She took a slightly shaky deep breath as she got out of the car and followed her daughter to the restaurant.

Leah and Wendy went in with the Leone children and headed straight for the kids’ playroom on the far side of Marco’s, where half a dozen other children were enjoying the jungle gym and the coin-operated rides. Lauren watched them go, wishing she could follow, dreading that she was now left alone with someone she would have to explain herself to.

The restaurant smelled like an Italian heaven. Tomato sauce and oregano. The décor was exposed brick, red leatherette booths, and long family-style tables set across a field of dark green tile. A Dodgers game was playing on several big-screen televisions stationed around the main room.

The place was busy and noisy. Lauren scanned the faces. No Ballencoa. This was the first place in town she hadn’t imagined seeing him today. Maybe her spell of crazy was wearing off.

“So what do you do for a living, Lauren?” Anne Leone asked as they claimed a large corner booth.

“I’m an interior decorator.”

“That’s great. Will you be opening a shop here in town?”

“No,” she said, then realized the rules of conversation dictated that she offer a little more than a monosyllable. “I’m taking some time off.”

“Giving yourself some time to settle in. That’s nice. This is such a great place to enjoy the summer. We’ve got the music festival coming up, and the art fair in the fall. Although I guess it’s hard to beat Santa Barbara.”

Lauren tried a smile, knowing it probably looked like she had a lip full of Novocain. “We needed a change of scenery.”

The waitress interrupted with menus and to take drink orders. Anne Leone ordered ginger ale for herself and her kids, and a Coke for Wendy. Lauren ordered a Coke for Leah, then hesitated.

“They feature wines from the local vineyards here,” Anne said. “If you’re a wine lover, I recommend them. I’d have a glass of the Merlot myself, but I’m not allowed. I found out a few weeks ago baby number two is on the way.”

“Number two?” Lauren asked, confused.

“Haley is adopted. Have the Merlot.”

“I’ll have the Merlot,” Lauren told the waitress. She felt an almost embarrassing sense of relief. She glanced at Anne. “Do I look like I need it?”

“Not at all,” Anne said with a smile that was maybe just a little too kind, too understanding.

Lauren figured she had ten years on Anne Leone, but there was something in Anne’s dark eyes that spoke of wisdom won at the cost of hard experience. She had a story too.

Lauren found a certain comfort in the reminder that she wasn’t the only person to ever go through hell. That road was well traveled.

Anne ordered a big salad for the table and requested extra garlic bread.