We'd reached the car then, and she pressed me against it as if to let go would be the worst possible thing to do. "Tell them what, Kimberly? That they'll be spending time with their father this summer?" Her gray eyes stared firmly into mine. "Charlie may not be thinking clearly, but he won't hurt them. Not physically, anyway. You talk with them before they go and be sure to speak with them after. Any emotional damage you'll just have to deal with. That sounds awful, but it's the way of it." She sighed. "Kim, you've raised them well. They're good boys. You'll see. They'll be fine." She smiled. "Besides, give Charlie enough rope, and he'll hang himself."

I blinked the final tears away from my eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if he is as much of a playboy as I suspect he is, then he'll soon grow tired of two boys underfoot."

I gave a half-smile. "True."

"I think the judge in there was pretty direct in his order that he spend five whole weeks with Chase and Cody. Now, who do you think will be more anxious for them to come home? You or him?"

And with that, I giggled, though my heart was shattering into a million fragmented pieces.

4.

One thing I would say on Charlie's behalf: he'd given me remarkable sons. They were very much the image of their father, in stature and in coloring, though Cody's hair was streaked with blond, like mine. Over the years family members had teased, saying, "If you hadn't carried them, we'd be surprised to hear they were yours at all."

But they were mine. They were my heart. My reason for getting up in the morning, for going to work every day, for coming home at night. They were my reason for breathing, especially since their father had left our-at one time-perfect family.

Thinking of them, and thinking back over the sixteen years of my marriage, I wondered-I wondered again-what I had done wrong. Where I'd failed as a wife to Charlie.

It had all been so idyllic. We'd met at the Christmas party of a mutual friend my junior year of college. At six-three, Charlie towered over nearly everyone else in the festive and warm room. I'd noticed him immediately, and he was equally drawn to me. Or so it seemed at the time. We wondered how we could have not met each other until then, but thanked G.o.d that he'd brought us to each other when he did. During that Christmas break we were nearly inseparable. No matter where we went, our dates were spent talking. Talking about everything. I shared things that were from the deepest parts of myself. He did the same. By the time I'd returned to college, we'd met each other's families and decided to be exclusive.

At Easter, Charlie-already employed by his family business-snuck a simple one-carat diamond ring into one of the plastic eggs in the basket my mother had sentimentally placed at the foot of my bed while I slept. The next morning, Charlie joined us for breakfast before services so he'd be with me as I explored the treasures snuggled in the Easter gra.s.s. He grinned as he pointed to first one egg and then another. "What's in that one, Miss Boo?" he'd ask, using the name that always earned him a smile. "What about this one?" until finally he pointed to the egg holding the ring.

With the opening of a plastic egg, we were engaged. And then, that year when the church was decorated spectacularly for Christmas, my father escorted me down the long aisle of the First United Methodist Church where, with me in a gown fit for a princess and the two of us surrounded by family and friends, we'd pledged our lives, our love, and our loyalty, each to the other. For a lifetime.

Or so I thought.

My sons were waiting at the door leading from the garage and into the house. Their faces were expectant . . . and handsome. Our golden retriever, Max, stood between them. I opened the car door and climbed out, deciding to leave the files where they were for the time being.

"Well?" Chase said.

I forced a smile as I walked toward them. "Let's go inside, okay?"

Cody looked pensive. "Does that mean you lost?"

As if my heart could break more than it already had, it fractured one more time. I placed my hands on their shoulders and turned them toward the inside of the house. "All I want to do right now is get out of these shoes. We'll talk in my room. Deal?"

Both boys hung their heads as we rounded the corner of the hallway leading to the in-law suite and then came into the foyer. Our footsteps and Max's pawsteps echoed on the polished oak flooring and up to the high ceiling. With me between my sons, we took the stairs one at a time. "What did you two get into while I was gone?"

"I went to Jared's for a while." I looked at my son. At fourteen, Chase was beginning to show signs of manhood. Fuzz on his chin and over his lips. A deepening in his voice. Hair in the pit of his arms.

"And what about you, Cody?" I ruffled the soft, straight hair that crowned his head like a halo.

He shrugged. "Read mostly."

"Good book?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"Not really," he answered with a shrug.

