was still telling myself not to go there. But I hadn’t thought about Jason and the crash-and-burn disaster of my marriage in at least three minutes, which had to be some kind of miracle.

“Your glass is empty. Hold on, let me get you another.”

He went away and came right back with a fresh vodka. If nothing else, I’d be giving him one helluva tip for the drinks. But thinking about cash reminded me about the missing money, and I got upset all over again.

Then he started asking me about myself, and that distracted me.

“So, do you live here full-time, or are you a weekender, like everybody else in town these days?”

“It was supposed to be just weekends. But … I don’t know. My life is up in the air right now. I’m taking things one day at a time.”

“Yeah? That doesn’t sound good. Anything you want to talk about?”

He sounded so sincere that it’s possible I teared up. I was very vulnerable right then.

“No. Thank you. My life is a mess, but I shouldn’t impose. We barely know each other.”

“It’s fine, really. Listen, I’ve been there. I’ve had troubles of my own. The temptation is to keep everything in and go through it alone. But it can help to talk. It can especially help to talk to the bartender.”

That got a laugh out of me.

“No joke,” Aidan said. “We’re like priests. We hear confessions, and we give our own special absolution. It comes in a bottle, though.”

“I like that. Sounds like more fun than the kind the church doles out.”

“For sure. Freshen your drink?”

My glass was empty already. I handed it to him, and he walked away. I started wondering how much he knew about me. He claimed he’d tended bar at my party. I didn’t recall seeing him that night, but the party had been crowded, and the catering staff large. If he was there, did he hear about Jason and the Russian woman? Were the other guests gossiping about me, about the epic fail of my marriage, in front of him? Did he think that’s why I was here, flirting him up? I thought I was being all sexy and mysterious, but instead I was a pathetic old cougar, dumped by her husband for another woman, hitting on a guy young enough to be my son. No, wait—I wasn’t that old. My much younger brother.

He came back with fresh drinks for both of us.

“So,” I said. “Are you from around here?”

That line was corny as hell. I started thinking maybe I was a pathetic drunken cougar coming on to a hot young guy after all. But the nice thing about Aidan was, he didn’t seem to mind. He took a swig of his drink and gave me that slow, sexy grin.

“Born and raised, never made it out. Prob’ly gonna die here.”

“You could do a lot worse than this place. It’s beautiful. The water, the sky. The town is adorable.”

“The part you go to, maybe. Guys like me, we’re on the outside looking in. I meet a woman like you. Beautiful, sophisticated. I can imagine what your life is like, but I can never really touch it, you know.”

“I’m not sure what you mean. Here we are right now, having a conversation.”

He shrugged. “I think you do know what I mean. We could have this conversation. We could even have chemistry. But you’re out of my league. And I know that, so I would never take it further.”

I was thinking about telling him to give it a try and see what happened. But before I could decide to, somebody called his name, and he stood up. The rush of disappointment I felt was intense, and I was drunk enough to give it voice.

“Don’t go,” I said.

Aidan’s eyes widened.

“Hey, hold your horses. I’m busy here,” he said, over his shoulder, to whoever’d called him.

He leaned back down to me, his face inches from mine. I was looking at his mouth, and then he smiled again. His smile was killer.

“Hey, see those guys at the other end of the bar?”

“The cops?”

“Yeah. The chief there, sitting near the door—he’s my brother. He’s gonna order another round and expect me to put it on the house. Then he’s gonna want me to stand there and entertain him, even though I’d rather stay here talking to you.”

“That bum.”

“I know, family’s a bitch, right? Would you consider doing me a favor?”

“Anything. Name it.”

Yes, all right, I was down to do whatever he asked. Already.

“Let’s make Chief Callahan wait for his next round. I’m gonna go over there, and you call me right back.”

“You mean, like, order another drink?”

“No, it should be more than that, or I’ll have to top them up first. Pretend like you and me are close, and you don’t want to let me out of your sight. Can you do that?”

“Aidan, get your ass over here,” the big cop called out.

The summons was almost nasty, and I felt for Aidan, the kid brother to this jerk of a cop who obviously ruled the roost. I didn’t stop to think. I took Aidan’s side.

“Go. I’ve got your back,” I said.

He winked at me as he retreated. I waited until Aidan was right in front of his brother, then raised my hand and waved.

“Aidan? Aidan!”

My voice vanished into the din, and Aidan didn’t turn around. Why not? He’d asked me to call him. Did he want a bigger show? I hesitated, but what the hell, I’d agreed to play the game. He was taking my mind off my pain, anyway.

I walked over to where the brother sat and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, Chief, but I need Aidan to come back and talk to me. I need him, badly.”

I leaned on the word “need,” so it sounded sexy as hell, and got a kick out of the shocked look on the brother’s face. This was so much fun that I decided to run with it.

“Aidan, please, come back. I have to talk to you, baby. It’s so important.”

The brother looked so flummoxed that I started to think I’d gone too far. But, c’mon. He couldn’t possibly believe there was something between us. Right? That was so implausible.

“I’m coming, baby,” Aidan said, and turned to his brother. “Tommy, give me a minute here. Caroline needs me.”

I went back to my barstool, and Aidan followed, convulsing with laughter. His dimple was showing, his eyes were crinkling, and I was tingling down to my toes.

“Hah, did you get a load of the expression on his face? Hilarious.”

“Did he know I was joking?” I asked.

“Who knows? Tommy’s not too bright,” Aidan said.

I felt a little uneasy about the practical joke. But Aidan soon distracted me, regaling me with gossip about the people in the bar. To hear him tell it, half of them were degenerates, and the other half were fools. They were constantly beefing with each other, trashing each other’s cars, falling off the dock, and generally causing mischief. We drank and laughed like old friends. He fetched another round, and then another. (Somehow, the drinks kept vanishing.) And I … relaxed. I let go. He had this laid-back, adorable, stoner cowboy vibe about him. Like he didn’t take the world too seriously, so I shouldn’t either. God, did I need that right then. Meanwhile, the brother and his fellow cops were looking on, scandalized.

“Your brother and his friends are staring at us,” I said.

“He’s shocked a woman like you would be with me.”

“He thinks I’m with you?” I giggled. The vodka had gone to my head.

“Why you laughing?” Aidan said, looking almost hurt.

“Honey, I’m way too old for you.”

“What are you talking about? You’re hot as hell. Trust me, if I was gonna get with one woman in this bar tonight, it would be you. You blow everybody else away.”

