As Nealy packed the last of Button’s clothes, Lucy flew from one spot in the motor home to another, talking a mile a minute and getting in the way. “. . . do the dishes every night, and take care of Button, and clean my room. I’ll clean the whole house—I’ll even clean the White House—and I’ll—”

The door opened and Mat wedged himself inside. “Luce, Bertis and Charlie are on the sunporch watching Button. Why don’t you say your good-byes?”

“I’ll invite them to come visit us!” The door banged behind her as she ran outside.

Mat’s betrayal clung to Nealy like bitter dust. She turned her attention to packing up the last of Button’s rompers.

“The vultures are already descending,” he said. “A patrol car just showed up.”

She placed the stack of clothes inside the suitcase and pretended it didn’t matter. Mat moved closer, filling up what was left of the floor space. She thought about Dennis and the truth she hadn’t quite revealed, but which Mat had, nonetheless, guessed. Before she left, she had to confront him about it.

“What do I have to do to keep you from telling my secrets?”

He regarded her with watchful eyes. “I guess you’re going to have to trust me.”

“Why? Never trust the press—one of the first rules I learned.”

“I’m not just the press,” he said tightly. “I’m your friend.”

Her friend. Not her lover. Not her beloved. It shouldn’t hurt so much.

She forced herself to remember that she had a legacy to protect and there were larger issues at stake than a broken heart. Maybe she’d mistaken his intention and judged him too harshly. “Does that mean you’re not going to write about any of this?”

“I have to,” he said quietly.

She shouldn’t have been so devastated, but she was.

“Listen to me, Nealy. The press is going to be in a feeding frenzy. I’m the best protection you’ve got.”

“Aren’t I lucky,” she shot back.

“I could give you a dozen reasons why I have to write this story, but you’re not going to listen to any of them, are you? I’ve been tried and convicted.”

She clenched her fists. “Don’t you dare try and take the moral high road! I’ve seen some slimy journalistic tactics over the years, but you get the prize. Do you always sleep with your big stories?”

“Stop it,” he said tightly.

She fumbled with the zipper on the suitcase. “Get out. I don’t have anything more to say to you.”

“Nealy, use your head. Somebody’s going to have to set the record straight about where you’ve been or you’ll never have any peace.”

“So you’re doing this as a favor?”

“I don’t want us to part as enemies.”