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let her down. Her mother had never been someone she could lean on, not emotionally. Her brother didn’t have the strength to keep himself on a productive path, never mind anyone else. Her father had died. And her husband had abandoned her when she needed him most.
    â€œOh, God, that’s Rafe,” Keith said, mimicking her words from before.
    As Rafe’s truck disappeared around the bend, she said, “I’ve met Mom’s contractor before. At a party a long time ago. I didn’t recognize his name because we called him Rafe and not Raphael.”
    â€œDid he remember you?”
    â€œOnce I reminded him, yeah.”
    â€œThat’s it? You met him at a party years ago and you were that distressed to see him again?”
    â€œI wasn’t distressed ,” she lied. “I was surprised.”
    Keith looked at her more closely. “Were you two friends?”
    â€œNot at all. He’s four years older. I barely knew him.”
    â€œDid he go to Fairham High?”
    â€œHe did. If you hadn’t been away at boarding school, you would’ve been a freshman when he was a junior and probably would’ve known him a lot better than I ever did. He seems nice enough now, though. Is he a good contractor?”
    Their tires crunched over the pebbles in the road. “Mom checked him out pretty thoroughly. He comes highly recommended.” He turned onto the paved street. “Speaking of Mom, are you nervous about seeing her?”
    She shrugged, pretending she wasn’t, but her heart began to pound faster and faster with each passing mile.
    It seemed like only seconds later that they were winding their way to the highest point on the island.
    â€œPippa’s still there, isn’t she?” Maisey asked.
    â€œI doubt Mom’ll ever let Pippa go,” Keith replied. “She needs her too badly, and they get along quite well. But we have a new groundskeeper.”
    â€œSince when?”
    â€œSince Jorge retired and moved to San Diego three years ago. The new guy’s name is Tyrone.”
    She hadn’t kept up. Three years ago, she’d been too busy, if not too happy, to stay in touch. And once she’d lost her family and her ability to write and illustrate, she’d been too miserable.
    They stopped outside the decorative iron gates surrounding Coldiron House. Then Keith pushed the button that made those gates grind open, and she saw the mansion where she’d grown up—with its columns and double-story verandas, hanging flowerpots and carpet-like lawn—for the first time in ten years.
    Nostalgia warred with anxiety.
    So much for her great escape, she thought. She’d just made a perfect circle.

4
    H er mother, dressed in a highly tailored burnt-orange skirt and jacket with matching pumps, was expertly made up and coifed. She was even wearing lip-liner with her lipstick. But just because she appeared to be on her way to Love’s in Bloom, or somewhere even fancier, didn’t mean she’d be leaving the house. Josephine always looked as if she belonged in the pages of a fashion magazine, and she never seemed to age. She did everything she could to prevent it.
    As a child, Maisey had been proud of her. When Josephine walked into a room, people noticed, especially men. And the way she carried herself, so regally, helped her win over anyone her beauty might not have captivated.
    It wasn’t until Maisey grew older that she began to perceive her mother’s vanity—and the many hours she spent getting Botox and other treatments—as more desperate and self-indulgent than admirable. But she didn’t want to see through that carefully prepared veneer. She wished she could still be under Josephine’s spell, like almost everyone else.
    â€œHello, Mother.” She nodded respectfully as she stood at the threshold of the drawing room where her mother waited to receive them. She wished she was one of those daughters who