Oh G.o.d. It's now or never. "Yes." Chicken. I should have told him.

"Well, she and I...we were talking." He looked down, then sheepishly up at Danica. "Flirting, we were flirting." He blushed. "This is really hard for me, talking about this, but it's important. Especially if I'm going to be a good influence on Rusty."

"It's okay. Take your time. I'm glad you're thinking of Rusty. That's nice."

"Okay, well, I was ready to go home with her, and I mean ready." The way he said ready made Danica swallow hard. She envisioned him standing with a huge erection. She felt a flush run up her neck and cleared her throat to distract her own thoughts.

"Go on."

"I didn't do it. I didn't go home with her." He searched her eyes again, and this time Danica smiled. "But you probably already knew that."

Danica didn't confirm or deny his statement. "How did that feel?" The term cold shower came to mind.

"Good, actually. She's beautiful, but she would have been a one-night stand, and not that I'm looking for a relationship, but I am trying not to be that guy anymore. So, well...you know your sister is very attractive."

Ouch. I know it all too well.

"I was really proud of myself."

"Yes, she is." If I had a dollar for every time I heard that. "That's a really positive step, Blake. I'm proud of you." Danica blinked away her fear, gathered courage like a blanket around her.

"Why didn't you tell me she was your sister?" he asked.

"There wasn't a need. When we met, you weren't my client. It would have seemed inappropriate for me to bring it up out of the blue, but now, well, I'm glad you know." She watched him process the information.

A smile crept across his lips. "Good thing I came to my senses before taking her home."

"Blake, you can date anyone you'd like. We're therapist and client, and it's none of my business who you spend time with." Even if the little, green-eyed monster chases me in circles.

"Of course, right."

They looked at each other, each waiting for the other to break the silence. Danica felt the pulse of their hearts in the s.p.a.ce between them. She reached for the notebook, the pen, anything to carry her out of the trance of the energy emanating from Blake's body.

"Okay, well, what would you like to talk about with regard to...all of that?" she asked.

"Just that I'd done it, and it wasn't as difficult as I'd imagined it might be. But it made me realize that maybe I'm a pretty lonely guy after all. I never would have guessed it, but when I went home that night, my condo was too quiet. I don't spend much time at home-well, I never used to-and lately, when I'm there, I find myself thinking of my father and what he must have felt like without my mom for all those years. I think he was lonely, even though he was busy and he had me."

"You know, being alone doesn't have to equate to being lonely, although it's fine if it does. Maybe you should spend time getting to know yourself a little better. You're a skier and a business owner, but what else?" She glanced at the clock. "In fact, let's use this for our next session. I'm going to give you homework."

Blake lifted his right eyebrow.

"Not an essay, just a list. If you could come up with four things that define you, I think it would help us through this."

"Four things." Blake nodded, thinking. "Okay, sure. And, there's just one thing I want to leave you with."

Danica stood, "Yes?"

Blake stood, just inches from her, his chest within touching distance. He looked down at her, and the s.p.a.ce between them once again filled with desire. She saw it in his smoldering, dark eyes, felt it coming off him in waves. I'm losing it. Danica took a step past him toward the door.

"I'm beginning to wonder if Dave committed suicide." Blake grabbed his coat and followed Danica. He clenched his thick parka within both fists. That hopeful, help-me look returned to his eyes.

"That's a heavy one," Danica said quietly. "Work on your list, and let's talk about that next time."

Blake walked out of her office and turned back as she was closing the door. "I almost forgot to tell you. Jeffrey asked me to be in the wedding. Old college buds and all. So, will I see you next weekend at the pre-wedding hurrah?"

College buds? Danica made a mental note to work with him to explore his friendship with Jeffrey. Maybe Blake wasn't as inept at social and emotional situations as he thought he was. Danica had forgotten all about the pre-wedding party, and now he'd be there, too. How would she pull that off? She'd have to remain sober, that was for sure. "Yup."

Chapter Twenty-One.

Blake wondered if everyone experienced life-altering crossroads, or if he was the only one who felt swept away with the avalanche of chaos in his life. He stepped onto the sidewalk, the icy air stinging his cheeks. Was he hallucinating, or had there been some sort of underlying romantic current running between him and Danica? He swore he saw want in her eyes. This celibacy routine must be affecting his senses or something. He zipped his coat and headed for his car.

