Pepper, faithless cur that she was, bounded over to her. I wish I could report that Gillian was the type to shriek and be afraid and fuss over any fur on her clothes, but instead she bent down and rubbed Pepper’s neck and spoke to her, my dog’s tail beating the air so fast it was a blur.

Then she straightened up. “Got a minute?”

“You betcha!” I said. Sometimes my mother’s Minnesotan accent just popped out of me.

Gillian was dressed in a red pencil skirt, a pretty white peasant blouse and a brown suede jacket I wanted to marry. I was dressed in yesterday’s jeans and a shirt I swiped from Oliver. She had that walk that some women have . . . the swaying, the grace, the somewhat arrogant stride that said, “Yes, I’m really this pretty.”

“My house is under construction, so it’s probably best if we sit out here. Um, hang on, I’ll grab a chair.”

I only had one, so I graciously gave it to her, then leaned tentatively against my decrepit railing, hoping it would hold me. It did. “Uh . . . that dinner party the other night . . . I hope it wasn’t too horrible.”

“Oh, it was,” she said. “Your mother is wonderful, though. Such an impressive woman. I don’t think she remembered Noah and I were . . . together once. It’s fine.”

“Mickey’s pretty great, though, don’t you think?” I asked. “I love her. Breast is best for baby, right? Funny that both you and I probably once thought we . . . Mickey, though, huh? She’s so open and fun and . . .” My hands flailed for something. “Yeah. Just great. Sense of humor. She’s very honest.” Stop talking. Stop talking.

Gillian stared at me. She took a breath, then exhaled through her nostrils in a very evil-Disney-villain kind of way. “I don’t know if I should tell you this, but my therapist recommended it.”

Fuck. I had been discussed in therapy. That was never a good sign. “Okay. Fire away.”

“I obviously have . . . feelings . . . regarding you, since Noah . . . well. That’s neither here nor there.”

Since Noah what? “Mm-hm.” Traitorous Pepper put her head on Gillian’s lap and gazed at her adoringly.

“So. I’m going to tell you this only because I feel it’s the right thing to do. Not because I’m trying to make trouble or because I’m jealous of you. I have a very strong working relationship with your mother and the entire board of selectmen, and I don’t want that to jeopardize—”

“Just spit it out, Gillian. It’s fine. Go ahead.”

Another breath. “You’re dating Alexander Mitchum, correct?”

“Yep.”

“Your mother told me you’d been seeing each other a couple of years.”

“Correct.”

“I mentioned at the dinner party that he and I had met last spring at a yacht christening.”

I suddenly had a bad feeling about this. “Uh-huh.”