It was good to remember that she had nothing to fear. Ted was the man who had cried in the delivery room, when she lost so much blood from the C-section that she passed out and he’d thought for a moment that she’d died. And she was the only person in the world who had no agenda with him, no score to settle, no advantage to press. The children needed him, but she had chosen him. Maybe on the outside that choice seemed obvious—rich, older man; pretty young thing—but Ted knew he was difficult. “Thank you,” he’d whispered when she accepted his proposal and when the nurses placed Flynn in his arms and in other little moments along the way. She’d saved him from his myopic, obsessive, cantankerous self. She’d given him a home.

He would be winding down his day soon, a quick run on the treadmill and then jumping in the shower to get ready for the party, the minimal involvement he would have in it. She would go to him now.

Holly squeezed Rio’s arm. “Will you stay for the party? Find me later and we can try that treat.”

“Oooh, look out.”

As she tiptoed down the stairs, Holly felt her mood lift. She would do what Rio said. She would bottle that confidence that he had in her, and she would take her husband’s face in her hands and make him see her. Before the night unspooled, she would show him that they didn’t need all of these people around, and if they were the only two people in this world, that would be enough. She went through the kitchen and out the side door, so she wouldn’t get waylaid by the final preparations on the terrace, the common chaos that so often separated her from her husband. Whitney sang “I’m Your Baby Tonight,” and Holly hummed along. She hurried down the path, past the solarium, behind the pool house, the sweet fragrance of the jacaranda making her giddy, rushing toward Ted almost like she had on their wedding day.

And then she saw Phoebe, floating out of the craftsman cottage and into the sunlight like an angel.

20

Zanne

When Zanne had asked Ted if he and Phoebe wanted drinks, he had not properly hung up the phone, giving Zanne an open line on their conversation. The second time in a day that this had happened. They would have to replace the phone; it was too much of a privacy risk. She meant to hang up, she had started to, but she couldn’t help herself.

Now she had to live with what she’d learned.

Jerry Silver had raped Phoebe, and Ted knew. He’d called it something else at the time—mixed signals, a mistake—but surely now, in light of all the other women who had come forward, he must have understood.