Anyone who used the word lovely or expressions like "singing praises" was someone Danielle could never trust. Especially anyone who looked like Marilyn Dixon-hair dyed a golden blonde that was only natural on three-year-old children, eyes a shocking ocean blue that surely came from colored contacts, and skin that was...well, that was the clincher. No way the woman could be trusted.

Danielle stared at Marilyn with a mix of envy and loathing. "You're welcome. It was Al's and my pleasure to supply the wines." She smiled again, feeling the crinkling of the crow's feet that had recently shown up on her face. She hoped she didn't look as exhausted as she felt. Two days earlier, Danielle had conducted a food drive through the organic growers association. She'd packed and loaded food onto vans with a handful of other folks, then had driven one of the vans into San Francisco to the food bank. Her mind and emotions handled it fine, but her body, in full PMS mode, hadn't fared so well, and now she found herself wiped out and wanting chamomile tea and her bed.

Marilyn cocked her head to the other side. "By the way, how is Al?"

"He's good. Busy as always. We're both working constantly. And you know how it is with kids. It's go, go, go." What time was it? When could she get out of here, kick off the high heels, and slip out of the Diane von Furstenberg dress? Not that she wasn't in love with the dress. Diane had a knack for making a dress that showed off a woman's best assets, yet camouflaged less than attractive areas-like that belly bulge that inevitably followed childbirth and hung on into middle age. Middle age! It couldn't have been called a wiser age, the mature age, the grown-up age? But middle age, was a term that meant she gained five extra pounds annually since turning forty a few years ago. Middle age was not nearly as fun as everyone claimed.

For Danielle, the wraparound navy blue dress made the most of her breasts-totally natural and not yet sagging. With good boobs you could usually get away with an extra pound or two, and good boobs fit great in a Furstenberg dress. All the same, Danielle preferred her jeans and T-shirts. For these events, though, she did what she had to, even having her long dark red hair styled and putting on some makeup. No matter what she felt about the charitable brouhahas around town, she did have an image to maintain. Al reminded her of that regularly. They were important people in the community. God forbid anyone think that the owners of Bastillia's Wines had any issues. Yes, God forbid she taint their image.

Marilyn nodded emphatically as if she completely understood Danielle's life. What a joke, because although Marilyn stood as the president of the woman's club chairing the event, the fact was that Marilyn Dixon never picked up her own children from school-and it was doubtful that she ever really did anything with her kids unless nannies were along for the ride. Her staff consisted of a personal trainer, private chef, nannies galore, and a housekeeper. If the woman ever lifted a finger, Danielle guessed it would be to get a glass of wine for herself. At least, those were the rumors in Napa's gossip-logged vineyard land.

"And the girls? They're good?" Marilyn asked as if she was really interested.

Danielle applauded inwardly. The moment she'd been hoping for. Danielle wanted to palm her hands together and wave them high over her head and do the victory dance. Instead she smiled warmly. There were times to be grateful for that gossip vine... Thanks to the local grapevine, Danielle had learned that Marilyn's daughter had been rejected by Yale. "The girls are great. Shannon earned a full scholarship to Yale. We received her acceptance letter over the weekend. And, of course, Cassie will be starting at Trinity Prep."

Marilyn was rendered speechless. "Why, that's wonderful," she finally said, and rose from her seat. "I guess I better get things started." She walked up to the stage at the front of the room and tossed back the golden waves.

Marilyn smiled brightly at the crowd and Danielle studied her. Yes, it was petty not to like the woman for being fake-sort of-but, dammit, get real. Please, would someone get real around here! She was acting as badly as Marilyn, posing at the luncheon in her designer dress, with her newly colored hair, boasting about her kids for her own ego while carrying a fake Prada purse. Yes, fake. What was the point in spending two grand on a purse when you could get a perfectly decent knockoff for thirty bucks? Maybe she was the true fake here. Danielle, at least, knew better than to believe this shit was what made up the real world.

Her mouth went dry. No time for a panic attack or a reality check. She'd stopped popping Xanax a few months ago and had gone on a health kick, even joining the local gym, secretly hoping that Al would notice her again. She'd shed ten pounds and felt better than she had in years, but Al still didn't seem to pay much attention to her, except when there was a problem with the payroll, or the accounts, or an employee. Their life together after twenty years had boiled down to a business relationship, not a marriage, and she missed that connection that they used to enjoy. She missed the jokes they shared about the craziness that went on in the world around them.

That was where she should start being honest-with her own husband.

Marilyn turned to Danielle and asked her to stand. "I'd like to thank the lovely Danielle Bastillia and her husband, Al, for donating the wine for today, since, as you know, the alcohol is generally the major expense for one of our events." Low laughter rippled throughout the banquet room.

