Lucy smiled at the obvious effort to change the direction of the conversation. “Thanks. That’s really sweet of you. But all I would do is sit around there and mope. I think I’m better off staying here and keeping busy.”

“Is there anything you need?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m taking it day by day. I think the tough part is going to be running into Kevin and Alice—I’m not sure how I’m going to handle that yet.”

“Hopefully Kevin will have the decency to spend time with her in Seattle, rather than insist that she visit him on the island.”

Lucy blinked, perplexed. “They’re both going to be here, Mom.”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t Alice tell you? She’s moving in with Kevin.”

“No, she—” Her mother broke off. “Dear Lord. Into the house you shared with him?”

“Yes.”

“What is Alice going to do with her Seattle apartment?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy said dryly. “Maybe she’ll sublet it to me.”

“Lucy, that’s not at all funny.”

“Sorry. It’s just … Alice has stepped into my life like it’s a pair of old shoes. And the crazy thing is, she doesn’t seem to feel guilty at all. I actually think she feels entitled to my boyfriend. Like I was supposed to hand him over just because she wanted him.”

“It’s my fault. The way I raised her—”

“Wait,” Lucy said, more sharply than she had intended. She took a frayed breath and softened her tone. “For once, Mom, please, can something be her fault? Can we just agree that Alice did something wrong, and not find a dozen ways to excuse her for it? Because every time I think of her sleeping in my house, in my bed, with my boyfriend, I really feel like blaming her.”

“But Lucy—even though it’s probably too soon to bring this up—she is your sister. And one day when she comes to you with a sincere apology, I hope you’ll forgive her. Because family is family.”

“It is too soon to bring that up. Listen, Mom, I … need to go.” Lucy knew that her mother was trying to help. But this wasn’t the kind of conversation that had ever gone well for them. They could talk about superficial things, but whenever they ventured into deeper territory, her mother seemed compelled to tell her how to think and feel. As a result, Lucy usually confided the personal details of her relationships to her friends rather than her family.

“I know you think I don’t understand how you feel, Lucy,” her mother said. “But I do.”

“You do?” As Lucy waited for her mother to continue, her gaze fell on a print of Munch’s painting The Dance of Life. The work depicted several couples dancing on a summer night. But two women stood alone in the picture. The one on the left was dressed in white, looking innocent and hopeful. The older woman on the right, however, was dressed in black, the uncompromising angles of her body conveying the bitterness of a love affair gone wrong.

“Before I was married,” her mother said, “I was involved with a man—I loved him very much—and one day he broke the news to me that he was in love with my best friend.”

Her mother had never divulged anything of the kind to her before. Lucy gripped the phone, unable to make a sound.

“It was beyond painful. I had … well, I suppose you would call it a nervous breakdown. I’ve never forgotten that feeling of not being able to get out of bed. That feeling of your soul being too heavy for you to move.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said in a hushed voice. “It’s hard to think of you going through something like that. It must have been terrible.”

“The most difficult part was that I lost my boyfriend and my best friend at the same time. I think they both regretted the pain they had caused me, but they loved each other so much that nothing else mattered. They got married. Later my former friend asked for my forgiveness, and I gave it to her.”

“Did you mean it?” Lucy couldn’t help asking.

That provoked a rueful laugh. “I said the words. That was the most I could manage. And I was glad I had done that, because about a year after the wedding, she died of Lou Gehrig’s.”

“What about the guy? Did you ever get back in touch with him?”

“You could say that.” Her mother’s voice turned gently arid. “I eventually married him, and we had two daughters.”

Lucy’s eyes widened at the revelation. She had never known that her father had been married before. That he had loved and lost another woman. Was that the reason for his eternal remoteness?

So many secrets, hidden in a family’s history. Inside a parent’s heart.

“Why are you telling me now?” she finally managed to ask.

“I married Phillip because I still loved him, even though I knew that he didn’t care for me in the same way. He came back to me because he was grieving, and lonely, and he needed someone. But that’s not the same as being in love.”

“He does love you,” Lucy protested.

