car, Tamara’s hands reaching for help, a finger lying in the street.

When I didn’t answer, he stuck out his lower lip, a protrusion of wet flesh under a wad of wiry hair. Michael was pouting.

“Please, Zoe?” He made his little-boy face. A mistake. It didn’t work with the mustache.

“I told you I’d think about it, and I will. I promise. G’bye, Michael.” I moved toward the door, telling myself not to feel guilty.

“When, exactly?”

“I don’t know. When I get a chance.” When hell freezes over. “soon.”

“Nothing’s on TV, Mommy.” Molly was back. Probably she’d never left. Probably she’d been listening in the hall.

“Uncle Mike has to go,” I said. “He’s just saying good-bye.”

She stared at him, her fingers in her mouth. “Are you really my uncle?”

Michael said, “sure,” and I said, “No,” at the same time. Our eyes met, sparkling with animosity.

“I want it by Christmas, Zoe,” Michael’s tone had become nasty. “I’ve promised it to Margaret, and she’ll get it. One way or another.”

How dare he bully me? Or promise her my ring before I’d agreed to return it? I went to the door and opened it.

“G’bye, Michael.” I held the door for him, just as I had five years ago.

“I’ll be in touch,” he promised. “Bye, Molly.” He winked and shot her with his finger. Then, finally, he was gone.

I stood at the window, watching him negotiate the icy sidewalk to get to his car. I turned off the coffeemaker and rinsed out Michael’s cup, my hands recalling the hundreds of times they’d done that. The dozens of simple tasks they’d performed as part of a marriage. Lord. Why had I let Molly open the door? Michael was part of the past. We were over, finished, done. Trying to deal with him now was an anachronism. It was like raising the dead. I went to the door and bolted it, making the house mine again. Locked and secure, I was still standing there, leaning against the door, when the doorbell rang again.

THIRTY

MAYBE HE’D FORGOTTEN HIS GLOVES. I BRACED MYSELF AND opened the door. “What?” I asked. But it wasn’t Michael.

Nick, his back to me, was gazing down the steps, watching Michael’s car pull away. Had he seen him leave? What would he think, seeing a man leave my house at not even 7:00 A.M.? Nick’s Volvo was parked behind Jake’s pickup. Jake stared up at my door. What must he think, seeing all this male traffic? That I ran a brothel? Did he want to get in line? Who else was going to stop by?

“Nick!” Molly ran out the door barefoot and gleefully jumped into his arms. I felt a pang of guilt for letting her form an attachment. Or maybe of jealousy. Watching them, I remembered having those strong arms around me. The comfort of being wrapped against his chest. Damn.

“I knew you’d come back,” Molly was saying. “When I woke up, I thought it was you. But it was Uncle Mike. Look how loose my tooth is—maybe it’ll come out today—”

“Molly, you have no shoes on. Come inside.” My God. She couldn’t stop talking. she made it sound like Michael had been there all night. But I owed Nick no explanation, wasn’t going to offer any.

I hadn’t even greeted him. I didn’t know how to. I was still reeling from Michael, and now there was Nick, taking me by surprise, smelling of fresh soap or shaving cream or whatever that stuff was. What was he doing here? “Okay if I come in, too?”

“Of course.” I didn’t look at him. Didn’t dare. What was the matter with me? I was a mature woman, not some impressionable schoolgirl. And he was just a man like any other. He got holes in his socks, clipped his nose hairs like the rest of them. But seeing him was definitely knocking me off balance, and if I looked at him, my eyes might speak for themselves and give me away. so I aimed them elsewhere. At Molly.

“sweetie, what are you going to wear today?”

“You already know, Mom. We laid it out last night.”

“Then go put it on.”

“But I want breakfast.”

“You just had a doughnut.”

“I want real breakfast.”

Nick stood at the door, watching us. Listening. I felt my face get hot, revealing too much. Damn. And the heat of his eyes on me. The man is not for you, I reminded myself. You can’t trust him. I repeated that mentally a few times, but when he walked into the kitchen and stood