The boy knew how to sweet-talk, and he was getting in my head. I looked around the bar and decided, Hell yeah, I am the best-looking woman in here tonight. If I was the woman in the bar he most wanted to sleep with, then he should have me, right? He’d made his choice, and I was flattered enough that I wanted to honor it. It made sense, in that crazy moment. The room was warm and pulsating with light. I was feeling no pain. Jason was somewhere in Brighton Beach, screwing his Russian whore, and I didn’t care, because I had Aidan to distract me. I wasn’t thinking about my declined credit cards, my empty bank accounts, the silent house awaiting me. I was flying, and I wanted it to last forever.

Time passed. I can’t count how many vodkas I drank. A bunch of people got up to leave, and Aidan went to settle their tabs. I followed him with my eyes as he worked the crowd. He had a lot of fans. The women in the bar lit up under his attention, poor saps. It never occurred to me that I was one of them.

I watched him taking people’s money, and it came rushing back for the umpteenth time that I had no money to pay my tab. Just then, Aidan returned, carrying two more drinks and an antipasti plate—which I couldn’t pay for.

“Something wrong? You look upset,” he said, his face full of sweet concern.

“I forgot my wallet.”

“No worries. I know you’re good for it. Here, eat something or I’ll have to carry you out of here.”

He smiled at me, then took a toothpick, speared an olive, and held it up for me to eat. And I ate out of his hand. In the bar. In front of people. What the hell was I thinking?

The din had died down. When Aidan’s brother called his name, the sound carried across the empty room. The cops were standing up to leave, waving money at Aidan. He went over to take it and shook hands all around. I drained what was left in my glass—vodka-flavored melted ice. My body felt loose; my face felt numb. My vision was doubled. Bands of light reflected off the mirror behind the bar and seemed to vibrate in the air. I knew I was drunk, and I didn’t give a shit. The booze held Jason at bay, at the edge of my consciousness where I could tolerate him. I got up and went to the bathroom and peed for a really long time. I thought about sticking my finger down my throat to get rid of the liquor but decided not to. My face in the bathroom mirror was puffy, and my eyes were too bright. I didn’t recognize myself, so I redid my lipstick as fast as I could and got the hell out of there.

When I got back to my seat, the bar was nearly empty, and people were talking about me.

“—your lady friend?” one of the cops said to Aidan.

“She’s waiting for me to close up shop,” Aidan said.

That made no sense, since I was not actually waiting for him. Well, I was waiting, in my own mind, but he’d be pretty full of himself to assume that. We had no understanding. It hadn’t remotely been discussed. For all he knew I was about to stiff him for a night’s worth of drinks and run out the door. But I didn’t say anything to contradict him in front of his brother.

I should’ve, probably. I realize that now.

I looked at my phone. It was almost midnight. How had that happened? Aidan wiped down the bar, took the money from the cash register and placed it in a light-colored fabric envelope. The people on either side of me had left. Aidan looked my way.

“You okay, Caroline?”

“I think so.”

“I have to give the till to my manager. I’ll be right back. Stay there. Okay?”

“Okay.”

I closed my eyes, letting the room spin around me. It seemed like he was gone for a long time.

“Hey. You okay?”

I opened my eyes to see that Aidan had returned. He was pulling on a beat-up leather bomber jacket. It must be time to go. I tried to stand, and nearly fell off the stool. Magically, he was behind me. He caught me as I tumbled. His arms were like iron around my waist.

“Whoa, easy there. Let me drive you home, sweetheart,” he said.

I thought, What the hell, I’ve got nothing to lose.

Wrong.

11

I lowered the window and let the cold night air blow on my face. Aidan was driving me home in my own car. He asked me once or twice if I was all right, and I managed a nod. Otherwise we didn’t speak. I was grateful for his silence, and for the comfort of his presence. I couldn’t stand the thought of being alone tonight in that big house that I’d built for my husband and me.

He pulled into the circular driveway and turned off the engine. Jumping out of the car, he came around and opened the door for me. Such a gentleman.

The distance from the Escalade’s passenger seat to the ground seemed impossible.

“Here,” he said, in a gentle tone, “put your hands on my shoulders.”

I stepped down, and his arms went around me.

“Okay?” he whispered, his lips against my hair.

“Yes.”

I leaned into him, my head swimming, savoring the feel of his long, hard body against mine. A vision flashed into my mind of us in bed together. Lying naked, our limbs intertwined, his hands running over my body. The thought of it took my breath away.

I leaned on Aidan’s arm as we walked up the front steps. At the door, he took my keys from my hands and inserted them in the lock, as I crumpled sideways, my face against his shoulder. He smelled like the ocean, mixed with the tang of leather from his jacket. I’d been warned over the course of an entire female lifetime never to let a strange man into my house. But somehow every bit of caution I possessed had deserted me. Here I was—on a dark, deserted stretch of beach, my neighbors fled to the city—inviting the stranger inside. And not just any stranger. The one I’d seen a week earlier, possibly casing my house. I won’t blame the vodka. My dad used drink as an excuse for every wrong thing he did, and my mom’s excuse was my dad. I was drunk, yes, but I knew what I was doing. I felt awake, alive, fully conscious—more conscious than I’d felt in years.

Inside, I flipped on the lights and headed for the front of the house, stumbling slightly over the corner of a thick Tibetan carpet. Aidan was right there to grab me, and the grip of his hand on my upper arm sent warm waves through my body. In the kitchen, Aidan gazed around like a kid on Christmas morning. I was glad for how awestruck he seemed. He’d been taking care of me, and I’d been helpless. But now we could switch roles. In my house, I was in charge.

“I’ll give you a tour,” I said, and in my own mind, it was an invitation to more than that.

He lit up. “I’d like that. When I worked your party, I wasn’t allowed inside.”

I shrugged out of my coat and hung it in the hall closet, then held out my hand for his.

“Take off your jacket,” I said.

He stripped it off and handed it to me, and I thought, First piece of clothing, off. My heart was beating so loud I thought he would hear it. I couldn’t help it—my eyes went up and down his body, taking in the broad shoulders in a soft blue button-down, the flat stomach and narrow waist, the long legs. I took a deep breath, and met his eyes, only to find him watching me, appraisingly, like he knew what I was thinking. I felt a blush spread across my face. But I had no intention of turning back.

“Come,” I said, and took his hand.

I led him through the living room, over to the wall of windows that faced the ocean. “The water’s right there.”

“I know. I can visualize it even at night. I love this place.”

It was full dark outside, and our own reflections stared back at us. Aidan stood behind me, a full head taller, his outline blurred—or was that double vision from the drink? Our eyes met, and he put his hands on my waist. I leaned back against him, feeling his hot breath on my hair. He kissed my neck, and I shivered.

