“We think it’s a good idea to be cautious now.” Her editor slipped an envelope from the folder she had at her side and passed it across the table. Unfortunately, it was too large to contain a check.

“Luckily, Daphne Takes a Tumble hasn’t gone into final production yet, and that gives us a chance to make a few of the changes they’re suggesting. Just to avoid any misunderstanding.”

“I don’t want to make changes.” The muscles tightened in a painful band around Molly’s shoulders.

“I understand, but we think—”

“You told me you loved the book.”

“And we’re totally committed. The changes I’m suggesting are very minor. Just look through them and think about it. We can talk more next week.”

Molly was furious when she left the restaurant. By the time she got home, however, her anger had faded, and the bleak sense of emptiness she couldn’t shake off settled over her once again. She tossed aside the envelope with Helen’s suggestions and went to bed.

Lilly wore the shawl Mallory had given her to the J. Paul Getty Museum. She stood on one of the curved balconies that made the museum so wonderful and gazed out over the hills of Los Angeles. The May day was sunny, and if she turned her head a bit, she could see Brentwood. She could even make out the tile roof of her house. She’d loved the house when she and Craig first found it, but now all the walls seemed to be closing in on her. Like so much else in her life, it was more Craig’s than hers.

She slipped back inside the museum, but she paid little attention to the old masters on the wall. It was the Getty itself she loved. The cluster of ultramodern buildings with their wonderful balconies and unpredictable angles formed a work of art that pleased her far more than the precious objects inside. A dozen times since Craig’s death she’d ridden the sleek white tram that carried visitors to the hilltop museum. The way the buildings enfolded her made her feel as if she’d become part of the art—frozen in time at the moment of perfection.

People magazine had showed up on the stands today with a two-page story about Kevin and his mystery marriage. She’d fled here to escape a nearly overwhelming urge to pick up the phone and call Charlotte Long, the woman who was her only inside source of information about Kevin. It was May, and the marriage and separation had taken place three months ago, but she didn’t know anything more now than she had then. If only she could call Charlotte Long without worrying that she’d tell Kevin.

As she headed down the staircase and into the courtyard, she tried to figure out how to keep herself busy for the rest of the day. No one was banging on her door begging her to star in a new film. She didn’t want to start another quilting project because it would give her too much time to think, and she’d had more than enough of that lately. The breeze loosened a lock of hair and whipped it against her cheek. Maybe she should stop worrying about the consequences and just give in to the urge to call Charlotte Long. But how much pain did she want to put herself through when she couldn’t see any possibility of a happy ending?