Danielle tried not to cringe through the smile. She glanced around at the room filled with women from all over Sonoma County-some she recognized and waved to. Two women at another table whispered to each other while one stared right at her. Kind of disconcerting. Was one of Danielle's best assets hanging out of the Furstenberg? The woman in a slinky white dress looked vaguely familiar. She was a redhead like Danielle, but at least fifteen years younger. The woman continued looking at her. Danielle offered a slight smile, but this pretty young thing kept the ice glare on and Danielle had to look away.

Why the hell had she flushed the Xanax down the toilet?

Not able to help herself, she looked back again at the redhead who whispered something in her friend's ear, and they both laughed. Bizarre. What was that about? She checked the twins. Nope, they were in their place with only the acceptable amount of cleavage showing. At forty-two-years-old, being paranoid over women's cattiness was plain stupid. They probably weren't even talking about her.

Perspiration bubbled at the base of her neck. She really did have to get out of this place. Danielle waited patiently, trying not to look at the woman and her friend again.

Right after the President of the Teenage Homeless Mothers' Charity gave her talk and the servers started pouring coffee, Danielle excused herself. She told Marilyn that she needed to pick up one of the girls for a dentist appointment. More bullshit, but it didn't matter because she'd lose it quickly if she had to continue sitting there.

For the sake of her image, Danielle did her best to masquerade her run for the door as a fashionable quick strut. She handed the valet her ticket and a few minutes later he was pulling her gray 750 BMW around to the front. When the young man got out of the car to let her in, he handed her a large manila envelope. "Mrs. Bastillia, right?" He cocked a dark brow and eyed her with what Danielle thought to be a rather suspicious glare. Jesus, she was truly losing it. Come on! As though everyone was actually staring at her as she smoothed down the Furstenberg over the Spanx-flattened tummy; she decided she'd never wear the damn dress again.

"Yes." Hot asphalt beat through her Stuart Weitzmans and she could feel a blister forming in the back of her heel. How karmically appropriate-blisters from the real Weitzmans and compliments for the fake Prada. Note to self: time for good knockoff shoes.

"A gentleman in the parking lot said that you needed this."

"What? What gentleman?" She scanned the area and didn't spot anyone that she knew. All she saw was luxury car after sports model after luxury car, their gleaming paint jobs reflecting spotlights of the sun's rays.

"I don't know. He gave it to me and said that it was important and that you needed it."

She sighed, handed him five bucks, and got behind the wheel. Could the day get any stranger? Other cars were pulling in behind her so she had to drive instead of looking inside the mystery envelope.

A glance in her rearview mirror reflected the young redhead and her friend standing under the awning in front of the hotel. Danielle shook her head, knowing that tonight she was going to the cellar to pull out a bottle of the good stuff, even though Al insisted it was only for special occasions. This was a special occasion-she was losing her sanity.

Maybe the panic had something to do with Shannon's impending departure for college, thousands of miles from home. Could this be the beginning of that empty nest syndrome she'd heard so much about?

At a stoplight, Danielle finally had a chance to open the envelope. She took a handful of papers out and read the first few words.

Her heart raced.

She reread the words, blinking her eyes in disbelief. Her hands shook. Cramps seized her stomach so tightly that she almost vomited as she audibly gasped. It was like getting sucker-punched.

Who would do this?

The person in the car behind her laid on the horn. Danielle jerked, glancing in her rearview mirror, and yanked the wheel.

This could not be happening. This was a joke, a cruel joke. But as Danielle read over the papers again, she realized this was no joke.

Her husband wanted a divorce.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Jamie God, the traffic was a mess today. Probably an accident. Someone who'd had too much wine visiting the local wineries. Thank God, Jamie Evans's exit came before she reached what might possibly be a grisly scene. Sighing as she turned her Volvo SUV onto her street, her stomach coiled. It had been one of those days that started out kind of depressing, then with an ironic twist turned into massive excitement. Now hope filled her, causing her to wonder if the day would end on a high or low note. It all depended on the little bird.

That morning her six-year-old daughter, Maddie, while eating her silver dollar pancakes and watching Charlie & Lola, said, "Mommy, what is that noise?"

Jamie came from behind the kitchen counter where she'd quickly tried wiping up the coffee grounds that Nathan had spilled in his early morning rush to make coffee. Already dressed for work, Jamie needed to get Maddie to kick it into high gear. "What noise, pumpkin?"

"At the door. Don't you hear it?"

Jamie walked to the French doors where she heard a faint repetitive thud against the pane. She opened up the door and gasped. "Oh. Oh, no." Jamie knelt down.

"What is it, Mommy?" Maddie swung around in her chair and bent over her mother. "What is it?" she demanded again.