We stepped from the curving staircase and sank into the plush carpet leading to the bedrooms and the room Charlie once used as a home office. An entire year and a few months since he left and I'd done nothing more than close its door. Anise insisted we turn it into a room where the boys could gather with their friends-especially as they got older, she said-but I wasn't sure I wanted a bunch of teenagers that close to our bedroom.

My bedroom. The master suite I'd once shared in pa.s.sion with my husband. Ex-husband.

My sons followed me into the room I'd redecorated after Charlie's departure. Before, it had been a reflection of our lives together. Now, it was a picture of my attempt at independence. I sold the mahogany bedroom set Charlie picked out for us and replaced it with a contemporary taupe upholstered platform bed with matching dark-wood retro furniture. I pulled up the carpet and had hardwood floors laid. The only accessories were milk gla.s.s; the only framed artwork for the walls was 16-by-20 framed black-and-whites of my sons-taken by my mother at the house in Cedar Key when Chase was a toddler and Cody a newborn.

Those pictures would stay with me forever; they were her last gift to me.

My sons ran to the bed and plopped on top of it while Max found his place at the foot of the bed. He curled around himself once before plopping to the floor with a sigh. "I'll be right back," I said, then slipped into the dressing room. Minutes later I was wrapped in an ankle-length cotton robe tied off at the waist. I joined the boys in the middle of the bed and tucked my feet up under me.

"Okay," I said with a sigh. "Cody, there's no winning or losing with this."

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"It means that you boys will spend five weeks with your father this summer-"

"Five?" Chase was quick to realize an extra week had been added. "How did that happen?"

I wasn't about to tell my sons that their father lied in court, that the extra week was because of the spring break fiasco. If they found out, it would be from Charlie. "Well, I told the judge everything we've talked about . . . about how Dad dates when you'd rather he be hanging out with you guys," I answered. "And the judge-who is very smart-told your dad to behave and to enjoy his time with you." I closed my eyes. They burned from the stress of the day. "I'm sure," I said, opening them again, "your father has learned his lesson and will be more attentive to you from now on."

"Like before?" Cody asked. "When we all lived here as a family?"

"Yes," I said. I leaned over and kissed his soft cheek. "Like before."

Chase's shoulders slumped. "We'll never be a family . . . it'll never be like it was before."

I sat up straight. "That's not true, Chase. Your dad will always be your father. And I will always be your mother. And you and Cody will always be brothers. That makes us a family."

Cody's bottom lip trembled. "But what if Dad marries one of those girls he's always going out with? What if they have babies?"

I cupped his chin in my hand. "Don't worry, sweetheart." Quite honestly, it was all I knew to say. The idea of Charlie remarrying never occurred to me.

Chase, who was more man than boy, it seemed, slid off the bed and faced me. "So, what's the plan?"

"Well," I said, joining him. I extended my hand to Cody. "First, Mom is going to take a bath."

"Get that courtroom smell off ya?" my youngest asked.

I touched the tip of his nose with my finger. "Yes. In the meantime, you boys go wash up. We're going to Pop's and Nana's for dinner."

"Cool," Cody exclaimed.

Chase crossed his arms. "Mom, you know what I mean. When do we have to go to Dad's?"

"You get to go to your father's on Monday. You'll be back the 5th of July."

I watched his face as he calculated the days. Resigned, he said, "Let's go, Code."

"'Kay." Cody's shoulders slumped as he trudged toward my bedroom door. He was halfway to his room by the time Chase reached the hallway.

"Chase?" I called after him.

He turned, placed his hand on the door frame, and said, "Yeah, Mom?"

I walked the distance separating us. "Listen. The judge said that Dad isn't supposed to spend his five weeks with other women, leaving you guys with your grandparents. In other words, Dad has to be present and active in these five weeks. I figure he'll have you at work with him during the days, but the nights belong to you and Cody, you hear me?"

He nodded.

"I want you to promise me that you'll call me every chance you get. Let me know everything is going as it should, okay?"

Chase smiled as though he'd been chosen top man for a secret mission. "Got it, Mom."

The knot in my throat grew a little larger. "I love you, son."

With that, he slipped his arms around my waist-my son, who is as tall as me-and whispered, "I love you too."

Anise's meals were healthy. Fresh vegetables-deliciously prepared with proper seasoning-were practically the centerpiece of the dinner table. In the years since she married Dad, I'd never seen anything but poultry and fish on the meat platter.

