him to. But just then, Molly came back into the kitchen, eyeing us warily. Instantly, Nick and I slapped stiff smiles on our faces, masking our hostilities. I wondered, once again, if this was what it was like to be part of a family. Protecting children from being hurt by the affairs of the adults around them. Molly sat beside me and I put my arm around her.

“Still hungry, Mollybear?” I would ignore Nick. I would punish him by shutting him out.

She shrugged, looked from me to Nick. “Are you guys in a fight?” she whispered.

Nick answered in a calm voice. “No, your mom and I aren’t fighting. Not really. Even good friends have disagreements sometimes. We’re having one, and we’re talking about it so we can work it out.” His eyes watched me while he spoke, and I saw in them the almost painful tenderness of the night before.

Molly nodded. “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “Two people can’t always agree every time.” Where had she heard that? How had she arrived at that wisdom?

Nick smiled his half smile. “You’re a smart girl, Molly. Smarter than a lot of grown-ups.”

He reached across the table for my hand and held on to it, but I held mine in a firm fist, not relenting. Still, despite our unresolved issues, for a while longer, we remained calm and friendly for Molly’s sake. We’d had our first argument, and as far as I was concerned it would be our last. What an idiot I’d been. How had I so casually—and so suddenly—let this man into our lives? And gone to bed with him? So soon? And introduced him to Molly? What had I been thinking? I glanced across the table, avoiding Nick’s eyes, glimpsing his strong jawline, his shoulders, his meaty hands. My body reacted, even now. Obviously, I hadn’t been thinking; that was the problem.

Well, no real harm was done. Molly hadn’t invested emotionally yet, and although my feelings were bruised, I’d survive. I’d been stupid, but I’d learned some important facts: Even with his evasions, I knew that the bag with the body was real. And I knew that I was needier than I’d realized. That I had to be on guard and not fall so easily for a man like Nick Stiles.

That morning, sitting across from him, I marveled at how relaxed he seemed, how easily he played word games with Molly.

I couldn’t help thinking about the woman who’d shot him. Had he been dishonest with her, too? Had she agonized over his deceit? Had it been merely omissions or actual lies? I pictured her, unsteadily aiming her gun at Nick, and I imagined him diving, struggling for the gun, getting shot in the face, and, in a bloody rage, grabbing the weapon and shooting her dead. Stop it, I told myself. That was absurd. Just because he’d hidden some facts about the nanny case didn’t mean he’d lied about his wife’s death. He hadn’t killed her; she’d shot herself. Her death had been by her own hand. Hadn’t it? If I asked him about it, all these years later, he’d certainly tell me the truth. Wouldn’t he?

TWENTY-TWO

ASIFONCUE, SUSAN CALLED SECONDS LATER, JUST AS I WAS getting into the shower. “I gotta be quick,” she blurted. “We’re late for piano lessons. Here’s the deal: Leslie and I made preliminary plans for organizing the moms. We all have crazy schedules, so we’re meeting Thursday during gym. Leslie is bringing about fifty whistles to distribute to nannies. Heather’s got colored string—we’re going to make necklaces to hang the whistles on. We’ve got oodles of ideas. Anyhow, you know the routine: I call you; you call Karen; she calls Gretchen, and so on down the phone chain just like for snow days.” “Great. You did good.”

Her breathing slowed. “Okay. What’s wrong?”

Dammit, I couldn’t hide anything from her.

“Zoe, I don’t have time to pull it out of you. What happened?”

“It’s not important. The whistle necklaces are a great idea.”

“I’ll worry until I know.”

“It’s no big deal. Just that Stiles came over last night.”

“About the case?”

“No. It was a social call.”

“Really?” She was quiet for a minute, chewing on that. I could hear her mind whirring. “And?”

Good question, I thought. “And it got complicated. It went south.”

“So fast? What the hell happened?”

“We don’t share priorities. We have different values—” “Zoe, what are you talking about? What does that mean? Who gives a damn about sharing values? Tim and I’ve been married seventeen years, and I don’t