"It's a baby bird! It must've fallen out of its nest." Jamie looked up into the eaves of the patio overhang and spotted the remnants of a bird's nest. The baby sparrow flopped pitifully against the window. Jamie gently scooped it up. "You poor thing. Maddie, go out to the garage and get that cage we had for Bunny. It's in the corner by Daddy's camping stuff. Can you carry it?"

Maddie nodded, her dark curls falling into her blue eyes.

Maddie went to get their old rabbit's cage while Jamie examined the baby bird. It didn't seem badly injured, but it was certainly a bit frightened. She was an animal lover, but no expert, and she knew nothing about birds.

"Here you go, Mommy." Maddie bounded in and set the cage down on the kitchen table.

Unsure of what to do, and racing against the clock, Jamie told Maddie to sit down and she handed the bird to her. "Don't squeeze. Hold it there like that." She grabbed the morning's newspaper, shredded some of it, put it in the cage, and took the bird from Maddie and placed it inside. She then hooked up Bunny's old water bottle, and after washing her hands, took out some crackers and smashed them into small bits and placed them on a paper plate for the bird.

"That's all we can do for now," Jamie said. "We have to get you to school and me to work." She sat down in the chair next to Maddie. "Listen sweetie, we're going to hope that our little friend here lives so it can get better and we can turn it loose, but I don't know for sure if it will get better. I can't promise you. I want you to know that."

"I want to keep it."

"I know. Let's see how it does. Okay? Now run on upstairs, wash your hands and brush your teeth. We have to haul booty."

Jamie thought about the baby bird off and on all day, her fingers crossed that it survived. She'd put the cage out on the back patio where it would have some sunlight, but also a little shade from a couple of hanging ferns. Now as she pulled into the garage, Jamie's fingers were still crossed.

Please let it be alive. Jamie had such good news to share with Nathan-thus the exciting part of the day. After working at The Wine Lover's Magazine for seven years, today she had been promoted to editor-in-chief! Yes! Yes! It was a position she'd coveted for quite some time and through diligence and hard work, she'd made it. She'd finally arrived.

She glanced to the back seat, where Maddie lay half asleep. Jamie got out of the car, grabbed her briefcase, and started to lift her little girl from her seat.

"Hi, Mommy." She rubbed her eyes and looked up at her mom, her baby blues innocent and sparkly. "The birdie!" she said, remembering. She was wide awake now and out of the car, heading for the back door.

"Wait, Maddie. Wait, wait, let Mommy go first." Too late. The back door off the garage wasn't locked and Maddie was through it before Jamie reached it. She made it to the patio as quickly as possible and sighed when she caught the smile on her daughter's face.

"Look, Mommy! It lived. Can I touch it?"

"No, babe. Leave her be." Jamie peered into the cage and could see that the bird appeared much better and had eaten most of the crackers. What a great way to end the day. Now Jamie could go ahead with her celebration plans for the evening with Nate. If the bird hadn't made it, Jamie knew that they would've had one unhappy child on their hands in need of a night of comforting-comforting that typically meant sleeping in Mommy and Daddy's bed and taking all of the bed while Mommy and Daddy scrunched up into their corners.

"Let's leave the bird alone and go in and fix some dinner. Daddy will be home soon."

"I want to watch it."

"Maddie."

Her daughter frowned. "Five minutes."

Jamie held up her hand. "Five and don't touch her."

"I wanna name it. I wanna name it Lola, like on Charlie & Lola."

"Lola it is."

Jamie walked back into the house, leaving the door open. The lemon scent of cleaning products hit her now that she knew Lola seemed to be on the mend. The housecleaners! God bless them. Today had been their day. Friday was Jamie's favorite day because she knew she'd return home to find the morning mess gone upon their return. Bliss!

"When is Daddy going to be home? I want to show him Lola," Maddie hollered from the patio.

"Any minute!" Usually Nate made it home first. He must have gotten caught in traffic. Maybe he stayed late? No, he would've let her know that by now. He had to be in traffic. He'd show any minute. Time to pour two celebratory glasses of wine and let it breathe. Then get Maddie's dinner started so she could get her daughter to bed early, new bird or not. Jamie had plans for her husband.

A little celebration. And what went with celebrations? Veuve Clicquot. What a good idea. It was their favorite champagne. After the wine and after Maddie was tucked in her bed, the Vueve would be exactly what tonight called for. And the little black silk number from La Perla that Jamie purchased the week before would be icing on the cake.

"I'm hungry," Maddie whined, walking back into the house. "Lola is just sitting there."

"It's probably best to leave her alone. I'll put her in the laundry room soon. The sun is going down. We don't want her to get cold."

