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times when I’d give anything for a real home. You—you have stability. I can’t believe you and Julian have anniversary number ten coming up. Will you do something big to celebrate?”
    “Maybe. What did you do about France?”
    “Postponed. I’ll go in the fall. But you need to do something for your tenth.”
    “We were in Paris two years ago,” Nicole said as she loaded the dishwasher. “Julian delivered a paper there.”
    Julian Carlysle was cutting edge when it came to prenatal cardiac surgery. A brilliant surgeon, he had been a rising star at the time of his marriage to Nicole. Charlotte assumed Paris wasn’t his only big-time venue. “How often do you two travel?”
    “Every few months.” Her green eyes lit. “Want to take a walk?”
    “Where?”
    “Wherever you want.”
    Having been in the car all day and just overeaten, Charlotte liked the idea. “The beach,” was all she had to say.
    Bundling up, they slipped out the sliders, crossed the stone patio, and went down two wide granite steps. Typical of the North Atlantic, the shore was rocky. The beach grass that sprouted between boulders was its only softening touch. Even the sand at the water’s edge was hard packed and strewn with stones. But the ruggedness didn’t detract from its lure. Here was nature in its raw beauty. The tide had ebbed, leaving behind swaths of seaweed. Drawn by its fishy smell, gulls squealed as they dove to peck marine life from the tangle.
    Since it was still light, they walked toward the tail of the island. Sand and surf were rougher at this end, but invigorating. The breeze was steady, blowing hair, scarf, and grass. When Nicole looped an arm through Charlotte’s, they walked as they had when they were kids—and for a time Charlotte was one again, on her own personal escape.
    Then they passed the spot where she had been with Julian, and the escape turned dark. She had never retained the details of that hour. There had been too much wine, too much exhaustion, too much fog that night. There had also been subconscious baggage, at least on her part, though she didn’t admit that for weeks. At the time, all she saw was a gigantic mistake. Julian had sworn her to silence the next morning, and she had readily agreed.
    His life hadn’t changed. He married Nicole a month later and had gone on with his career. For all she knew, he had convinced himself that nothing had ever happened.
    She had tried to do it, too. There had been no love involved, no forethought. It was a gross error, a lapse in character, and while she might blame her parents for the example they set, she had no one to blame but herself. Julian had started it, but she had gone along.
    Feeling ten years’ worth of guilt now, she freed her arm under the pretense of scrambling over a cluster of rocks. When she returned to Nicole, she walked sideways. “So, how is the good doctor?”
    “Fine,” Nicole chirped. “Really busy.”
    “Still working long hours?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Does that bother you?”
    “He loves his work. What about you, Charlotte? Who do you date?”
    “No one special. But you didn’t answer my question. Do his hours bother you?”
    “How can they?” Nicole returned. “He’s in the prime of his career. He lectures, he sits on panels, and he’s even on TV now, which is a total no-brainer since he’s handsome and articulate. They call him when they’re reporting on anything related to fetal surgery. He’s their expert.” Her fingers quoted the word.
    “So he’s in demand,” Charlotte said and couldn’t resist adding, “I’m glad. I was worried he’d have hung around here longer if I hadn’t been coming.” As tests went, it was subtle. His absence might be entirely innocent; any man would be wary of spending time alone with two women writing a cookbook. If Nicole knew about the sex, she hadn’t let on in any of their earlier discussions.
    Indeed, she seemed appalled now. “Oh no. He would have loved to see you, but he