The main road to AcroSki was backed up, so he took the back roads. When he came to the stop sign at the corner of Cemetery Drive and Nauget Street, he turned right instead of left. He didn't think about where he was going. He didn't intentionally head for Dave's grave. It was as if the car had a mind of its own and he was along for the ride.

He parked in the cemetery lot, grabbed a scarf from the backseat, and wrapped it around his neck, covering his nose from the bitter air. He stepped from the car and stood in the wind, staring in the direction of Dave's grave. There were three cars in the parking lot, though Blake saw no other people on the cemetery grounds. He didn't know what he was going to do when he got there, but he was drawn toward Dave's grave. He shouldered the wind, and a few moments later, he was standing above the freshly tilled earth. With his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, he stared at the rich, brown soil, a sharp contrast to the fresh, snowy carpet around the gravesite.

Blake looked up at the sky. "Dave? Was I a good friend? Was it my life that made you reach outside of your marriage, because if it was, buddy, I'm sorry. It's not so great." He heard the footsteps before she appeared beside him. He expected to find Sally, but instead was faced with the woman from the back of the church.

"Hi," she said softly.

"h.e.l.lo," Blake said, and shot his eyes back to the ground, feeling awkward in her presence. What if Sally came by and saw them? Would she think he'd been lying and that he'd known about her the whole time?

"Dave was a good man," she said.

Blake nodded, unsure how good of a man Dave had really been. "Were you a friend?" Blake couldn't help it. He wanted to know if she'd cover up the affair.

She faced him, her wavy, blond hair tucked beneath a red, knit hat. Her brown eyes were painfully small. She wore red lipstick that matched the bright shade of her hat, and her long, gray, fitted coat hung almost to her knees. She looked like one of those little porcelain dolls that had their makeup painted on. She crossed her hands over her chest, warding off the wind. "Yes. You're Blake, right?"

Surprised, he said, "Mm-hmm. Do I know you?"

She turned away again. "No, I suppose you wouldn't." She thrust her hands in her pockets.

Blake glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was a pet.i.te woman, no taller than his chest. "How did you know Dave?" he asked.

She kicked her rubber boot at a mound of wayward dirt. "We helped each other with things."

"Things?" He was digging himself deeper into a hole he wasn't sure he wanted to be in, but he needed to understand what went on between them, and why Dave would ruin his family for this woman.

"I knew Dave when we were teenagers, and we hadn't seen each other for years, until I moved back here. Back home. We were...friends."

Blake felt the heat of anger despite the brisk air. He turned and faced her. "Friends?" You're not getting off that easy. "How is it that you know who I am, but I have no idea who you are?"

"You're Dave's business partner," she said, making no effort to avoid his confrontational gaze. "Dave told me all about you." She looked up at the sky, as if searching for an answer. "Dave and I were...he was...I have a seventeen-year-old son." She looked into Blake's eyes, and he saw the answer.

"Dave's son?" Blake felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut. Sally. Rusty. Oh G.o.d.

She nodded. Her hair fell into her eyes and she left it there. She spoke softly, her words trembling in the cold. "We were so young. He didn't know about Chase. He was trying to do the right thing, getting to know him, spending time with him."

"Sleeping with you," Blake accused.

"No." She shook her head. "No, it wasn't like that. He was just trying to figure out what to do, how to tell his wife." She wiped her eyes with her gloved fingertips. "He loved her, and while he was spending time with Chase, he wasn't going to leave her for me; it wasn't like that."

"But Sally knows about you two. She said she-"

She shook her head, revealing her honest eyes. "He tried to tell her about Chase, and she a.s.sumed there was more to it."

"But he let her believe it. She's heartbroken and falling apart more with each day because she thinks he was having an affair."

"He was, sort of, but not with me. Emotionally, I guess he was...dividing his time. He was spending time getting to know Chase. He wanted to wait until they were on solid ground before bringing Sally and Rusty to meet him. There was a lot to deal with."

"Why now? Why did you come back after so many years?" Blake's rage mounted. "You needed money, wanted a husband?"

"No," she said adamantly. "I came back because my father died and I needed to take care of his affairs. I saw Dave at the store, and we started talking. He did the math. I never even brought it up. It wasn't my plan for him and Chase to meet-ever. It just happened."

