Tom’s voice was soothing, the odor of tobacco in his hair and on his clothes, suddenly comforting. She wanted to rest her head on his shoulder, close her eyes.

He stood up to retrieve the crumpled graph paper Alec had thrown on the floor. “So,” he said, as he sat down again, spreading the paper flat on the table. “Are you still interested in stained glass or was that just an attempt to be more like Annie?”

Olivia turned her eyes away from the simplistic design. It suddenly looked like a drawing in a coloring book. She stood up and began packing her belongings into the tote bag. “I was interested,” she said, “but I guess I’m not very good at it.”

“He’s just angry, Olivia.” Tom stood up, too. He lifted the tote bag to her shoulder, squeezed her hand. “Even Annie had to start somewhere.”

She drove directly to Alec’s house, and she could not have said if she was relieved or chagrined to see the Bronco in the driveway.

Lacey answered the door. “Olivia!” She grinned.

“Hi, Lacey. I need to see your father.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Lacey said. “He came home a while ago with a real attitude.”

“I know, but I need to talk to him.”

“He’s around the side,” Lacey pointed out the door. “He’s putting in the little window.”

She thanked Lacey and walked around to the side of the house. Alec was working on the window, at about the height of his chest. He glanced toward her as she approached, but that was all it was—a glance—and he said nothing to make the next few minutes easier on her. Last night he had told her he missed her, he admired her, and he had been about to tell her more. He had to feel like a fool.

She stood next to him in the sand. “Please let me talk to you,” she said.

He didn’t answer. He was caulking around the small, delicate window, and he didn’t bother to take his eyes from his task. “Oh, Alec, please don’t be angry with me.”

He looked at her. “Can you possibly blame me?”

She shook her head. “I want to explain, but it’s…so complicated.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to believe a word you say, anyway.” He ran his finger over the caulk.

“I couldn’t tell you,” she said. “In the beginning, there didn’t seem much point to it and I thought it would only…disturb you. Then you started working with Paul. How could I possibly tell you then?”

He didn’t answer, and she continued. “Yes, I wanted to understand Annie better. Paul idolized her, you loved her, Tom Nestor thought the sun rose and set on her, the people at the shelter—everyone—adored her. I wanted to understand what she had that I didn’t. I wanted to know what made her so special in Paul’s eyes that he would…that after nearly ten years of a good marriage he could suddenly forget I existed.”

Alec looked out at the sound, where a speedboat was pulling a water skier smoothly across the water, close to the pier. Then he took a rag from his jeans pocket and focused on the window again, carefully wiping a smear of caulk from the yellow dress of the woman in the glass.

“Annie seemed like such a wonderful person,” Olivia said, fighting for his attention. “I did want to be more like her. I wanted to be generous and talented. That’s why I started working at the shelter, but now I truly enjoy it, Annie or no Annie. And that’s why I started doing stained glass, but I enjoy that, too, even if I’m not turning out any masterpieces.” She gestured toward the oval windows. “I’ve never had a…a hobby before. I’ve never take the time to…” She dropped her hand to her side, frustrated, as Alec crouched down in the sand to clean the nozzle of the caulk gun. Had he heard a word she’d said?

“I didn’t ever use you, Alec. Not intentionally. You came to me first, remember? And I know Paul wasn’t using you, either. He’s always been fascinated by the Kiss River Lighthouse. He had no idea you were involved on the committee, and he almost quit when he found out.”

Alec suddenly stood up and looked her straight in the eye. “You told me bold-faced lies, Olivia,” he said. “You said the woman Paul was interested in had moved to California.”

“What could I say?”

“The truth, maybe, or was that out of the question?” He wiped his hands on the rag. “The night Annie was in the ER…” He closed his eyes, and deep lines appeared between his brows, as if he were in pain. She touched his shoulder, but he shook her hand away as he opened his eyes again. “You knew who she was that night, didn’t you?” he asked. “You knew while you were working on her. You knew she was the reason Paul left you.”

“Yes,” she said, “I knew who she was, but Paul didn’t leave me until that night. He went crazy when I came home and told him that she died.”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t feel some joy right then? That she was dead?”

Olivia sucked in her breath, and the tears she’d been holding in for the last hour spilled onto her cheeks. “Is that the kind of person you think I am?” She turned to leave but he caught her arm, his fingers pressing hard against her wrist.

“I don’t have any idea what kind of person you are,” he said. “I don’t know you.”

“Yes, you do. You know things about me I’ve never been able to tell anyone except Paul. I’ve felt close to you. I’ve felt…attracted to you.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “Paul once told me that his relationship with Annie was hopeless because she loved you too much,” she said. “I’m not sure if I’m any closer to understanding why Paul fell in love with Annie, but I understand why Annie would love you, Alec. I understand that completely.”

She turned to leave, and this time he let her go.

She was in bed at ten, but she could not sleep. The baby was as restless as she was tonight. His featherlike flutters seemed frenzied, unending, and every time she changed position in the bed, he let her know of his displeasure.

She’d heard nothing from Paul, and she was not yet ready to initiate a conversation with him herself. But Alec. What more could she do—short of hurting him with the truth of Paul and Annie’s brief liaison—to make him understand? Ten-thirty came and went, and she lifted the receiver of the phone to her ear to be certain it was working.

At quarter to eleven there was a knock on her front door. She slipped her robe over her cotton nightgown and walked downstairs to the dark, silent living room. She turned on the front light and peered out the window to see Alec standing on the deck, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

She pulled open the door. His smile was uncertain. “I was going to call you,” he said, “but thought I’d stop over instead.”

