By eight fifteen, the meal was over and the guests were making excuses to leave. Allison stood at the door and spoke to each couple, her smile frozen on her face. They thanked her politely and trooped down to their cars—Ron and Debbie Ellis, who’d been friends of Burke’s since high school; Tricia Kenwood, Kate’s cousin, with her husband, Rich; Burke’s long-time fishing buddy, Hoagie Atkinson, with his wife, Cindy, and the others who’d known Burke over the years. They were probably as relieved to see the evening end as she was.

Garrett was the last to leave. He lingered at the door as the other guests vanished into the night. “Will you be all right?” he asked, taking her hand. “If you need any help or just want to talk, I’d be happy to stay.”

Allison shook her head. “The caterers will clean up, and I’ll be fine. If you want to help, go find Burke. Try to see that he gets some rest.”

“I’ll do that.” His handclasp lasted an instant longer than necessary. “Get some rest yourself. You look as if you could use it.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, still smiling as if her lips had been glued into place. “I just need time for all this to sink in.”

And it would have to sink in fast, Allison told herself as she watched him jog down the front steps to the drive. If the worst happened, she could certainly handle being poor—she’d been poor most of her life. But how would Burke survive the collapse of his company? And apart from everything else, how could she ignore the fact that her husband had kept a terrible secret from her?

Fragments of conversation drifted up to her from the cars that were parked along the curb—laughter, bits of gossip, promises to get together in the weeks ahead; then, booming above the rest, she heard the bullhorn voice of Hoagie Atkinson.

“Remember how we used to come back from a day on the water and Kate would toss our fish on the grill and haul the cold beer out of the fridge, and we’d sit around that old picnic table laughing our damn-fool heads off? Now there was a woman who knew how to throw a party!”

* * *

The phone was ringing as Allison re-entered the house. She plunged across the foyer to answer it, twisting her ankle as one stiletto heel caught the edge of the mat.

On the fourth ring she fell against the wall, grabbed for the phone, and snatched the receiver off the hook. “Burke?” she gasped.

“No, it’s Brianna. Where’s my dad?” Burke’s only child had not been home since the wedding. On the phone, she treated Allison more like an answering service than a member of the family.