The word "wife" hit her then fully and completely. In thirty minutes she and James were going to stand in front of the minister and say their vows. Life as she knew it would be over and her life as Mrs. James Wesley would begin. Her throat closed, trapping the champagne and cutting off the air she so desperately needed. If she didn't tell him about who she'd been now, when would she? On their first anniversary? Their tenth? Or after she gave birth to their first child and couldn't get rid of the extra pounds?

"Are you okay?" Melanie asked, concerned.

Angela nodded and pointed to her throat, trying to act like it was just a mis-swallow and not abject fear that was making her cough and sputter.

"Your face is awfully white," Ruth observed.

"No, no, I'm fine," Angela said with a final cough. "I just couldn't breathe there for a second."

There was another knock on the door, and then Vivien Gray stepped inside. She wore a bright lime-colored linen dress that stretched to the bursting point over the huge mound of her stomach and a matching bolero-style jacket with oversized square b.u.t.tons. Her dark hair was tucked haphazardly behind her ears. As she waddled into the room, she looked as out of breath as Angela felt.

"What's she doing here?" Ruth hissed in the silence that fell.

Melanie's lips tightened into a grim unhappy line, but she didn't comment on her sister's appearance.

"I can't believe she has the nerve to show her face after those horrible articles," Emily Richman said. "Especially that one about the excesses of today's weddings. And how marriage is nothing more than an expensive ticket to suburbia."

Ca.s.sie didn't look too pleased, either. "She looks like she could pop at any minute," she said. "I sure hope she waits until the ceremony's over to have that baby."

Leading with her stomach, Vivien continued straight toward Angela. One by one the others excused themselves, pa.s.sing Vivien as they exited. Angela stayed where she was, her gaze fixed on Vivien. The column that had so incensed her mother and future mother-in-law had struck a chord with Angela. It had been rudely put and intentionally combative, but much of Scarlett Leigh's rant had struck Angela as nothing short of the truth. And, of course, telling the truth had been its central theme.

"I didn't come to disturb your big day," Vivien said as she drew near. "And I promise I won't stay." She took Angela's hand between both of hers and held it tightly. "I just wanted to apologize to you in person. I took things that were meant to be serious and special and I poked fun at them. I made vows of love and commitment and the importance of choosing the right person to spend your life with appear secondary to finding the right dress and going with the most current color scheme. I took all those small choices and blew them way out of proportion like I did with all the columns." She gave Angela's hand a squeeze. "And I mean look at me. I have absolutely no right to write the things I did. What do I know about love and commitment? Building a life with someone? Telling the truth?

"I haven't even told the father of my child, whom I love, that we're going to have a baby. And I can't tell you how much I regret it. I'd do it all so differently now if I had the chance." She looked down at her stomach and back up at Angela. "Anyway, I'm sorry. And I just wanted to say so." She let go of Angela's hand and began to turn away.

"No," Angela said, and for the first time that day, maybe in months, her thoughts didn't skitter away from the truth. "You said a lot of things that deserved to be said. Sometimes it takes an outsider to point out that the emperor forgot his clothes. I think a lot of your observations were dead-on. Like how women still change themselves for men, become things they aren't." Or in her case, hide not only who she'd been, but how that had shaped her into who she was now, because she was afraid that James wouldn't love her.

"Oh, no," Vivi said. "I was not dead-on." She shook her head, adamant. "When I started writing Postcards from Suburbia, I was completely ignorant, and making fun was easy. But later, when I saw people's reasons for their actions and knew nothing was as simple as I was trying to paint it, I just ignored the truth so that I could find an angle that would allow me to write what I needed to. I have twisted the truth to serve my own ends. And I've kept it from people I owed it to."

"So you think I should show James the picture and tell him I'll understand if he doesn't want to marry me?" Angela asked as she drew what felt like her first clear unrestricted breath in weeks.

Vivien's face reflected her surprise. "Well, no, not exactly. I mean I didn't say . . ."

Angela considered the woman in front of her, about to give birth without the father of her child by her side. Maybe if Vivien had told Stone the truth, he'd be here right now. "I'm doing the wrong thing, aren't I?"

"What?" Vivien was beginning to look a little worried, but Angela was feeling infinitely better as the fog of uncertainty began to clear.

