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you.”
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    Thirty miles west of Boston, on the banks of the rushing Rock River, lay the long brick buildings of the Sperry Paper Company. Because sulfuric acid was used in the manufacture of paper, producing an unpleasant, rotten-egg-like smell, the town of Sperry had grown up a few miles east, on the other side of a rocky hill that blocked most of the stench. On the other side of the valley, looking down on Sperry, sprawled the Sperry family home, an enormous Victorian mansion.
    Carolyn had lived in the family home all her life, as had her father and his mother and grandmother. Her father lived here still. It was another family tradition that worked, because the house was so large a Wagnerian opera could be performed within its walls and no one would notice. Carolyn’s father lived in the south wing; Carolyn and her husband, Hank, in the north. The west wing, with its great ballroom, billiard room, and conservatory, was seldom used. Carolyn and her father met in the east wing if they decided to have dinner together, which was often, since Hank traveled so much. Carolyn and Aubrey each had kitchens in their own quarters, but they also had a wonderful housekeeper, Mrs. B., who had been with them forever.
    Today her father’s Jag wasn’t in the drive, and Hank would be gone overnight. Carolyn entered her house through the side door, chatted with the housekeeper for a few moments to be sure everything was under control, then went down the long hall and into the living room. Stretching out on a sofa, she was ready to click on the evening news when she heard a car come up the drive. Two car doors slammed.
    Two doors?
    She heard the housekeeper’s greetings. Someone shrieked. Someone laughed.
    “Coming right up, Mr. Sperry!” the housekeeper said.
    Carolyn’s living-room door opened, and her father walked in. He looked unusually handsome, his silver hair brushed and gleaming, his eyes bright.
    Next to him stood a plump young woman with wispy brown hair.
    No, she wasn’t just standing next to him. She was
holding Aubrey Sperry’s hand.
    Carolyn put her feet on the floor and sat up straight. Oh, no! Was her father ill? The other woman had a nursey look about her.
    “Carolyn, darling,” her father said. “I want you to meet Heather. My wife.”
    “Your—” Her brain would not compute.
“Wife?”
    “My wife. As of the last twenty-four hours.”
    “And sixteen minutes,” Heather added in a soft, high, little-girl voice, gazing enraptured up at her husband. She looked more like his grandchild than his wife.
    “But how— When—”
    Mrs. B. appeared in the doorway with a silver tray, three flutes, and a bottle of champagne.
    “Thank you, Mrs. B.!” Aubrey Sperry took the tray from the housekeeper, who slipped discreetly from the room. He set it on the coffee table and, with much eyebrow waggling at his bride, manipulated the cork from the bottle. He poured three times, handed a glass to his wife, and one to Carolyn.
    “I can’t drink, Father,” she reminded him. “I’m pregnant.”
    “Oh, a little sip won’t hurt you. You’ve got to toast the newlyweds!”
    Stunned, Carolyn accepted the glass.
    Aubrey sat on the sofa, pulling his new wife next to him. “I’m sure you’re wondering how we met.”
    “Um, yes.”
    He patted Heather’s thigh, looking dotingly at her as he spoke. “I stopped in at a bank in Arlington three months ago to cash a check. Heather was the teller. Our eyes met. When she handed me my money, our fingertips touched. The next day I took her out to dinner, and we’ve been seeing each other ever since.”
    “I had no idea.”
    “I’m well aware of that, darling, and it’s not your fault.” Aubrey’s voice took on a patronizing tone. “You were so preoccupied with your morning sickness, and I know how important this baby is to you and Hank. I thought it best not to intrude.”
    Preoccupied?
Carolyn thought wildly. It was more as if morning sickness