And never fried.

For some reason, despite being typical boys, my sons loved eating Anise's food. If I prepared the same dishes, they would balk, but in Anise's kitchen a freshly snapped string bean was like shoestring fries. So, as soon as we arrived, they bounded toward the kitchen to see what needed to be done in final preparation.

I, on the other hand, went to my father's den, where I knew he'd be, where he'd always gone after a long day of taking care of everyone else's children. For the hour between his arriving home and the dinner meal, Dad stayed secluded in the masculine warmth of his own cave. Mom used to say he was decompressing. Heather joked that he was decomposing. I just counted the minutes until he emerged so I could feel his arms around me, his masculine strength blending with the feminine love Mom brought into every room she ever graced with her presence.

I tapped on the rich wood of the six-paneled door as I swallowed hard. "Dad?"

My father's baritone voice called out, "Come in."

I cracked the door open and peeked in. Dad sat in his favorite easy chair, legs stretched out with his stocking feet crossed at the ankles and resting on the ottoman. His reading gla.s.ses were perched on his nose. A medical journal was spread loosely by the fingertips of his hands. The years had barely touched him. Even now, with the evening sunlight streaming in from the window beside him, he looked more sixty than seventy.

He gave me his best "I heard all about it" look. I tucked my chin to my chest and slipped inside, closed the door, and leaned against it.

"Hey, Boo," he said. "Come sit."

I looked up to see him push the ottoman an inch or two forward before placing his feet on the floor.

I did as I was told.

"Anise told me what happened."

I kept my eyes on my hands. "It was brutal, Dad."

"She also said Charlie lied to the judge."

I looked up at my father. "I don't want the boys to know."

Dad leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees. "Not telling them is the right thing to do."

I felt a couple of tears slip down my cheeks. "What I don't understand is why Charlie is so angry with me. What did I do wrong? I was a good wife. A good mother." As perfect as you've always expected me to be. As I've always expected of myself.

"I'm sure you were, Kimberly."

My tears fell faster. Dad pulled a handkerchief out of the back pocket of his pants and said, "There, now . . ."

"Dad." I took the handkerchief and wiped my nose. "Can you tell me something?"

My dad's soft blue eyes looked like sapphires in the room's light.

"Why do they do it, Dad? Why do men stray?"

The natural tan of his skin flushed. "Kim . . ."

"I'm not saying you would know from experience. But men talk, don't they? Like they do in high school? And these days, middle school? You know, locker room gossip."

Dad smiled at me. "I'm not sure men gossip, Kim. Exaggerate, yes. Gossip, no."

I wiped my nose again. "You know what I mean," I said with a half smile.

Dad cracked his knuckles, first on one hand, then the other. His shoulders were hunched, making his face look rounder, his cheeks rosier. "Boo, if you were my son, I'd answer you one way. A little more locker room talk, since you brought that up. But you are my daughter, and I'm just not sure how to answer this question. I can't imagine anything you did to cause Charlie to stray much less to give up on your marriage." He shook his head. "Your mother-G.o.d rest her soul-and I didn't always see eye-to-eye, and sometimes we fought like enemies rather than lovers, but I could have never walked out on our marriage." He looked away. His eyes shifted back and forth as though he were pondering something. When he looked back at me, he added, "Not for any reason."

I glanced out the window. When the house had been built, two years after my parents' marriage, Dad's den window provided an angular view of the street we lived on. Within a month, he'd planted a long row of sago palms that kept the view tropical without blocking the sunlight. Now, with an afternoon storm threatening to come as it always did this time of year, I watched their fronds shimmy in the warm breeze.

"I know you're thinking about a lot," Dad said. "And I want to add one more thing."

I turned back to him. "What's that?"

He stood, walked over to the antique rolltop desk against the opposite wall, and pulled open a drawer. When he returned to the chair he dangled a key from between his index and middle finger.

Not just any key, a house key.

Not just any house, the one on Florida's west coast.

"What's this?" I asked, knowing the answer full well.

"I want you to go to Cedar Key while the boys are with Charlie."

I stood. "What? Go to Cedar . . . why would I go to Cedar Key?"

A tap on the door brought Dad to his feet and me to swirl around to face Anise as she stuck her head in. "Dinner is almost . . . oh. I see you've told her already."