The day after that, the deliveries began, the TV mounted, the system set up, the receiver connected to the house’s surround sound system (though all the components had to be put on the floor since I didn’t have a media cabinet), the computer stuff set up, also on the floor in the back room.

I needed a desk.

I went out and bought a pad of paper.

I came home and made a to-do list.

Several of them.

I also spent hours taping paint chips up on the walls, changing them out, rearranging them, standing back and assessing, moving them to another area with different light.

I was off and running.

* * * * *

I was crazy.

Even knowing this, I did a U-turn on the quiet street (my fourth) and drove past the church again.

Definitely crazy.

I kept driving.

Then, like they were someone else’s hands and feet, mine executed another U-turn and this time I didn’t drive past the church.

I parked in front of it.

I looked up at the white building with its stained glass windows and high bell tower.

I’d never had a job. Not once. I didn’t even work in a local ice cream shop as a teen just for fun.

I’d gone to college at Stanford where my father went, got a liberal arts degree, studying English Literature because even I could read.

I’d done well. I’d graduated cum laude. My father had been summa, but as I was a girl, he didn’t expect much and he’d been pleased with my standing.

I didn’t go to work after. Girls like me didn’t work. I had a job I would fulfill, a job my mother had chosen for me: being the wife of a wealthy man, keeping his home, raising his children, continuing my ultimate role of being a Hathaway, and sitting on as many volunteer boards of appropriate charities that would have me.

Before I met Conrad, I’d lived off my trust funds and I had a good time. I absolutely did. I went out in little black dresses with my girlfriends. I drank cosmopolitans. I flirted. I dated.

I did all this appropriately. It wouldn’t do for me to get a reputation. It wouldn’t do for me to have the kind of fun an early twenty-something might wish to have.

So I didn’t.

When I met Conrad, I’d been at a charity ball, wearing a fabulous evening gown. We’d been standing by a stone balustrade on a back balcony of a fabulous estate. I’d gone out to get away from the oppressive heat of a crush of bodies and he’d gone out to get away from the oppressive company.

For me, him so beautiful in his well-cut tuxedo, his hair slightly overlong, a quiet rebellion I found titillating, it was love at first sight.

He’d told me he’d felt the same thing.

Now I was thinking it was my cleavage and, although they weren’t long, they had been shapely, my legs through the slit in my dress.