"I can't believe I've spent so much time agonizing over this." She was nodding her head now, finally grasping what had to be done. "Thank G.o.d you came in to talk to me before I did something both James and I might regret for the rest of our lives."

Her thoughts moved nimbly now and she stopped thinking about her breathing and began to think instead about exactly what she wanted to say to James. She'd been an imbecile to think she could marry him without sharing herself completely. And that included Fangie and the fact that she'd spent most of her life fat and unhappy about it. That even now she feared losing control again. Of sliding back down the slope it had taken so much effort to climb.

Angela reached down to grab hold of the train of her dress, folding it over one arm as she'd been shown, then picked up her purse with the other, the dog-eared photo stuffed in its depths. She drew in a deep breath and let it out, and there wasn't an ounce of difficulty in it now that she'd made her decision.

"Where are you going?" Vivien asked as Angela excused herself.

"I'm going to go find James and explain why I can't marry him today; there's so much we need to talk about. And then I guess I'll need to go find my parents." She threw her arms around Vivi as the relief coursed through her. "Thank you so much for helping me figure this out. I'll never forget what you've done for me."

Vivi's mouth dropped open in surprise, and she felt decidedly ill as Angela rushed out of the room. She'd only come here to apologize and somehow she'd inspired Angela to call off her wedding? Melanie was never going to forgive her.

Ignoring the bridesmaids' startled looks, Vivi took off after Angela, but by the time she'd waddled out of the dressing room, Angela had already covered the lobby and was disappearing around a far corner.

Trying to catch her breath and still the jumble in her stomach, Vivi slowed to a stop. Angela was long gone, but she spotted Shelby up ahead. By the time she reached Shelby in the doorway of the club's c.o.c.ktail lounge, Vivien was again short of breath.

Shelby was so focused on whatever was taking place in the empty lounge that she didn't seem to notice her aunt's arrival.

Vivi heard male voices. Looking over Shelby's shoulder, she saw Clay Alexander, his back to them, a drink in his hand. Another man, someone Vivi didn't know, stood in front of him. The two were standing close together, talking quietly, almost intimately.

She was still trying to decipher what felt wrong about the scene when Shelby stepped into the room as if to get a closer look.

"Oh, my G.o.d!" Shelby's voice rang out as she moved toward Clay. "You're gay, too! I knew my father was gay, and I knew he had a boyfriend." Her voice quivered.

"After he died I found a whole box of cards and letters he had wrapped up with a stupid ribbon. And all of them were signed, *Love, C.' "

Shelby pointed an accusing finger at him. "It was you, wasn't it?" she said, her voice incredulous. "You're C!"

Vivien became aware of someone standing beside her just before she heard Melanie's sharp intake of breath. As they watched, Clay's face crumpled in on itself, the strong, even features blurring and becoming misshapen in grief.

The other man bent toward Clay, resting his hand protectively on Clay's shoulder. Clay shook his head, his gaze never leaving Shelby. The man left.

"You were like my second dad. You always had all those girlfriends." Shelby began to cry. "I never ever thought it could be you."

"This can't be right," Melanie whispered beside her. "This is a mistake."

But of course it wasn't.

"Your dad loved you," Clay said to Shelby. "He loved all of you."

Melanie pushed past Vivien.

"You?" Melanie whispered, shaking her head. "And J.J.? I don't believe it."

Shelby turned on her mother. "Which part, Mom? That your husband was gay? Or that he was in love with Clay?" She spat the words out, infuriated by her mother's ignorance. "What kind of woman doesn't even know she's married to a . . . a h.o.m.os.e.xual?"

"But I don't understand. How did this happen? How long did it go on?"

Clay looked at Melanie, and Vivien thought she'd never felt so much pain in one place. Except possibly in her stomach. Which had seized up so tightly she could hardly breathe.

"We were always attracted to each other," Clay said. "From the time we met in college. But J.J. didn't want to admit it. He wanted a . . . conventional life." His jaw tightened. "And a career in politics." He searched Melanie's face, looking for something, though Vivi couldn't imagine what.

"So you both got married and played it straight," Vivien said. "Until J.J. decided to run for office and you had your opportunity." It was all so clear now. She'd had all the pieces but she'd refused to see how they actually fit together. "Grady Hollis thought you were in love with Melanie. Professor Sturgess said you always came in second. I thought maybe you resented J.J. and were jealous of his life."