“Show me more,” he said.

Show him more? Did that mean what I thought it did? I imagined undressing for him, unbuttoning my top, taking off my bra, my jeans, my panties, while he watched me in the window. The vision sent a sweet ache right down to my thighs. I would have done it then and there, but he took my hand and led me toward the living room, and I realized, no—he actually wants to see more of the house. For a second, I wondered if I’d gone crazy, imagining that a man so much younger, so good-looking, wanted me. But he did want me. If he also wanted my house, those two things didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.

We made a circuit of the room, and I demonstrated its features like Vanna White showing off prizes. Touchscreens ran the lights and the blinds and the music. A soaring French limestone fireplace dominated the great room. I touched a button and flames sprang to life in the grate. We stepped through the French doors onto the terrace, and I flicked on the outdoor lights. The pool sparkled invitingly, but it was too chilly for a dip tonight, and certainly for a skinny-dip. The deck had its own built-in kitchen complete with pizza oven, enormous grill, hidden beverage drawers, and firepit. He admired it extravagantly, as the wind caught his words, and cut through the filmy fabric of my shirt.

“It’s cold,” I said. “Come back inside.”

The media room featured a wet bar and a giant television screen, surround sound and two rows of leather recliners. He was a very appreciative audience, but I was getting impatient. If he didn’t want to do anything, I’d rather that he leave, so I could retreat to my bed and wallow in my sorrows. But how to find out what he had in mind, short of coming out and asking?

I had an idea.

“I even have a light show. Come on, it’s in the master,” I said.

I took him by the hand and led him up the dramatic hanging staircase to my bedroom. We lay down side by side in the dark, on the enormous bed, with its mountain of pillows, and looked up at the ceiling. I pointed the remote, intensely aware of his body, inches from mine.

“Watch.”

My voice was full of barely suppressed excitement. I pressed a button, and the ceiling above us began to change slowly, from black to indigo to bluish gray to glowing pink. The sound effects moved in sync with the dawn, evolving from the soft whoosh of the night breeze to the first stirrings of the birds to joyful chirping at the break of day. I shifted closer to Aidan, so our legs were touching. My body against the bed was liquid and melting, thrumming with the thought of what would happen next.

“That’s incredible,” he said.

“Just wait. Sunset’s so beautiful, it’ll make you cry.”

We lived a perfect day together watching the colors wash across the ceiling. From the fresh light of early morning through the beaming radiance of noon, through the gathering of shadows as the day waned, our fingers intertwined. He raised my hand to his lips and turned it over, kissing my wrist, then my palm, slowly, lingeringly. The brush of his lips against the skin of my hand made me dizzy, and I thought, It’s been too long. And, Why shouldn’t I? And, I deserve this. At sunset, rapturous colors—pinks and lavenders, ochers and golds—cascaded across the ceiling accompanied by soft music and the sound of lapping waves. The round, red orb of the sun was beginning to touch the water. As we watched it sink into the waves, he moved his right leg until it rested between my two, and I knew then it would happen. I paused the display at the moment the sun disappeared into the water, then looked into Aidan’s eyes. His face was bathed in the spectral glow, his eyes dark with lust.

“Isn’t it magic?” I whispered.

“You’re magic,” he said.

The line was corny, but I ate it up. He pulled me toward him and took my face in his hands. I was conscious of my own heartbeat, of this singular moment in time. In bed with a complete stranger, I could forget who I was. I could become a different woman. My lips parted. He kissed me, and I kissed back harder. His tongue tasted sweet and tangy, of limes and vodka. He pulled my head back, kissing me with such fury that it was almost a bite, then moved his mouth to my neck, my ears. I thought, I’ll have marks in the morning, and I loved the thought of that. My insides turned to mush, and I arched my back, quivering with need, pressing into him until I felt the bulge in his pants. I moaned and reached down for his belt buckle. No hesitation, no shame. I wanted him that badly.

He grabbed me and pulled me on top of him, so I was straddling him. His eyes were locked on my face, the pupils dark, as he grabbed me by the butt and pressed himself against me through our clothes. I rocked and squirmed, aching with need.

“Is this what you want?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“What do you want me to do to you? Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Say please.”

“Please.”

“Strip for me first,” he said, and his voice was rough. “Go ahead. Start with the shirt.”

I leaned back and undid the top button of my filmy blouse, taking my time going down the row of buttons, loving the way his eyes were glued to my fingers. I let the blouse slip from my shoulders, luxuriating in the tickle of the fabric against my bare skin. Every sensation was heightened. I’d worn my sexiest bra tonight—sheer, push-up, black. I must’ve been planning ahead, without fully realizing it, or admitting it to myself. My breasts swelled out of it now like an invitation. He reached out and yanked the bra lower, so my nipples showed, and made this primitive grunting sound at the sight of them. I thought I would faint.

He pulled me toward him. His mouth found my breasts, and he grazed them with his teeth, first one, then the other. I was panting with pleasure. Then he grabbed my waist and flipped me, so he was on top. He hovered there, the front of his jeans tented with his hard-on, as I writhed. To be wanted like this, by this gorgeous guy—I was swooning. My eyes closed, and my head swam.

“Look at me,” he commanded, as he grabbed my arms and pinned them to the bed.

I opened my eyes. He let go and took a step back, yanking his pants down and his shirt over his head. Then he ripped my jeans and panties off and stared down at me. Instead of plunging into me then and there like I expected—like I wanted, needed—he got down on his knees. He leaned forward and blew softly on the sensitive spot between my legs, and I shuddered with desire. He moved higher up, kissing my abdomen, then my navel, his lips caressing, his tongue licking and teasing as he moved slowly back down. My legs went rigid, and drunken, rapturous tears leaked from my eyes. Then he slipped two fingers inside me, and I moaned in bliss.

“Mmm, so wet,” he said, as his fingers moved slowly in and out.

By the time I finally felt his tongue down there, I was panting and bathed in sweat. My hands grasped the duvet, and I screamed at him not to stop. He took his time, and I cried out, shuddering, as the orgasm washed over me in intense waves. Then he stood up and grabbed me by the ankles, yanking my legs toward his shoulders, and plunging into me hard, stroking in and out with perfect control. I cried out with every thrust, holding on to his arms, mesmerized. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had sex like this. Maybe I never had. Just when it was about to become too much, when I was about to beg him to stop, he started groaning. He bucked and twisted, gripping my thighs, and collapsed against me.

I was so happy I laughed. His skin was warm and slick with sweat. I breathed in the musky scent of sex, closed my eyes, and sighed. The perfect one-night stand, to distract me from my marriage troubles.

