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happen if they kept talking right now. Without responding to Michael, she poured a fresh cup of coffee into a traveling mug, though she was certain her stomach was already far too upset for her to drink it. "I've got to run." She looked directly at her husband. "You'll be home tonight?"
    Michael nodded. "As usual."
    "'Bye, Mom."
    "'Bye, honey." Risa grabbed her briefcase and hurried through the house to the garage.
    A wife always knows, her mother had told her.
    And Risa knew.
    Michael was having an affair.
    * * *
    MARGOT DUNN SAT quietly in the tiny glass chapel overlooking the Pacific where she and Conrad had been married a dozen years ago. The joy of that day—when her own beauty exceeded even that of the setting she had chosen for her wedding—was only a faint memory now, but the serenity of the Wayfarer's Chapel imbued her spirit as much today as it always had. Through all the years since she'd married Conrad, this small church had been her refuge, the single place where everything else in her world could be shut out, and today, with the bright sun of the clear morning pouring through the great glass panels and filtering through the branches of the redwoods outside, Margot knew she was at last going to be all right.
    For the first time since the accident, her soul was truly at peace.
    Uttering a final silent prayer, Margot rose from the pew and left the chapel, threading her way though the crowd around the front door, paying no attention to the glances and whispers of the people who recognized her.
    She found her Lexus parked in the lot, drove it down the hill to the Pacific Coast Highway and turned right. After less than a mile she turned off the highway and made her way through a maze of small cul-de-sacs until she pulled up in front of a tiny park she'd discovered a few years ago when she came to look at one of the houses across the street.
    She hadn't particularly liked the house, but had fallen instantly in love with the park. She'd come back the very next day, bringing Ruffles with her, and the dog had liked it as much as she did. The best thing about it—aside from the view and the thunder from the surf that constantly crashed at the base of the cliff—was that it was almost always deserted. Now, already anticipating an hour of running loose on the lawn, the little white terrier was peering eagerly out the passenger window of the Lexus, as if struggling to get his tiny nose through the glass itself to suck in the tangy salt air beyond the confines of the car.
    Margot braked to a stop, turned off the engine, and let her hands drop to her lap as her head fell back onto the headrest.
    Peace.
    She took a deep breath and then gazed out over the cliffs to the glistening ocean spread out in front of her. A haze lay over the sea this morning, hiding the distant form of Catalina. The horizon had all but vanished, the sea and sky blending so perfectly that there was barely a hint of where they met.
    Nothing but blue for as far as she could see.
    Ruffles whined to be let out of the car, but Margot only reached across to give his flank an affectionate rub. "Hush," she whispered.
    Sensing something, the little dog instantly quieted.
    Again Margot gazed out at the sea, quieting her mind, concentrating on her breathing, using the yoga she had learned years before.
    Then she pulled down the visor, flipped open the lighted mirror, and faced her reflected image.
    The scars, uncovered by makeup today, were far worse than she had made herself believe. With neither the magic of Danielle DeLorian's line of cosmetics nor the subdued lighting with which she had surrounded herself for the last year, the scars looked even worse to her now than on the day the bandages were removed. Clearly reflected in the mirror, fully exposed by the glare of morning light, Margot Dunn gazed silently at what other people saw whenever they looked at her: the hideous purple gouges that had ruined her face forever.
    The peace she had found in the chapel