He turned to her as if only now noticing that she was there. "You talked to Phil and Grady? Why would you go to all that trouble?" he asked. "What was the point?"

"At first I thought you'd somehow killed J.J. and made it look like an accident, because you coveted his wife and family, because you were tired of coming in second."

Melanie turned terrible eyes on Vivien. "You had to dig into things that were better left alone. You couldn't just mind your own business and let us get on with our lives."

"You didn't kill him, did you?" Shelby asked, her voice trembling.

"Of course not," Clay said. "I loved him." The sheen of tears filled his eyes, turning them a wintry gray. His face contorted in an effort to hold them back.

Melanie stepped forward and slapped Clay Alexander across the face. Shelby buried her face in her hands. Her sobs filled the air as she rushed from the room.

Vivien's stomach roiled again; heat rushed through her body.

"I was married to someone I never even knew," Melanie said. "The great love of my life wasn't even in love with me." Her words were as cutting as her tone. "Because he was in love with you."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I never wanted you to know."

"I can't even look at you," Melanie said, turning away and heading for the door, calling after Shelby.

Vivien studied Clay Alexander's haggard face, the mixture of regret and relief apparent on it.

"How did J.J. really die?" she asked quietly. "He didn't really kill himself cleaning a gun . . . did he?"

Clay was silent for a long moment. Finally he said, "He couldn't live with the guilt of loving me, of living a double life," he finally said. "So he ended it. He killed himself."

He broke eye contact and dropped his head. Vivi waited while he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and withdrew two tattered pieces of paper from it.

"I'd gone outside, I don't even remember why. I was on my way back in when I heard the gunshot. He'd written a note of apology to Melanie." He gave the sc.r.a.p of stationery to Vivien. "And he left one for me asking me to look after his family."

Vivien unfolded the paper and read J.J.'s final words to his wife.

I just can't go on living this way. It hurts too much. And it's not fair to you and Shelby and Trip. All of you deserve so much more than I'm able to give. Don't ever question that I love you all. But I can't change who or what I am. Or how I feel about Clay.

"I removed the notes," Clay said. "So the insurance would pay out, so Melanie and the kids would be taken care of." His voice was unbearably sad. "I've done my best to look out for them." He straightened, but there was a hunch to his shoulders that hadn't been there before. "So now you know the truth. That's what you were looking for, wasn't it?"

Vivi reread J.J.'s plea for forgiveness and realized what she now held in her hand. A legislator engaged in a h.o.m.os.e.xual affair with his campaign manager? A suicide to end it? A stunned family who'd had no idea? Those were the kinds of story elements that any network would pay big bucks for, that any investigative journalist worth her salt would kill for. This story was an automatic ticket back to the top of network news.

Not long ago she wouldn't have hesitated to cash in that ticket.

But she wasn't that person anymore, was she? She tucked J.J.'s suicide note into her purse.

Clay turned and began to walk away. At the doorway he carefully sidestepped the Melnicks, who bl.u.s.tered in with a still-hysterical Shelby and Melanie between them. Ira called after Clay, demanding to know what was going on, but Clay Alexander kept walking.

The opening strains of the Wedding March were audible from the small ballroom but had barely established itself when the music screeched to a halt in midchord. There was some sort of announcement on the sound system and an agitated hum of conversation. It sounded as if Angela might actually have called off the wedding. Or maybe James had.

Could the day get any worse? Ira's face was flushed with anger, but he seemed unsure where to direct it. Vivien's stomach actually rippled with the pain that tore through her, and her skin felt clammy as her sister said, "Are you happy now? Now that you've got a nice juicy story?"

"No," Vivi said. "No, I wouldn't . . ." She doubled over to clutch her stomach. "Not now. Not . . ."

"Melanie," Ruth asked. "What happened? Has she done something to you?" She asked this even though Vivien was the one bent in half, trying to halt the pain. "Ira," Ruth said. "Do something!"

Ira turned to Vivien. "What's going on here?" he demanded.

Vivien would have answered, but there was another burst of pain and her knees began to buckle. She looked into Ira Melnick's face and saw that it had turned a pale and ghostly white. A throbbing vein zigzagged starkly against his forehead. The blaze of anger in his eyes turned to confusion and then surprise as he clutched his chest and sank to his knees at Ruth's feet.

"Ira," Ruth gasped. "What are you doing down there? What's wrong?"