“That was great. Thank you,” I said.

“I love you,” he whispered, as he kissed my neck.

My eyes flew open.

12

I woke in semidarkness to feel the room spinning and vomit rising in my throat. Aidan had flung his arm across my chest as he slept, pinning me to the bed. I threw it off and ran to the bathroom, where I spent the next five minutes on my knees on the cold tile floor, heaving into the toilet. When I was finished, I went to the sink and rinsed my mouth. I’d woken up hungover more than once in recent days, after drinking myself senseless to forget Jason’s betrayal. But this was the mother of all hangovers. My skin was clammy, my legs were shaking, and my whole body ached. There was a throbbing behind my left eye so bad it felt like someone had plunged an icepick in there. I gulped down some Advil, drank an entire glass of water, then stood completely still, waiting to see if they would stay down. When it seemed likely I wasn’t going to hurl again, I took a deep breath, and only then did I realize how much I reeked. Of sex.

The gravity of the situation hit home. I’d picked up the local bartender and brought him to my house, to my bed, for a one-night stand, and everybody in the bar saw me do it. I barely knew this man, and he was still here, fast asleep and snoring. I wished to God this hadn’t happened. But it had, and now I had to face him—in my bedroom. At least I wasn’t worried that he was dangerous. But the shame of it made me feel like jumping out of my skin. Ugh, I wanted him gone, out. I wanted to take a shower, talk to my daughter on the phone, drink a cup of tea, pretend everything was normal and that I hadn’t just violated every rule of decent behavior that my Italian Catholic mother raised me with. I wanted to get rid of this guy—now.

Wait. Did he say he loved me last night?

The thought was crazy. I must’ve hallucinated it in a drunken stupor.

Okay, deep breath. I’d wake Aidan up and ask him to leave. Simple. No problem. Working in that bar, I imagined he was the king of the casual hookup, going home with a different woman every night. He wouldn’t expect breakfast and sweet nothings. Not even a kiss goodbye. Just a pat on the butt, a thank-you, maybe a cup of coffee in a to-go mug if he was on his way somewhere.

I could handle that.

Wait. He drove here in my car. How would he leave?

I would call him an Uber.

None of my credit cards worked.

Fuck.

I needed to take a shower before I could solve this problem. Right now, my body felt like it was held together with Scotch tape and rubber bands, and my fuzzy tongue could barely form words. The hot water would revive me. There was a pink glow around the bathroom blinds. The sun was rising, and if I wanted to get Aidan out of here without being seen, I needed to do it in the next half hour. After that, the gardeners and caretakers and housekeepers would start showing up. Any stray neighbor who’d happened to venture out here past Labor Day would be heading into town for their morning Starbucks and a copy of the Times. And Mrs. Eberhardt, the neighborhood busybody, would be sure to look out her window at the least opportune moment. Francine Eberhardt was a retired school teacher who lived in the one old-time beach shack on the bluff that hadn’t been pulled down and replaced with a palace yet. When my house was under construction, Francine called often to complain about the noise, or how many vehicles were parked on the street, or the fact that the construction workers were smoking in public. I did my best to handle her complaints with good grace, but we didn’t have an easy relationship. The thought of Francine knowing my darkest secret made me distinctly uncomfortable.

I flipped the lights on, then winced and turned them off again. The master bath was massive, with acres of shining white tile, gleaming glass, brushed nickel—altogether too much glitter for my tender eyes at the moment. I turned the shower to full force, made it as hot as I could bear, then stepped through the glass door into the deluge. There was an enormous rain showerhead and jets spraying from both sides. I let the water pound me, but it couldn’t wash away what I’d done last night, or how much my life had changed in the space of a week. My marriage had imploded. My husband took our money and ran. And I morphed into some drunken cougar who picked up men in bars and brought them home for sex. Panic overwhelmed me. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I started to cry, the harsh sound of my sobs filling the steamy stall. Then, with a sudden rush of cold air, Aidan stepped into the shower, naked, and pulled me into his arms.

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry. What’s the matter, baby? I’m here. Everything’s okay,” he whispered, pushing my sodden hair back from my face, looking down at me tenderly. His body was sleek and hard under the rush of water. In that moment, even though I wanted him gone, I wanted him to stay even more. At least somebody was here, to hold me, to listen to my troubles.

“What is it? You can tell me anything,” he said.

I was crying so hard that I could barely force the words out.

“My … husband … left me.”

God, it hurt to admit that. Aidan was the first person I’d told other than Lynn. I cried even louder.

“I know,” he said.

He kissed my forehead and stroked my back.

“How did you know?”

“I heard it at your party. People were talking. Look, you’ll be fine. I promise. I’m gonna take care of you.”

“How can you say I’ll be fine? We’ve been married twenty years. Out of the blue, he left me for some Russian whore. She’s not even pretty. He broke my heart. And took all my money.”

“He took the money?”

“Yes.”

“Well, shit. That is a problem. We have to get that back.”

We? I let the weirdness of that slip by, so desperate was I to believe it was possible to get my money back. I imagined he had some legitimate plan in mind, involving lawyers and court orders and such. Why I thought that, I can’t explain. I was assuming he was normal, I guess. In fact, Aidan’s experience with the law was all from the wrong side, but I didn’t know that then.

“How?” I asked. “How can you get it back?”

“Don’t worry. I know what to do. I’ll take care of your husband for you,” he said.

I’ll take care of your husband. Those words should have terrified me. But they went right by me, because of what he did next.

Aidan kissed me deeply, his tongue finding its way into my mouth. Then he took me by the shoulders and spun me around, so I faced the tile wall. The water cascaded over us as he grabbed my hips and thrust into me from behind. I should have known that Aidan was bad news. I should have heard the meaning behind his words. Not, I’m sorry to hear about your problems. Not, I sympathize, or even, I have a smart lawyer friend you can call. But, I want you, I want your money, and I’ll kill your husband to get it if that’s what it takes. I didn’t hear any of that. I couldn’t, over the sound of rushing water, of my own moans of pleasure. There’s no pretty way to say this. I wanted to feel better. I wanted the sex. At that moment, nothing else mattered.

13

She looked beautiful wrapped in a bathrobe, sitting at the kitchen table, so beautiful it was a crime. Even the bathrobe was beautiful. White terry cloth, thick as a rug, like you’d get in a five-star hotel. Not that Aidan had ever stayed in such a place, but he could imagine. The kitchen table was beautiful, too. Rustic oak, built by a skilled carpenter, with a sparkly chandelier hanging over it, and a view of the ocean waves rolling in the distance. And not just any view, but the view he’d loved since he was a little kid and first realized that the world could be beautiful. So, yeah, the robe and the table and the view of the ocean had moved him this morning. But it was the woman who made the real magic. Caroline. She was his good-luck charm, come to rescue him, and he loved her for it. Hell, he plain loved her, as she sat there laughing, her skin glowing, tendrils of golden hair curling around her face.