Blake turned around and pulled his shoulders up against the wind, then turned back to her, spewing his anger without restraint. "Do you understand what his wife is going through? He must have spent loads of time with you-or with Chase-at his family's expense, and now they're left believing he didn't love them."

"He was trying to do the right thing." Tears fell from her eyes.

"Yeah, well, he's dead, and a lot of people are hurting. What now?" Blake had to get to Sally; he had to explain what was going on. Would she even care? Dave had stolen their family time and they'd never get that back.

"I don't know, okay? I have my own son to worry about. He only just got to know his father, and now he's gone."

Blake had enough of his own s.h.i.t to deal with. The last thing he needed was someone else's mess on his plate. Now, more than ever, he wondered if Dave had purposely missed the angle of the jump, sending himself tumbling to his death. As he walked back to his car, he mulled over the possibilities and wondered if Dave had felt pulled too far under the weight of his own life's complexities to ever find his way out again. Blake couldn't imagine that the love Dave showed toward Sally had been feigned. Maybe the possibility of losing her was just too much for him to take.

He unlocked his car, wondering if the woman had been telling the truth, or if Dave had been having an affair with her. Then he realized that it didn't really matter. What he'd given her was his time and emotional energy-the thing that Sally and Rusty had needed most.

He stopped at a red light on the way to his shop. There he was, at the corner of the street that ran straight to his shop and the one that led in the direction of Sally's house. When the light changed, he continued on toward AcroSki.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Danica sat in Nancy's apartment, watching her move nervously from the living room to the kitchen, returning with a plate of cheese and crackers and a pitcher of ice water. There was little furniture in the living room-a worn, green couch with a dark blue throw across the back cushions, a coffee table, and a scratched, wooden shelving unit that looked like it had seen better days. Gracing each shelf were photographs of Mich.e.l.le, from infancy to her current school picture, which Danica recognized as the same photograph that Nola had framed and placed on her piano. There were no stacks of clutter, no bills piling up that she could see. The apartment was small and tidy, with the kitchen just off of the living room. Danica peered in and took note of the cleanliness, dishes drying neatly on a rubber drying rack. It was easy for Danica to envision Nancy curled up on the couch with a cup of black tea, wondering what her daughter was doing at that moment.

"I'm sorry that I don't have something more to offer you, but you know, no sugar and all that. Something about sugar increasing the desire for alcohol."

Danica had seen pictures of Nancy, but she hadn't realized how much Mich.e.l.le looked like her until she was sitting beside her. They had the same oval chin, the same slender fingers, and the same nervous way of hiding behind their hair. "This is just fine." Danica reached for a gla.s.s and filled it with ice water.

Nancy couldn't have been much older than her mid-thirties, but worry had etched deep lines across her forehead. "I really appreciate all you're doing for Mich.e.l.le," she said sheepishly.

"Mich.e.l.le is a really good kid. You should be proud of her."

"Oh, I am proud of her. I'm more proud of her than I've ever been of anyone in my life. My mother, too. To pick up the pieces like she does. I know it's not easy for either of them."

You've got that right. "That's kind of why I'm here. I know it's none of my business, but how are you doing with your recovery?"

"You have every right to ask," she said. "I've got myself a job waitressing at the Friday's in town. I don't serve alcohol. I go to all of my meetings, and this time I haven't felt the desire to go back to drinking. Not once." She looked up with a tentative smile.

"That's great, Nancy. I'm sure it's been a very difficult time for you." Danica realized that no matter what Nancy told her, she couldn't know what to believe. Recovery wasn't a clearly defined path, and rebound was likely for most recovering alcoholics. No matter how much Nancy wanted to change, there was always the quiet presence of the addiction on her shoulders. No wonder Mich.e.l.le was reluctant to let her mother back into her life. She could lose her mother again at any moment.

"It is. Don't get me wrong." She sat back against the couch cushions and blinked several times, as if she were trying to hold back tears. "Mich.e.l.le is everything to me. I got lost for a while there, running with the wrong crowd, feeling put upon for having to care for a child alone. I don't know." She crossed her legs. "I don't mean to rationalize any of what I've done. It was all a way to hide, I guess. In a way, I was running away from my responsibilities, I suppose. But this time, things were different. I wasn't sitting there feeling put upon or angry at the world for whatever I used to feel. This time, all I could think about was how lucky I am to have Mich.e.l.le and how much I've let her down. She sees me for what I was, for what I am, and I'm dead set on fixing that. There's no going back for me. I'll never make her feel that way again, if I can help it."