Vivien looked up into her sister's drawn face. She looked down at Ira in a heap on the floor. And she felt something inside her rip loose.

Something warm and wet trickled down the inside of Vivi's leg.

"Call nine-one-one!" Vivi cried as she clutched her heaving stomach and stared down at the amniotic fluid seeping out of her. "I think Ira's had a heart attack!"

She swallowed as the fluid pooled at her feet and formed an amoebalike stain on the plush red carpet. "And I think I'm finally going to have this baby."

36.

EVERYTHING HAPPENED SO quickly after that that Melanie could hardly absorb what was taking place. The ambulance arrived and the paramedics carried Ira out, racing him to Saint Joseph's Hospital, with Ruth at his side.

Melanie, who felt as if her own guts had been torn out and stuffed down her throat, gathered up Shelby, located Trip, and got them and Vivien into the car for the ride to Northside, where Vivi was apparently going to give birth.

Vivi managed to reach Dr. Gilbert's emergency service between labor pains and pa.s.sed much of the ride bemoaning the fact that she'd sloughed off Lamaze cla.s.ses and trying to remember how long it took for an epidural to kick in. When her fingers grew too clumsy to perform, she pa.s.sed her phone to Shelby and asked her to text Stone that Vivi was on the way to the hospital to give birth to his child.

"You never even told him he was going to have a baby?" Shelby asked in midtext.

Vivi, who was busy huffing unsuccessfully through another contraction, shook her head.

"Could we be any more dysfunctional?" Shelby demanded. "Jesus! What's with this family and all the secrets?"

It might have been a great teaching moment or a chance to at least explain things to Trip, but Melanie was far too freaked out to do any of those things. The truth about J.J. kept hammering at her brain while she tried her hardest not to let it in.

But she couldn't forget Shelby's shriek, "What kind of woman doesn't even know she's married to a . . . a h.o.m.os.e.xual?" But she hadn't. J.J. had been kind and gentle. And their lovemaking had been like that, too. Not a blaze of pa.s.sion but a warm and encompa.s.sing thing. Should that have told her what she should have known? Had she simply been too cowardly to face facts that were difficult? Not now, she told herself. Just drive, don't think.

She made it through several stoplights and onto 400 south when thoughts of Ira and Ruth crowded in; was he okay? Was he even still alive? How would Ruth cope? With a shake of her head, she pushed those worries aside, too.

She drove as fast as she dared, tuning out Vivi's panting and the groans that became whimpers. Her anger at her sister was the one thing she could grab hold of-so much of this could be laid at Vivi's feet-and so she stoked it until it became a solid and tangible thing, something she could cling to. She would see her sister through labor as she'd promised, but she could hardly bring herself to look at her.

"Where is my epidural?" Vivi gasped as the nurse helped her into the hospital gown, then walked her to the delivery room bed. "I need that epidural now!" She gasped again when another contraction grabbed on to her and refused to let go. "And a doctor!" Vivi added, frightened. "Where is Dr. Gilbert?"

She looked to Melanie, who didn't meet her eye and who clearly wanted to be anywhere but here. The contractions were growing stronger and coming faster. Vivien felt her eyes glaze over with pain and fear.

"I know you're upset right now," Vivi panted from the bed. "And I totally get it, Mel. But I need you." Another pain grabbed hold of Vivi and held on with all its might. She wished she'd taken the time to learn where and how to breathe. She wished this was already over. She wished Melanie would speak to her, but her sister was glaring at her now. Like it was Vivi's fault that J.J. was gay and that Melanie hadn't known that he'd been in love with Clay Alexander.

"Mel, please," she said, horrified to realize she was begging. "I am completely sorry I ever started looking into J.J.'s death. I'm even sorrier that you found out things you didn't want to know. And that Shelby had to hear it."

Melanie looked at her then, but she didn't speak. And she didn't leave the room to drag someone in with an epidural, either.

"I am also sorry that Ira had a heart attack over it. That I wrote those articles as Scarlett Leigh." She gasped her way through another contraction, then sent Melanie an imploring and, she hoped, contrite enough look to break through the logjam of anger. "Although I only did it because I had no alternative. And I never, ever, thought of you as being like that. You were completely excepted because . . ."

"Oh, shut up!" Melanie said. "You always have an excuse for what you do. Everybody does. But that doesn't make the people they s.h.i.t all over feel any better!"