ALLISON SAT ON HER YOGA MAT IN THE LIVING ROOM, LEGS CROSSED, eyes closed, listening to the quiet thrumming all around her. Oh, but it was magnificent. A return to the old days, before her home became a boardinghouse. They were all gone: Grant, Suzanne, Adam, and even Terrance. Ted had invited Terrance to stay overnight with them after his exhausting day at the police station, but he declined, opting to go home after dinner.

“Home?” Ted had said. “This is home.”

“It’s your home,” Terrance said.

“But it’s your home too,” Ted said. “It’ll always be your home.”

Terrance tilted his head at him, thoughtful. “Can we stop and get a bag of chips at the Safeway on the way home, Ted?”

Terrance had moved on. He had a home of his own, a life of his own. All he wanted was to go back to his routine. It was hard for Ted to accept.

That was all Allison wanted too. To get back to her routine. Suzanne had been afraid Allison’s feelings would be hurt if they moved to the Coxes’—especially after what happened with Terrance—but far from it. It was all Allison could do not to laugh when Suzanne apologized to her. Let Nick pay for their sins for a while! She was all for it!

Allison took a deep breath through her nose and breathed out through her mouth, sinking deeper into calmness. Ted was off reading the paper somewhere, Jillian doing her homework in the dining room. All was as it should be.

She pressed back to downward-facing dog. Her eyes landed on an envelope on the floor in the front hallway. How long had that been lying there? She went over to look. It was addressed to her. “For ALISON MILLER.” Allison with one L. “TOP SECRET.” Top secret? It had something to do with Nick, she just knew it. Her indiscretion would haunt her for the rest of her life.

She ripped open the envelope to find an eight-by-ten glossy photograph of a woman sitting on a red couch. She wore a pink bustier with black laces up the front, pushing large breasts skyward. Then came scanty black panties and a pair of high black patent leather boots. The picture had been folded and it was torn at the corner, as though someone had taken a bite out of it.

Allison turned it over, looking for an explanation, but there was nothing to explain this woman, whose hair was tousled about her head as though she’d been in a windstorm. She had a terrific figure, but her face was mannish, a little puffy, her hair a little too brightly hued to be natural. She wasn’t exactly young, though younger, certainly, than Allison herself. Her lips were painted a garish red, and they were open slightly, revealing the lurid tip of her pink tongue.