“In his way. And it’s been a good marriage. But I’ve always had to live with the knowledge that I was his second choice. And I would never want that for you. I want you to find a man who thinks you’re the sun and the moon.”

“I don’t think that guy is out there.”

“He is. And Lucy, even though you said yes to the wrong man, I hope that won’t cause you to say no to the right one.”

Six

After two months of living at Artist’s Point, Lucy had narrowed down a list of potential apartments, but there were issues with each of them. One was out in the middle of nowhere, another was too expensive, another was depressingly dark, and so forth. She would have to make a decision soon, but Justine and Zoл had encouraged her to take as much time as she needed.

It had done Lucy a world of good to stay with the Hoffmans. Their company had been the perfect antidote for her postbreakup blues. Any time she felt gloomy or lonely, she could keep company with Zoл in the kitchen, or go for a run with Justine. It was nearly impossible to stay depressed around Justine, with her raffish sense of fun and boundless energy.

“I’ve got the perfect guy for you,” Justine announced one afternoon, as she, Zoл, and Lucy prepared the inn for a monthly event at the bed-and-breakfast—a silent reading party. It had originally been Zoл’s idea. People could bring their favorite books, or choose from the selection at the bed-and-breakfast. They would settle into the deep sofas or chairs in the big downstairs common room, and have wine and cheese while reading to themselves. Justine had initially scoffed at the idea—“Why would people go somewhere to read when they could do that at home?”—but Zoл had persevered. And it had become a huge success, with long lines forming at the front door, even in bad weather.

“I’d suggest him for you, Lucy,” Justine continued, “but Zoл’s gone longer without a guy. It’s like triage—I have to assign priority to those in the worst condition.”

Zoл shook her head as she set a tray of cheese on a huge antique sideboard in the common room. “I don’t need triage. I’ll meet someone eventually, when the time is right. Why can’t you just let these things happen naturally?”

“Letting things happen naturally takes too long,” Justine said. “And you need to start going out again. I’ve seen the signs.”

“Like what?” Zoл asked.

“For one thing, you spend too much time with Byron. He is so spoiled.”

Much of Zoл’s spare time was spent indulging her Persian cat, who had a mahogany-paneled litter box, a selection of rhinestone collars, and a blue velvet cat bed. Byron was regularly bathed and groomed, and ate his designer cat food from china saucers.

“That cat lives better than I do,” Justine continued.

“He certainly has better jewelry,” Lucy said.

Zoл frowned. “I’ll take a cat’s company over a man’s any day.”

Justine gave her a sardonic look. “Have you ever been on a date with a guy who coughed up a hairball?”

“No. But unlike a man, Byron is always on time for dinner, and he never complains about my shopping.”

“Despite your weakness for neutered males,” Justine said, “I think you’d get along great with Sam. You like cooking, he makes wine … it’s a natural.”

Zoл looked dubious. “This is the Sam Nolan who was so geeky in elementary school?”

Lucy had nearly dropped a stack of books as she heard his name. Fumbling a little, she piled the heavy volumes on a coffee table in front of a flower-upholstered sofa.

“He wasn’t that bad,” Justine protested.

“Please. He was always walking around playing with a Rubik’s Cube. Like Gollum petting his ring.”

Justine began to laugh. “God, I remember that.”

“And he was so skinny, we used to have to hold him down during a strong breeze. Did he actually grow up to be cute?”

“He grew up to be hot,” Justine said emphatically.

“In your opinion,” Zoл said. “But you and I have different taste in men.”

Justine gave her a perplexed glance. “You think Duane’s cute, don’t you?”

Zoл’s soft shoulders hitched in an uncomfortable shrug. “I can’t tell. He’s all covered up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t see his face because his sideburns are the size of my cast-iron skillets. And he has all those tattoos.”

“He only has three,” Justine protested.

“He has way more than that,” Zoл said. “I could read him like a Kindle.”

“Well, I like tattoos. But to put your fears to rest, Sam doesn’t have any. No piercings either.” As Zoл opened her mouth, Justine added, “And no sideburns.” She made a sound of exasperation. “I’ll get photographic proof.”

“Justine’s right,” Lucy said to Zoл. “I’ve met him, and he is hot.”