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flash of white on the dull metal top of her TV caught her eye as she moved past. The envelope. She peered at the postmark, from Maine, and tore it open eagerly.
    Once upon a time a good man loved a good woman so deeply, he faked a stroke in order to escape the punishment of public life and the chains that bound him to a heartless and icy female. No longer could he stand living the lie. As soon as he was free, on the As Good As It Got
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    wild, beautiful island he’d bought for them in Maine, he wrote to her, begging her to join him so they could put their years of isolation behind them forever . . .
    Instead, a brochure. Camp Kinsonu for Women. Stronger Every Day, Stronger Every Way. And a note.
    Hello, Martha. A donor who wishes to remain anonymous has secured a place for you at Camp Kinsonu for the early August session, starting on the 4th. Please look over the enclosed and let us know as soon as possible if you will be attending. We look forward to being able to share with you the healing process that has helped so many other suddenly single women.
    Sincerely,
    Betsy Spalding
    Martha went over the note three times, heart rate shooting up higher with each successive reading.
    There was only one person besides her who knew she was suddenly single, not counting the Cold One. And only one person she knew well who had the kind of money to send her to a place like this. And only one person who would care enough to want to help her through this pain. A person the media claimed was unable to speak and think for himself for the last month.
    Eldon Cresswell. Her Eldon.
    Chapter 4
    Cindy stood back and surveyed the room that would be hers for the next two weeks, already in love with the ale-colored knotty pine walls and exposed beams. The bed was twin, good quality and comfortable, though she’d brought her own pillow from home, because she never slept well on other people’s pillows. Next to the bed stood blue-shaded white lamps that complemented the blue and white bedspreads. Watercolors enlivened the walls, seaside landscapes mostly, and cute braided rag rugs softened the floors.
    The staff had put a basket on the table by her bed with home-baked cookies, an apple, and some hard fruit candies.
    On the tastefully battered dresser, a bouquet of white fuzzy flowers had been arranged in a gray-blue pottery vase etched with ferns. Nice touches that gave the impression of luxury without detracting from the casual charm of the place.
    She was going to love it here. The air smelled so sweet, and the hushed lapping of the ocean would make her sleep, As Good As It Got
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    she was sure of it. She hadn’t done so well sleeping over the last few weeks, not with Kevin off all the time with his new girlfriend and with no Max to comfort her. She’d told Marjory about his latest, and then told her parents. Predictably, they insisted she file for divorce immediately. She didn’t see the point. He’d be back soon enough and they could go on.
    She probably shouldn’t have told Mom and Dad this time.
    Why give them more fuel for their belief that Cindy failed at everything she tried?
    In the meantime, she had a nice distraction up here, which Marjory and Mom and Dad all agreed would be good for her, and eventually convinced her as well. Even though she hated that it was Mistress Patty who had found Camp Kinsonu, she was glad to be here now. Compared to moping around at home, this felt like freedom.
    In a file next to her bed lay the sheaf of papers she’d gotten at registration in the lodge. The camp director, Betsy Spalding, who had to be the nicest lady on earth, greeted each woman with a huge long hug. Cindy felt sort of stupid hugging someone she’d never met, but three seconds in Betsy’s strong arms left her feeling that this woman knew everything about her, understood it all, and would help her get through every shred of pain or die trying.
    That probably sounded over the top, but it’s exactly what she felt.
    Now, sitting on the