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scrawled inside: “You’re the greatest. This is going to work! Love Justin.”
    “One thing’s for sure: It won’t be easy to get him to commit.”
    “That’s okay; I’m not looking for anything permanent right now.”
    “So, go for it. But see how he disconnects the last letter of this word, ‘ going ’? He rushes into new relationships, but come time to put his money where his mouth is, he’s gone. He’s also emotionally needy. He doesn’t put a comma after writing the word, ‘ love .’ It says “Love Justin. ” He’s begging for your love.”
    Marcia looked confused. “But you just said he wouldn’t commit.”
    “People don’t always want what they need. At least he isn’t a psychopath, like the last one.”
    “You sure had him pegged right. Fantastic in the sack, but honey, could he turn ugly fast.”
    “Handwriting never lies.”
    “You probably oughta listen to your own advice, my friend.”
    Claudia tightened the leash around her wrist as Flare began tugging her toward the door.
    “You know how it is. The shoemaker’s kids go barefoot.”
~
    The dog padded a few feet ahead, leading Claudia down the steep hill, keeping the leash taut but never taking advantage. They zigzagged left, then right at the next two streets, passing Tyler’s Coffee House. She could hear the noisy late evening crowd laughing over beer and burgers at The Shack across the street. Marinelli’s Italian restaurant was on the opposite corner, its red, white, and green lights twinkling garishly on the roof like a perpetual Christmas.
    Pulling Flare to heel, Claudia crossed the highway and stepped onto the path to the darkened beach. Sensing impending freedom, the dog dragged her across the sand to the water’s edge. She unhooked the leash and let Flare run while she followed.
    Alone again.
    She couldn’t help thinking of the string of disastrous relationships she’d had over the six years following her divorce. None had survived her all-encompassing compulsion to work, including her five-year marriage to Alan Rose, which had crumbled under the weight of his relentless need for her total devotion. Therapy had taught her that she’d turned work into a compensation for the lost pregnancies, until overwork became a way of life.
    Alone is emotionally safer than a bad relationship: no one to complain that I work too much. That’s good . But no one to love, no one to love me. Not good.
    She’d failed to pay attention to the growing distance between them until Alan consoled himself with another woman. He deserved someone to give him the love he needed, and Claudia hadn’t been the one.
    Maybe being alone was okay. She had her house, her career, her freedom.
    Better than what Lindsey has.

Chapter 4
    Groaning, Claudia reached out to silence the persistent buzzing of the alarm clock. The small amount of alcohol she’d consumed the night before couldn’t account for the grogginess she felt as she crawled out of bed and dragged herself to the bathroom.
    In an effort to improve her attitude, she set the shower jets to a hard pulse and let the steaming water beat a tattoo against her head and shoulders, lathering up with soap that didn’t deliver on its promise to make her feel like a spring morning.
    After drying off, Claudia swiped her towel over the foggy mirror. Her reflection stared back at her. When had the web of tiny lines first begun to appear around her eyes? she wondered with a little shock. The hot breath of her fortieth birthday seared her neck, and her mother’s voice, carping about her lack of a permanent relationship, echoed in her ears.
    Telling the voice to shut up, she wiped off the rest of the steam and went to get a handwriting sample that had arrived in yesterday’s mail. An employment applicant from one of her steady clients who owned a Beverly Hills furniture store.
    Propping the sample on the vanity where she could see it, Claudia aimed the hair dryer at her hair and let the handwriting work at the