“I haven’t had this much fun in a long time,” she said, and he leaned down to kiss her on the mouth.

They’d had sex in the shower, then fallen back into the big bed, with the down comforter, and done it for a long time. Every position. He made her come three times, screaming like a banshee. She was starved for it. Then they slept till noon, and he woke up with her tangled in his arms, her hair cascading onto his chest, and he thought, This is what I’ve been waiting for. He loved this place, this house, this woman—completely. It scared him how much. He was almost embarrassed to think it, but meeting Caroline felt like destiny. The bad times were a trial, a test that he must’ve passed, or how else would he have graduated to this incredible reward.

He lived it again in his mind. Watching her sleep. How she woke up and smiled. And how they made love again, till his cock was raw, and his heart so full that he didn’t know how he could ever pay her back. He’d worked as a short-order cook before the bartending gig. He learned at the halfway house, and he was damn good at it, would’ve kept at it except it was hard work and the pay wasn’t as good as tending bar, where he made mad tips. But cooking was one way he could thank her. He was hungry anyway, after all the sex. When he offered to make breakfast, she lit up at the idea, and they wound up down here in the kitchen with Aidan standing at the fancy stove.

“You like your eggs scrambled or fried?” he said.

“Mmm. Scrambled. Thank you for taking care of me. You make me feel good, Aidan.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he said, and she blushed adorably. In the misty morning light, she looked like a girl, like they could have been the same age.

He got out a pan and took the eggs from the giant Sub-Zero fridge. Even the eggs were magical here. Blue-green beauties from the organic farm, they shone like jewels. He cracked one into a bowl. The yolk was vivid orange, and Aidan thought, Take me out in a box, I’m never fucking leaving this place.

He brought plates to the table. She smiled up at him, grabbed his hand, kissed it, and he thought about having sex with her again. But this thing between them was more than sex. He didn’t want her to think of him as just some stud. He wanted to get to know her, and for her to know him. Well, not everything about him, not yet. He’d be nervous telling her about his past. He would start with the good things, and there were good things. He’d make her see.

He turned on the burner, and the blue flame was beautiful to him. Scrambled eggs and toast—simple, you’d think, but he had a special technique involving butter and a long, slow cook over low heat that made them extra creamy. He took his time, humming as he worked, enjoying the feel of her eyes on him. When the eggs were perfect, he carried the pan over to the table and turned them out onto her plate.

She took a bite and closed her eyes, savoring.

“Mmm. These are the best eggs I’ve ever had,” she said.

He served himself, sat down and tasted. He couldn’t disagree.

“I’m all right at a couple of things,” he said, ducking his head modestly.

“All right? More like amazing.” She raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Now it was his turn to blush. But he couldn’t stand it if this was only about sex for her. People refusing to take him seriously was the story of his life. He wanted more from Caroline, and she kind of owed him, didn’t she? After the way he took care of her last night. Maybe she didn’t owe him love, or even gratitude, but she owed him respect. He hoped she wouldn’t turn into some stuck-up bitch, or he’d be really sad. He ate his eggs in silence, staring down at the plate, until she teased him with her bare foot on his leg.

“Cat got your tongue? I didn’t take you for the silent type,” she said, nudging him playfully. Her toes were painted the color of blood.

Her legs where they emerged from the bathrobe were perfect and shapely. An hour ago, those legs had been wrapped around his neck. He could take her back to bed and make her beg for it. He had power here. He needed to be more confident, and not be cowed by her beauty or her money.

“I’m feeling cooped up,” he said. “It would be nice to get outside. What if we went for a walk on the beach?”

“Oh.” She put her fork down. “That’s not such a good idea.”

Figures, uh-huh. Should he be surprised if she was like everyone else?

“You’re embarrassed to be seen with me,” he said.

“No. If I was, would I have been hanging all over you in the bar last night?”

“Maybe. You were pretty drunk.”

She leaned toward him, taking his hands and looking into his eyes. “Stop it, okay? I want to be with you. I want us to go places together. Just not right in front of my house where my neighbors can see. I’m married, you know.”

He had this funny buzzing feeling in his head. He got it sometimes, like a warning bell, a bullshit detector. Was she playing him somehow? But she was saying all the right things. Things he wanted to hear.

“All right. Where, then?” he asked.

“What about your place? I’d love to see where you live.”

He turned away, so she wouldn’t see how her request unnerved him. The two of them lived in different worlds, and he’d been ignoring it, hoping she would, too, or better yet, that she hadn’t noticed. He was working on changing his situation. Taking her to that shithole would blow the illusion, would make her see him for someone he wasn’t—or someone he was, but only temporarily, because of a string of rotten luck that she was going to help him reverse.

“Ah, it’s messy. You know, guy living alone, and all,” he said.

That was a lie. Aidan was a neat freak who cared for his few possessions meticulously. He did his laundry at the Wash N’ Go every Monday like clockwork, and never left a dirty dish in the sink. But his run-down studio apartment near the edge of town wasn’t much better than an SRO, with a hot plate and a mini-fridge standing in for a real kitchen, and a cramped bathroom with a cheap plastic shower. The furniture consisted of a sofa he got for free off Craigslist, a plastic table and chairs from Walmart, and a twin bed from his mother’s attic that smelled like piss and mothballs. Aidan’s paycheck went to his clothes and his car, the restitution payments from his conviction, and the rent. When he got done with all that, he was so broke that he scrounged his meals at work.

Caroline would hate him if she knew how he really lived, and he’d hate her right back for knowing. He was already walking that thin line with her, the one between love and hate. He loved Caroline, but he hated city people. They were the reason guys like him couldn’t live in this town anymore. Coming in with their millions, buying up every shotgun shack to build their mega-mansions. Gramps saw how it was going and sold, but that was years ago, and the land changed hands two or three times since then. It made the speculators rich, and Aidan and his brother never saw a penny. Then Caroline came in like a queen, riding in her golden carriage. Aidan was the guy running along behind, cleaning up the horse shit. If she didn’t know that, he wasn’t about to enlighten her by letting her see his crappy apartment.

“I know somewhere better,” he said. “A place you would never find on your own, that’s really special. Come on, get dressed, I’m taking you out.”

14

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” Aidan said, his mouth set in a hard line.