"Are you getting help beyond the support groups?" Danica knew from Nola that she was attending weekly support meetings.

Nancy nodded vehemently. "Oh, yes. I see a counselor, Dr. Paltron, every week, and I've even asked her to give me random urine tests." She scribbled a phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to Danica. "Call Dr. Paltron, please. She can tell you how I'm doing. I have nothing to hide."

Danica took the paper. "You asked her to test you?"

"Yes. I don't want to slip back into that life, and with that hanging over my head, well, it's a reminder."

Danica was impressed. In her experience, addicts were always on the edge of falling back into the throes of their addiction. Nancy's case was slightly different. She hadn't spent her whole life moving in and out of rehab. She'd had a hard time dealing with the death of Mich.e.l.le's father, a drug addict who had never been a part of Mich.e.l.le's life, but whom she had remained desperately in love with.

"I know what you're thinking," Nancy said. "What about when that's not enough, the threat of a urine test? But the truth is, I know in my heart that this is it. I'm not going back to that life. I'm ashamed of the pain I've caused Mich.e.l.le." A tear slipped down her cheek. "I will make this work. I will not allow myself to screw up again. That girl needs me, faults and all. She needs her mother."

"Well, everyone needs their parents, but Mich.e.l.le is in a really stressful period in her life. Being a teenager is not an easy time for anyone."

"I know. This whole mess was wrapped around her father dying. Mich.e.l.le didn't know him, but I loved him. I was sucked into his life once-the first time I went into rehab-but I was not going to be sucked in again. I didn't realize that his death could push me over the edge. It was my fault. I let myself hide in the fog of alcohol, in a place where I should have been too numb to feel. But I wasn't too numb to feel. I was hurt and lonely, and now I'm ashamed." She moved to the edge of the couch. "I still felt the pain of his loss. I couldn't hide from it. Now I've accepted it and I'm able to move forward." She must have seen something in Danica's eyes, because she added, "Mich.e.l.le is everything to me. I will move forward. I will make that girl proud, if it's the last thing I do."

Danica had heard the same thing before from her clients. Some meant it; some didn't. She believed, from the pitch of Nancy's voice and the desperation and confidence intertwined in her eyes, that she meant it-at least at that very moment. But it was Mich.e.l.le she was worried about. "It's not me you have to convince. Mich.e.l.le's not sure what she can trust. She's seen you at your worst, so it may take her some time to trust you again."

Nancy nodded, wiped her tears with her sleeve. "I know that, and I'll wait as long as it takes." Nancy lifted her eyes to Danica's. "From what my mother has told me, you're really helping Mich.e.l.le deal with things. Can you tell me how she's doing? Is she into anything...bad? Have I screwed her up in that way?"

Danica thought of Mich.e.l.le in the museum, thoughtfully looking over the artwork, and the way she came into her own in the Village. "I think she's doing just fine, but she's struggling with her relationship with you and whether she'll ever live the life of a typical mother and daughter."

"Well, we're anything but typical," Nancy admitted.

An alarm sounded in another room. "I'm sorry," she said, walking toward the offending noise. "I have to get ready for work." She came back from the bedroom with an envelope in her hand. "Would you mind giving this to Mich.e.l.le?"

"Um..." Danica worried what the envelope might contain. Last wishes? Hopes for the future? She looked at the envelope without reaching for it.

Nancy shrugged. "It's just, she won't talk to me, and I miss her so much, so I started writing her letters. Then I realized that a teenage girl probably doesn't want a string of sappy letters, so I wrote just this one, told her how I felt, that I'm sorry, and, well, some other stuff I thought she needed to know. I want her to know I'm doing everything I can and I will remain sober. She needs to know this."

Danica felt a rush of relief. "Sure, I'll give it to her next week." She took the envelope.

Danica left Nancy's apartment and headed for her office. She checked her watch, and knowing she had no more clients that afternoon, she picked up her cell phone and dialed Kaylie's number.