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reasons their marriage had not worked.
    Carol said, “What do you want, Guy?”
    “A double scotch and a rare rib eye will do me just fine. Or don't they serve anything but pasta here?”
    Laura smiled sweetly. “No carnivores allowed.”
    Sometimes it still gave Carol a strange feeling to look up and see Guy. Right after he had moved out, Carol kept tripping over the empty place in her life where Guy had once been. But knowing that she could see him, accidentally or on purpose, any time of the day or night, was both reassuring and disconcerting. When he had moved to Tallahassee, and Kelly was gone, too, the emptiness had taken on a life of its own, threatening to consume everything in its path. A world without Guy seemed to be a world that was very wrong indeed, like a world without stars or in which tides flowed backward.
    But that was a long time ago. Carol had changed, Guy had changed, life had changed. And even after a year, Carol wasn't quite sure how she felt about having him back in town.
    Guy said, “So how about inviting me over for a soak in the hot tub?”
    Laura lifted her wineglass in a small salute. “In your dreams.”
    “Don't flatter yourself. I was talking to your friend.”
    Carol mimicked Laura's sweet smile. “What she said.”
    “Hey, I used to own that hot tub.”
    “You also used to have hair,” Laura returned tartly.
    “I resent that. Besides, I still have hair ... more or less.”
    “Not for long, sweetheart.”
    Guy glanced at Carol. “You know she really adores me, don't you?”
    It was then that Carol noticed that Guy had torn a roll into three pieces, littering the white tablecloth with crumbs, but he hadn't eaten a bite. This was so unlike Guy that Carol's stomach contracted once, sharply, with consternation and concern. And then Carol glanced sharply at Laura. Was it possible that Laura had called Guy, after all, and told him about the distressing phone call? The only time Guy ever fidgeted was when he didn't know what to say—which was virtually never. But if he were trying to find a way to reason with his near-hysterical ex-wife before she fell over the edge of a breakdown, that might well put him at a loss for words—however temporarily.
    The waitress stopped by and Guy ordered his drink. Carol discreetly nudged a bread plate toward Guy and waited until the waitress was gone to ask coolly, “What's on your mind, Guy?”
    “The national debt, Mideast tensions, the decline of family values ...”
    Laura raised her eyebrow to an exaggerated height. “All that in that tiny space? I'm impressed.”
    Guy said, “One of these days you're going to go too far, Capstone.”
    “Excuse me.” Carol raised her hand in a plea for peace. “Who divorced this man, anyway?”
    Laura retorted, “It's beginning to look as though no one did.”
    Carol decided that if Laura had set this up, she was a better actress than Carol had ever guessed.
    The waitress returned with Guy's drink and he dropped the mangled pieces of bread onto the bread plate Carol had provided, looking mildly surprised as he realized the damage he had done.
    Carol said, trying to neutralize the conversation, “So, Guy. Now that you're managing editor, what are the chances of featuring Beachside Realty in the Focus on St. T. section of the paper this June?”
    He seemed to relax a little. “No can do. No favoritism under my command.”
    “Oh yeah, right.” Laura's voice was heavy with her familiar sarcasm. “Like that feature you did on Walt Marshall's marina wasn't favoritism. Everybody knows he gives you your slip for free.”
    Guy grinned. “Yeah, but I was never married to him.”
    “There's been speculation about that, too.”
    Guy ignored her, sipping his scotch. He said, in the same mild, almost casual tone, “Speaking of the newspaper business, I know you two charming ladies have followed the ups and downs of my career with rapt interest—”
    Laura made a muffled sound of derision.
    “So in that context