We were in my car, speeding along the main road. Aidan was driving. The sky had clouded over. The wind had picked up, and the trees swayed. In the gaps between the houses, the surf pounded the beach like it was angry. A storm was coming.

“I thought you needed to go back to the Red Anchor to pick up your car. But we’re headed in the opposite direction,” I said.

He stared out the window, stone-faced, and didn’t reply. A cold knot of fear gathered in my stomach. The first time I saw Aidan, I knew he was trouble. But I was so desperate for distraction, and he was so tempting, that I ignored the warning signs. When we were in the shower together, and he said he’d take care of Jason for me, I knew I should have kicked him out. But I wanted the sex. When he offered to make me scrambled eggs for breakfast this morning, I should have asked him to leave instead. But the sight of him, standing shirtless and barefoot in my kitchen, the morning sun illuminating his perfect body, silenced my doubts. After breakfast, when he leaned over to kiss me, I should have pulled away. Instead, my lips parted, and I kissed him back. He drew me to my feet and pulled me tight against him. We were on the verge of going to bed again when he said something that made my blood run cold.

“Once your husband’s out of the picture, we can do this all day.”

I pulled back.

“Out of the picture? What’s that supposed to mean?” I’d said, looking him in the eye.

“Nothing,” he replied.

His arms tightened around my waist. It took an effort to break loose from that grip.

“Nothing? Aidan, I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but you have no right to get involved in my marriage.”

“Too late. I’m already involved.”

“No, you’re not. You barely know me.”

His eyes narrowed, and his entire body tensed.

“We spent the night in bed together. I’d say I know you pretty well. You think you can use me and show me the door? Well, I got news for you. That’s not gonna happen.”

“You’re scaring me,” I said, and backed away. “Please leave.”

His face changed. “Hey, I’m sorry. That was dumb. I say stupid things sometimes. I apologize. Forgive me, okay?”

I didn’t entirely trust the change in his tone, not after that display. But I wanted to end this quickly, with a friendly goodbye, and Aidan out of my house—and my life. So, I appeased him. It’s what women do.

“Apology accepted. But I do have a busy day.”

“C’mon, Caroline, lighten up. It was a joke.”

“Okay. So … we should get together again soon. Let me call you an Uber—”

“An Uber? If you insist on making me leave because I said one wrong thing—”

“No, no, not at all. I accept your apology, totally. But I’m going through a divorce. I have to see the lawyer today.”

“At least give me a ride back to my truck. Like I did for you. Is that too much to ask?”

If I gave him a ride to the restaurant, he’d be gone, and we’d be done. That seemed like a reasonable price to pay to get rid of him.

“I’d be happy to. Get dressed. I’ll get the keys,” I said.

While Aidan went upstairs to get his clothes, I looked everywhere for my car keys but couldn’t find them. I heard a jingling sound and turned around. He stood there holding the keys by a fingertip, a sly grin on his face.

“Looking for these?” he said.

The grin that had struck me as so laid-back, so surfer-cool last night, gave me a chill in the light of day. But, I told myself, the keys were in his coat pocket from before. That’s all. I walked toward him, holding out my hand. He just laughed and shook his head and ducked out the door. By the time I got to the car, he was in the driver’s seat. When he headed in the opposite direction from the Red Anchor, there was nothing I could do but try to remain calm and look for my cue to exit.

Aidan turned at the sign for Glenhampton Town Beach. At least he was taking me to a public place, I thought. Then I saw that the ticket booth at the entrance was deserted, with a sign posted that said, CLOSED FOR SEASON. Aidan pulled into a spot up front, near the boardwalk, and turned off the car.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“I have a hankering to walk on the beach with you.”

There was a note of sarcasm in his voice that made me wonder if he was playing with me. His hands on the steering wheel looked coiled and tense.

“Not today, Aidan. The beach is closed. The weather’s awful. And like I said, I have a lot to do.”

“You don’t have anything that can’t wait. Let’s go.”

That was a command, not a request. He got out and slammed the door. He had my car keys, so I didn’t have much choice. My chest tight with anxiety, I followed him.

The parking lot was built on top of a rocky outcropping that overlooked the ocean. We walked past bathrooms and a snack bar locked up tight for the season and descended a rough wooden staircase down to the beach. The wind pressed against me, whipping my hair into my face and making the descent precarious on the slippery steps. The beach was deserted, studded with rocks and driftwood, backed by rugged cliffs. A red flag snapped in the wind, signaling dangerous conditions. A couple of surfers tempted fate out on the water. I kept expecting them to go tumbling and get sucked under. But they were remarkably resilient, disappearing behind a wave only to reappear moments later closer to shore.

Taking my hand, Aidan led me down the beach, away from where the surfers were coming ashore. His face was determined, his eyes fixed on the far distance, his grip on my hand so tight that it hurt. A fine spray of sand blew into my eyes, and I had to raise my voice to be heard over the wind.

“I don’t like this. Let’s go back.”

“There’s something I want to show you. Come on.”

He nodded toward the horizon and kept marching. We came to a second rock outcropping that jutted into the water. At low tide, you could presumably walk around it and continue down the beach without getting your feet wet. But now, with the surf pounding, the rock divided the beach in two, leaving only a thin sliver of sand exposed to walk on. If you tried to go around the rock, you might get hit by a wave and pulled under. But Aidan headed right for it.

“Is this safe?”

“I wouldn’t take you here if it wasn’t. Come on, it’s worth it.”

A wave crashed against the rocks, foaming and swirling. Aidan watched it, and, timing the movement precisely, pulled me forward into the receding water. It came up to my ankles, soaking through my suede boots. We rounded the rock, reaching the other side just as the next wave hit. The spray from it hit me in the face, soaking my hair and my clothes, the cold such a shock that I gasped.

A new stretch of beach spread out before us, magnificently empty under the cloudy sky. But Aidan ignored it and made a beeline for a large boulder that rose from the sand, close up against the rock outcropping. He ducked behind the boulder, which was as tall as a man. When he didn’t reemerge after a minute or two, I walked up to it. No Aidan. He’d disappeared into thin air. With my car keys.

“Aidan?”

The boulder was blocking an opening in the rock. The mouth of the cave was narrow, its sandy floor covered with an inch or so of seawater and speckled with foam and bits of seaweed. A strong smell of brine and damp emanated from inside.

I had a bad feeling about this place.

15

Caroline offered to give him a lift home. On the way, he would show her a special place. There were things he knew that she didn’t. Things only a local would know, someone who lived closer to the ground than she did. Maybe he was rough around the edges, but she liked that, or else, why be with him? He suspected it was nostalgia. The harshness of her accent in unguarded moments gave her away. She hadn’t always been the lady of the manor.

