Anne swallowed around the lump blocking her throat. "Like Burton," she repeated.

"How much did he cheat you out of?"

Anne didn't want to think about it, didn't want to confess how blind and foolish she'd been. "A quarter of a million dollars is my best estimate."

"Oh, my," Marta breathed. "That much?"

"I'm past the anger now."

"But how can you be?" she demanded, outraged on Anne's behalf.

"What else can I do? Hate him? Do you honestly think Burton cares how I feel about him?" Anne had gone through all of this after the divorce, gone through it over and over again. "It wouldn't matter. The only person I'd be hurting is myself."

"But you must've been an emotional wreck."

"Of course I was. In the beginning I was angry, and then I was so hurt I couldn't stop crying. For a while, I wondered if it was even worth living."

"Oh, Anne."

She'd never told anyone about those dark, ugly thoughts. Anne wondered if she should be confessing how bleak everything had seemed during those first dreadful months. When she'd discovered how bad her financial situation was, she'd sunk to her lowest depths. Once she'd learned she could cope with even that, her sense of self had begun to reassert itself.

"Frankly, I would've wanted to kill him."

Anne laughed. "I considered that, but I preferred not to spend the rest of my life in jail."

Marta laughed, too, but there was little humor in it.

"You want advice?" Anne had been in the same position Marta was now. She knew that her friend probably hadn't been ready to hear her suggestions when they'd spoken the week before. She also knew how difficult it was to make decisions and think clearly during any kind of crisis.

"Please." Marta's voice was as soft as a whisper.

"If I were going through it again, the first thing I'd do is see an attorney and have our joint assets frozen."

Marta's breath came in a rush. "You told me to see one when I met you in Seattle, but now? So soon?"

"The sooner the better."

"Okay," Marta said, her voice gaining conviction. "I can do that."

"A good one, but not one you both know."

"All right." Marta hesitated. "Should I tell Jack what I've done?"

To be fair to both parties, Anne felt she should. "I would. In your own time. It doesn't have to be confrontational."

"I should keep it simple, in other words, like...like, I know what you're doing and I've seen an attorney. Period. End of story."

"Something like that."

"I'll do it." Marta sounded determined now.

Anne longed to put her arms around her friend and offer her reassurance and comfort. Marta, so experienced and sophisticated, was as emotionally vulnerable as Anne had been.

"Call me the minute you know anything," Anne said, trying to encourage her.

"About the painting?"

Anne had forgotten about her angel. "That, too, but right now I'm more concerned that you take care of yourself."

"I...I think I'll wait until after the holidays," Marta said. "To see an attorney, I mean."

"Don't," Anne warned. "Do it today, before you lose your nerve."

"You're right, you're right. I will."

"And stay in touch," Anne said.

"I will," Marta promised.

Anne hoped she would. But there was nothing more she could say or do. It was Marta's decision.

CHAPTER Fourteen

Things were working out nicely, Goodness thought. Despite their differences, Julie and Roy had knocked down some of the roadblocks that stood between them. Although she hadn't admitted it yet, Julie was attracted to Roy. They were having their first official date on Saturday, and the relationship was starting to take shape. Mercy was right, after all. Goodness gave her friend credit; Julie might very well be the answer to Anne's prayer request for her son.

This was the second evening the three angels had hovered over the Wilcoffs' living room while Dean and Roy played two-handed poker. Granted, Dean and not Julie had invited him tonight, since they'd both enjoyed the previous poker game. But Julie hadn't objected. And she'd even made dinner again-black-bean soup, corn bread and a salad. Chatting as he dealt, Dean picked up his two cards for Texas Hold'em and set the deck on the coffee table between them.

Roy looked over his cards and quickly placed his bet. Mercy, a serious student of cards, peered down at his hand.

"Should I help him with the deal?" she whispered.

"No," Goodness cried. It was exactly this sort of intervention that got them in trouble. "Roy can win or lose this game on his own. Besides, I think it would do him good if Dean beat him again."

"Oh, come on," Mercy pleaded. "Don't be such a spoilsport."

Shirley sat atop the light fixture and sighed expressively. "Have you ever noticed how the game of poker is a lot like Roy's life just now?"

Goodness and Mercy stared at her. Sometimes Shirley came up with the most bizarre pronouncements.

"In what way?" Goodness was already certain she was going to regret asking.

"Notice how willing Roy is to fold," Shirley said, pointing to the six and the three, one a spade and the other a heart.

"Well, yes, but if I was dealt those cards in Texas Hold'em, I'd fold, too," Mercy told her. "He doesn't have much opportunity to make anything of it, and Dean has something better."