She stepped back, and he walked past her into the living room. She closed the door and leaned back against it, tightening the sash of her robe.

“I was overwhelmed this morning, Olivia,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

It was so dark in the room she could only make out the whites of his eyes, the white stripes of his rugby shirt. She didn’t want to turn on a light, though, didn’t want him to be able to read her face all that easily tonight.

“I was wrong to keep things from you,” she said. “I’ve been walking a fine line between you and Paul. I omitted a fact or two when I spoke to you, and then another fact or two when I spoke to him. Then, suddenly, it all snowballed on me. I am not deceptive, Alec. I’m not generally a liar.”

He was quiet for a second or two. “No,” he said. “I don’t think you are.”

Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and she saw the sadness in his smile.

“How did Paul know?” she asked. “How did he figure out what I was doing?”

“Lacey, I think. He was talking to her before the meeting last night. That’s probably why he left right away.” He ran a hand over his chin. “Poor Annie,” he said. “She was so down for those few months before she died. Now I’m wondering if Paul was part of the reason—if he was hassling her in some way.”

Olivia caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I think he may have been, Alec.”

He frowned. “Do you think he was trying to get her to sleep with him?”

She shrugged, looking away from him, as though considering the possibility. “I guess only Paul could answer that question.”

Alec walked to the front door and looked out toward the street. “Why didn’t she tell me he was bothering her?” he asked, his voice rising. “I asked her over and over again what was wrong. I hated it when she’d get like that. It scared me, she seemed so…lost inside herself.” Alec seemed lost himself. He was no longer in this room with her. “I asked her to let me help her, I begged her, but she…” He shook his head. “Oh, hell,” he said tiredly. “What does it matter at this point?”

Olivia rested her hand on the back of the rattan chair. “Why don’t you sit down?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to sit down.” He took a few steps toward her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her head against his shoulder. He smelled of his familiar aftershave, and she closed her eyes. They stood that way for a long time. Minutes. She felt a little dizzy with her eyes closed, a little high, and she let the feeling build, let it consume her until she needed to hold on to him to keep herself upright.

After a while, Alec lowered his hands to her hips and pulled her gently against him, against his rock-hard erection. She thought of freeing it, taking it in her hands, her mouth. She locked her fingers behind his back to keep them from drifting down to his belt.

“What is it about this room?” Alec spoke softly in her ear. “It always seems to have this effect on me.”

She untied her robe and opened it so there was one less piece of cloth between her body and his, and when she pressed against him once more, she could feel her own heartbeat pulsing low in her belly. Maybe she should say something. Maybe she should tell him she wanted this, she wanted him. No doubt Annie had been a verbal lover.

“Olivia,” he said. “Where’s your bedroom?”

She drew away from him and took his hand, leading him up the stairs, down the hallway, and by the time they’d reached the dark refuge of her room, she had lost control. She sat down on the edge of her bed and turned to unzip his jeans, drawing her hands inside and bringing his erect penis to her lips.

Alec caught his breath. “Christ, Olivia.” His fingers combed through her hair, down the nape of her neck and up again, while she worked feverishly at his body. She barely heard him when he asked her to stop. The request was gentle, almost polite, and he repeated it as he pulled away from her.

She was shaking, uncertain if she had done something wildly inappropriate in his eyes, or if he was about to leave her again. He would tell her they were both too vulnerable. Walk out her door. She looked up at him. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

He sat down next to her on the bed, his arm around her shoulders. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “You just surprised me. I wasn’t expecting…that, exactly, and it’s been a very long time for me. If you were to keep on doing what you were doing, it would all be over in seconds, and I’m not that anxious to get this over with.” He stroked his fingers over the skin beneath her eyes. “Why are you crying?”

She touched her fingertips to her eyes and felt the wetness. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

He leaned over to kiss her, softly—too softly; she could not tolerate moving this slowly—and she deepened the kiss with her tongue as she turned to straddle his thigh.

Alec ran his hands under her nightgown, up her thighs. He leaned back to look up at her. “Are you always like this?” he asked. “Or is it just that you’ve gone without for too long?”

“I’m always like this,” she said, tugging his rugby shirt out of his jeans.

He laughed, shifting her off his thigh and back to the bed. He stood up, and she watched him as he undressed. Her curtains let in the pool of moonlight reflected off the sound, and she could see the distinct lines on his body, separating dark from light, the public Alec from the private. His stomach was tight and ridged with muscle, and she imagined his erect penis was still glistening from her attempt to please him.

She rose to her knees on the bed and took off her robe, but when she reached for the hem of her nightgown, he caught her hands.

“Leave it on,” he said, closing his arms around her.

He didn’t want to see her body. She imagined how her rounded belly would look to him in the white light of the moon.

Alec bent down to take the hem of the nightgown in his own hands. He lifted it up, his palms running slowly over her thighs and hips. The cotton caught softly on her nipples as he raised the nightgown over her breasts, then over her head, until she stood as she had weeks earlier, naked and ready in his arms. He began kissing her again, and now there was a hunger, a heat in his mouth that she welcomed, that she shared. He stroked her body as they kissed, his hands skimming over her shoulders, her breasts, her hips. He slipped his hand between her legs, and despite the fact that he had seemed driven only seconds earlier, his fingers were tender as first they probed, then began stroking her, so softly that she groaned and pressed against his hand for more.