As she relaxed into the rhythm of the service, her mood began to lift. For now anyway there were no beehives, no tomato plants to water or weeds to pull. No customers to entice or young boy to disappoint. The possibility that she might not be alone on this planet, that something larger might be watching out for her, gave her a fragile comfort.

Occasionally Mike’s arm, big and solid in a navy suit coat, brushed against hers. As long as she didn’t look at his gold-link bracelet or big college ring, she could pretend he was someone else—one of those steadfast, dependable men with solid values and a faithful heart. He closed his eyes for the prayers, listened attentively to the sermon, and sang the first verses of every hymn without consulting the hymnal.

After the service, he worked the crowd, slapping the men on the back, flattering the women, telling one of the deacons about a house going on the market, turning church into another sales opportunity. Everybody sucked up to him, except it didn’t exactly seem that way. They acted as if they genuinely liked him. The adult Mike Moody was beginning to confuse her, although he still didn’t seem to have any clue about how patronizing he could be, since he called an elderly woman “young lady.” On the other hand, he noticed the distress of a kid on crutches and rushed to help her before anyone else realized there was a problem. It was disconcerting.

He introduced her to everyone. A few of the parishioners remembered her family. One of the women remembered her. People were both friendly and intrusive. How was Toby doing? How long did she intend to stay on the island? Did she know the cottage’s roof leaked? Marriage had made her guarded. She sidestepped their probing as best she could, a process made easier by Mike’s garrulousness.

She learned he was chairman of the island’s biggest charity. Both admirable and good promotion for his business, since it kept his face plastered on all the fund-raising literature. He also sponsored Little League and soccer teams in every age group, ensuring that dozens of island kids were his walking advertisements.

“How about some lunch?” he asked Toby as they climbed back into his car. “The Island Inn or Rooster’s?”

“Can we go to the Dogs ’N’ Malts?” Toby asked.

Mike glanced at Bree, taking her in from head to toe. “Bree’s all dressed up. Let’s take her someplace nice.”

She didn’t want to be indebted to Mike for lunch or mountain bikes or notebook computers. She didn’t want to be indebted to him for anything. “Not today,” she said briskly as he turned the key in the ignition. “I need to start melting beeswax for candles.”

Toby predictably took issue. “That’s not fair. You spoil everything.”

“Now, boy, there’s no need to be disrespectful,” Mike replied.