They got all the way to the cave, and she didn’t want to go inside.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, as they stood side by side, staring into the entrance.

He could understand why she’d hesitate. It was dark in there, and she didn’t have the history with the place that Aidan did. He used to run away to there when things were hard at home, pretending he was like Butch Cassidy at the hole in the wall. The first time he got drunk, the first time he got high, and the first time he had sex were all in that cave. Good times. Bad times, too. The one girl he’d ever loved had spent time with him in there. Then she’d shared the place with someone else, and the aftermath was so ugly that Aidan was paying for it to this day. But that wouldn’t happen with Caroline. She was better than Samantha. She was a lady.

He took her by the hand. “It gets wider in a few feet. Light comes in from a hole in the roof. It’s magical, you’ll see. You have to trust me.”

He let her go first, creeping along behind her. Within a few feet, the narrow entrance fed into a space the size of a small bedroom. Rough rock walls slanted up to a peaked ceiling, where the hole revealed a patch of sky. The light filtering through was delicate and shimmering, like the inside of a seashell. And it smelled like the ocean. Aidan took off his jacket and used it to sweep sand off a low, flat boulder.

“Your chair, my lady,” he said.

She hesitated, hanging back near the opening.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s okay, promise. Come here, I’ll protect you.”

She walked toward him, but stopped short of the rock, seeming so shy all of a sudden that she reminded him of the deer he’d seen this morning from her kitchen window, drinking from the swimming pool. Caroline’s house, on his grandfather’s land. It was a magic combination, and it was within his grasp. Like the woman herself. He reached out and put his hands on her waist, pulling her closer, holding her eyes with his. She stopped resisting, and her body relaxed. Then he slid a hand between her legs and felt her up through her jeans until she moaned. He stood up, drew her closer, grazed her lips with his.

“I used to come here in high school,” he said, kissing her neck, her ear. She trembled in his arms.

“Matter of fact, I lost my virginity on this rock,” he said.

“Really? How old were you?”

“Fifteen. She was twenty-two. My boss at the Food Mart.”

“Another older woman? Seriously?”

“Yeah, she was married, too.”

“Wow.”

He looked into her eyes. “Is that weird? What was your first time like? Wait, let me guess. You were in college, and you ended up married to the guy?”

“How’d you know?”

“Because you’re such a rich girl.”

“I’m a nice girl.”

He laughed. “Not if you’re hanging out with me, you’re not.”

He kissed the freckles on the bridge of her nose. Those freckles were like a promise. That she was the girl next door. That she could be his. Then he kissed her again and knew it was true.

16

Waves crashed on the sand. Gulls spiraled overhead, their shrill cries making the empty beach feel desolate. Nobody knew where I was, except for Aidan. My daughter, my sister—they believed I was safe at home. My faithless husband, if he bothered to think of me at all, wouldn’t know to worry. These things occurred to me as I hesitated at the entrance to the cave. Where had Aidan gone? Was he inside there? I needed my car keys. I stepped forward to take a closer look. Suddenly he was behind me, and I jumped. He’d walked around the boulder and snuck up behind me like an immature kid.

“What the hell, Aidan.”

“Go in,” he said, looming over me.

“What? No.”

“I said, get in there,” he said, and gave me a shove.

My stomach flipped as he pushed me through the narrow entrance into a larger, wider space. It was dank and claustrophobic, with dripping rock walls as thick as the cliff itself. He guided me toward a low rock that was covered with sand, the ground around it strewn with cigarette butts and used condoms.

“What the hell are you doing?” I said, my voice quavering.

“I didn’t want you to miss this place.”

“So you shoved me?”

“I wanted you to see. Magic, isn’t it?”

“It’s—dirty,” I said.

Aidan’s face tightened.

“Not fancy enough for you, princess?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

I knew what he was after. But I was put off by him now, even anxious about what he might do. I didn’t want sex. What I wanted was to tell him this was over. That it had been a wonderful distraction, but now it needed to end so we could go back to our real lives. The trouble was—crazy as it sounds, since I was a forty-three-year-old housewife, and Aidan was a gorgeous young guy—I was convinced he’d take it badly. You’d think it would be the other way around. That I’d be the one to get overly attached after a one-night stand. But I hadn’t, and it was beginning to seem like he had. We were alone in a cave on a deserted beach. Aidan stood between me and the exit. Making him upset in this confined space was not a smart idea. I floundered around for an excuse.

“I’m—I’m claustrophobic,” I said. “I’ll have an anxiety attack if I stay here.”

He came up to me, took me by the shoulders, and looked down into my eyes.

“Nothing bad will happen to you while I’m around. Promise. I won’t let it, okay? Come sit down.”

He took off his jacket and brushed sand from the big rock, then kicked some of the detritus that surrounded the rock into the corner. I’d made it clear that I wanted to go. It was beginning to worry me that he wouldn’t listen. While his back was turned, I edged toward the exit.

“I’m nervous in here, Aidan. Can we go, please?”

“Give it a chance.”

“You showed me the place, now I need to leave. I’ve been telling you all morning I have things to do.”

His face fell. “You’re mad at me. What did I do wrong?”

“I’m—I’m stressed, okay? My life is a mess. I don’t have time for this right now.”

I moved toward the exit. He blocked me.

“Let me take your mind off it.”

“That only works for so long.”

“It’ll work again. I promise.”

He kissed me on the mouth. I didn’t kiss back. His teeth ground against my lips as he pushed me backward toward the rock. My legs hit it, and I sat down hard. I felt the rock, rough and cold, through my jeans. Aidan sat beside me and started groping, his hands rough on my body, my breasts.

“I want you so much,” he whispered, his breath hot against my neck.

He reached for the buttons of my shirt. I pushed his hands away.

“Aidan, no. Stop it.”

He pulled back momentarily. His expression had changed again, this time to fury. His face was red, his mouth screwed up like he wanted to spit.

“What’s the problem? I was good enough for you last night.”

He grabbed my hand and pressed it to the bulge in his pants. I pulled away.

“I said no.”

“You don’t mean it.”

We wrestled. He was bigger and stronger. My heart beat wildly. Before I could get up and run, he’d unzipped. His hands tugged at the waist of my jeans. He pulled me under him, stood above me, yanked his jeans down to his knees. There was no point in screaming. The rock walls were too thick, the wind and the surf too loud on the beach. If I yelled, or fought, or resisted in any way, I’d only make him angrier. I couldn’t predict how he’d react, because I barely knew him, but he might hurt me. The Catholic girl inside my head, the one my mother had raised to feel responsible when men misbehaved, was saying, What the hell did you expect? He’s not gonna to take no for an answer when you already told him yes.