"But I'm hungry."

"You're hungry? You're hungry? Wait a minute. I thought your name was Madeleine or Maddie, but Hungry? No. I don't think so. Unless. Wait! Wait, wait, wait, wait." Jamie shook her head in exaggeration. "Did you change your name?" She picked up her dark curly-headed daughter, whose eyes were exactly like her father's-eyes that could melt any heart like chocolate on a hot day and make a person feel gooey all over.

Maddie giggled. "No, Mommy. I am Maddie. I want to eat."

Jamie set her down and bent to her level, finger on her cheek. "I think that can be arranged. What do you say about some Mac and cheeeeeeezzze?" Jamie wiggled her eyebrows in Groucho Marx fashion, a maneuver that always elicited the same reaction from her daughter-laughter and an eye roll. "Don't you go rolling your eyes at me, Madeleine Elise Evans."

"You're so silly, Mommy." She bobbed her curls. "Plain old silly!"

"I can take silly. But don't you dare call me old. Okay, remember I said that Daddy will be home soon. So hop, skip, and jump out of your school clothes and I'll run a bath for you. Then get your jammies on and your dinner will be ready. And tonight I'll even let you watch a movie in your room on my laptop."

Maddie frowned. "Why do I have to put my pajamas on so early? And can Lola sleep in my room?"

"It's already after six-thirty. And did you not hear what I said? A movie in bed? How about some popcorn too?"

"What about Lola?"

Jamie closed one eye and looked like she was really thinking about it. "I'll see what Daddy thinks about that." She went to the clutter drawer (the one everyone has in their kitchen, save for Martha Stewart) and dug through it until she found some matches. A little wine, a little candlelight. Ooh, and wait a minute. A takeout menu from Arrivederci's. Perfect.

"I wanna' watch Zach and Cody."

"Deal."

"Mommy?"

"What, sweetie?"

"Why do I always have to stay at daycare? I hate staying so late. I'm the last one. Always."

Ugh. Shot through the heart. The kid would make one heck of a mother someday. She had the guilting thing already down pat. But how could Jamie blame her? It was true that most evenings Maddie was the last one to get picked up-usually one minute before six o'clock. Mrs. Sheffield, the after-care provider, would regularly place her hands on her hips, furrow her already furrowed brow, and remind Jamie that for every late minute she would be charged five dollars.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Next week, I promise, I will come early every day." The editor-in-chief position should provide some kind of privileges, like working from home, or leaving early on occasion.

"Good, because Mrs. Sheffield smells like farts!"

Jamie tried hard not to laugh. "Maddie, the term is gas or flatulence."

"Mrs. Sheffield has horrible flatulence." Maddie wrinkled up her nose, and rolled her eyes again.

"Upstairs now. Bath! I'll be up to run it."

"I can do it. I'm a big girl."

"Apparently. You and your potty language. Go then!" Laughing, Jamie kicked off her shoes by the couch and glanced around her tastefully decorated family room. The entire house was tastefully decorated, thank you very much to those brilliant designers who do model homes. Jamie may have lived in a tract home, but not just any tract home. This was Napa Valley and a million dollars for a tract home was not unreasonable. The home came with that old California architecture-arches and sconces and all that chic stuff, plus a wine cellar. In Napa, even tract homes have wine cellars. They do if they cost a bundle, anyway.

Jamie went into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her blonde pixie haircut, giving it a little mussed-up look, then opened the drawer full of makeup and rifled through for the red lipstick that Nate liked on her. After that she lined her hazel eyes with black liner-voila, the vamp.

Walking back into the kitchen, she looked at the clock again. She called the restaurant and placed an order for shrimp scampi and chicken parmigiana. She started the pot for Maddie's mac 'n' cheese and then went to the wine cellar, pulled the Vueve, and set it on ice.

The water stopped running upstairs. Maddie was splashing around and singing a made-up song about Lola the birdie. Jamie smiled, shaking her head and went around her family room lighting candles-all perfectly placed and in various sconces and candlesticks. She would have never picked any of this stuff out on her own. Decorating was not her forte, but she sure loved looking at it.

When Jamie heard the garage door go up and the engine of Nate's Range Rover pulling in, she sighed. Her husband. Her soul mate. Her best friend in the world. She couldn't help smiling thinking of the night to come.

She picked up the wine glasses and tried to strike her most seductive pose, which probably looked more like she'd already had a few drinks rather than the sex kitten persona she was going for.

The back door closed and the tapping of Nate's hard-soled shoes echoed off the tile floor. Then they stopped. He must have been putting his briefcase down. A few seconds later he rounded the corner and she smiled widely, holding out a glass for him. "Hey, hot stuff."