I was about to give in when I heard a noise. Above the sound of Aidan’s rushed breathing, there was a scrambling, a dislodging of pebbles near the cave entrance that attracted my attention. Aidan jumped off me, pulling up his pants. The two surfer dudes we’d seen before out on the water stood there in dripping wet suits, staring at us.

17

When the surfers barged in, I saw my chance. Gathering my clothes around me, I pushed past them out of the cave. Outside, I gulped the salty air in relief, but the feeling only lasted a second. The tide had come roaring in. Waves pounded the rock cliff, completely obscuring the narrow strip of sand that Aidan and I had crossed twenty minutes earlier. If I tried to make it to the other side of the beach now, I’d be swept out to sea. Before I could figure out what to do, Aidan hurtled out of the cave after me, buttoning his shirt as he came. The surfers had stayed behind in the cave, and he was by himself, which meant I was alone with him again. As he approached, I took a step back toward the crashing surf, my heart pounding.

“Hey, babe, I’m really sorry,” he said. “I never thought we’d get interrupted in there. I know that was embarrassing. Are you okay?”

Aidan smiled—a gentle, laid-back smile that said he was the nicest guy in the world. I might have believed it, if he hadn’t tried to assault me in there. He was acting like nothing was wrong. I wanted to find my car and get the hell away from this place. And from him. But how could I, when the escape route was blocked?

He caught my nervous glance at the waves.

“No worries,” Aidan said. “Tide comes in on the regular. There’s another path to the parking lot, c’mon.”

He tried to grab my hand, but I dodged him. He gave me a funny look, then squinted up at the thick, black clouds.

“If you don’t want to get soaked, you’d better come along,” he said. “Sky’s about to open.”

He knew what he was talking about. As I watched him walk away, fat drops of icy rain began to fall, making plopping sounds in the sand. The chill came up through my shoes immediately. The damp penetrated my light jacket, and I started to shiver. Aidan sped up, throwing a last glance over his shoulder to see if I would follow. I didn’t want to. But I got worried that he’d take his secret shortcut to the parking lot and drive away with my car, leaving me stranded on this desolate beach in a storm. I walked after him, breaking into a jog as the rain fell harder. Water streamed into my eyes as he disappeared into a narrow break in the rocks. By the time I got there, he was gone. The steep, sandy trail twisted upward between rock walls. Behind me, the rain pounded, and the surf was wild. I stepped onto the path and began climbing. By the time I made it to the parking lot, my dripping hair plastered to my head and my lungs burning, Aidan was in the driver’s seat of my car, with the engine running and the wipers going. I sank into the passenger seat, grateful for the blasting heater.

I was praying we’d go to the restaurant now, and that would be that. But he drove me to his apartment instead. Aidan lived at the Sea Breeze Cottages. The name was a lie. There were no cottages, only a long, low apartment building with a crumbling parking lot, painted a dull tan that looked dirty in the rain. And for a sea breeze, you’d have to use your imagination, since we were miles from the beach. I remembered places like this from my Long Island girlhood. Once upon a time, my friends lived in them. I’d worked hard to avoid that fate, and I had no intention of looking back.

There were ten apartments, each with a small concrete stoop, a metal door, and a parking space in front. Aidan pulled into a parking space in the middle of the complex.

“Come inside, I’ll make us some coffee,” he said.

My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket, giving me an excuse to stall. I pulled it out to see a text from Hannah lighting up the screen, all in caps.

WTF MOM DAD TOLD ME YOU’RE SPLITTING??

I hadn’t spoken to my daughter in two days. I’d been putting off breaking the awful news about the divorce. It never occurred to me that Jason would tell her first. He hadn’t been returning my calls, so I assumed he wasn’t talking to Hannah either. But they always talked. I should realize that. They were closer to each other than either one of them was to me.

Aidan frowned. “Who’s it from?” he said, and I heard jealousy in his tone.

“My daughter.”

“You have a daughter? Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“It didn’t come up.”

“That’s a pretty big thing to leave out. Don’t you think I’m entitled to know?”

Entitled? My jaw dropped. I was tempted to utter a few choice words, but doing that would only delay the moment where Aidan got out of my car, and out of my life.

“It’s hardly like we’ve told each other our life stories,” I said. “I need to call her back.”

“How old is she? Does she live with you? What’s her name?”

The prospect of discussing Hannah with Aidan made me nervous. It had been a mistake to mention her at all. Aidan had threatened Jason, in so many words. I didn’t know him well enough to know whether to take the threat seriously. But I didn’t trust him, and I certainly wasn’t about to give him details about my daughter. I wanted my car keys and then I wanted Aidan out of my life. But he wasn’t going easily. He stared at me with arms crossed, waiting for an answer.

“Aidan. I need to speak to my daughter, and I’d like some privacy. Please.”

The “please” seemed to help.

“All right,” he said, grudgingly.

He stepped out into the rain, then stuck his head back in the car.

“Come inside when you’re done.” He slammed the door.

He’d taken my car keys again, of course. As the rain pounded the windshield, I dropped my head into my hands wearily. I was sick of this game and annoyed at myself. I’d dodged a bullet. If the surfers hadn’t stumbled into the cave when they did, Aidan would likely have forced himself on me. He could try that again if we were alone in his apartment. But my keys—I had to get them back. I could call the cops. I didn’t want to; it would be embarrassing for both of us. But he wasn’t leaving me much choice.

I opened my phone, contemplating whether to call 911. Then I remembered. The police would never help me. Aidan’s brother was the chief. It was my own fault for getting involved with a complete stranger. I wanted to scream. But the phone rang in my hands, startling me into dropping it and catching it again. It was Hannah.

“Hi, sweetheart,” I said. “I was about to call you.”

I heard soft snuffling on the other end of the line, and my stomach dropped.

“Oh, baby,” I said. “Hannah. Honey, please, don’t cry.”

“Mom? How could you do this?”

I paused. Was she taking Jason’s side, when he was the one who cheated?

“Me? What did I do?” I asked.

“How could you not tell me, Mom?” she said, her voice rising in grief.

“Oh. Well, I was working up to telling you.”

“If you guys split, it’s like my whole life was a lie.”

“This has nothing to do with you. It’s about Dad and me.”

“Were you purposely staying together until I left home? That makes me feel lied to.”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having problems?”

“I didn’t know, until the party.”

“You were going to let him leave the country, and not even tell me?”

“Leave the country? What are you talking about?”

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