Grace stood silent and still, taking it all in. Holly started to breathe again. Maybe this wouldn't cause a big stink, after all.

  She thought too soon. Eyes blazing, Grace whirled on Maggie. Her hand flew out and she slapped Maggie's cheek. "How dare you!"

  Oh, no. Holly gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

  Maggie fell back a step, her hand against her cheek. She blinked rapidly, fighting back tears that were clearly due to emotional rather than physical pain. "Grace... I—"

  "Don't try to deny it. I know it's you. Maggie Moneybags. Maggie the Manager. You've done it all, haven't you? Your money is paying for everything. Never mind what I wanted, you knew best."

  The bitterness in her voice caught even Holly by surprise. Maggie looked like she was about to faint. Charlene had her head bowed and she rubbed her temples with her fingertips.

  "Please, Grace," Maggie tried again. "Give me a chance to explain."

  "Why should I?" She tore off the jacket, yanked down the zipper on the dress, and shrugged out of it. "Will explaining change a thing? From the very first you knew how I felt about accepting charity from Pink Sisterhood."

  She threw the dress at Maggie.

  "Now, Grace," Charlene scolded. "It's not charity."

  "No? Let's see. Someone else is paying for something for me because I can't afford to do it. I call that charity."

  "It's a gift," Maggie snapped, clutching the dress to her chest. "And dad-gummit, Grace, you are not being very gracious about accepting it."

  "Maggie's right, Grace," Charlene hastened to say. "It is a gift. She called me right after the Fort Worth sale asking to grant your wish."

  "See? That proves my point." Grace's voice was a full octave higher than normal. "She didn't even know me then. She wasn't giving me a gift, she was giving me charity. And I don't want it. I don't need it. I'll have a backyard barbeque just liked I'd planned from the beginning. You can take your wedding gowns and flower arrangements and organists and... and... stick 'em in peach cake."

  With a last glance around, she stomped toward the door.

  "Hold on," Holly said, stepping in front of her. Panic fluttered in her chest. "Just wait a minute, Grace. Don't you think you might be overreacting just a tad here?"

  "Oh, so you're on her side, too. I should have known. Three is always a difficult number in a friendship because two gang up and take sides against one. It was that way when I was growing up. It was that way with my daughters. I should have expected it."

  "I'm not on anyone's side. You're not being fair."

  "Fair? You want to talk about fair? Going behind a friend's back, lying to her, are acts of fairness?"

  "It was a surprise. We were trying to do something nice."

  "And I know why." Tears spilled from Grace's eyes and she vibrated with emotion. "I know why. You think I'm dying. You've done all this because you think I'm dying. You've been my friends because I'm dying!"

  The word echoed in the sudden silence.

  Chin held high and voice regally chilly, Grace said, "Excuse me. I need to run by the baseball stadium while I'm in town."

  Grace left them standing like statues. Charlene sent Maggie and Holly a worried look, then raced after Grace.

  Holly whirled on Maggie and said the first thing that came to her mind. "I told you this was a bad idea."

  Temper sparked in Maggie's eyes. "Thank you very much. That's just what I needed to hear. 'I told you so.' That really solves the problem, doesn't it." She stomped across the room to where her purse lay on a table.

  "Well, it's true. I warned you from the beginning that she wouldn't like it. She doesn't want to be treated special. It plays upon all her fears. You wouldn't have done all this if she weren't sick."

  "But she is sick." Maggie fished a giant-size bag of M&M's from the depths of her handbag.

  "Not with us, she's not. That's why we're her friends."

  "Aha." Maggie ripped open the candy bag with a flourish. "So I have to lie to be her friend? Excuse me, but isn't that what her complaint is?"

  "Don't yell at me about it."

  "Well, she's not here to yell at." Maggie took a handful of M&M's, then offered the bag to Holly. "I'm frustrated. She agreed to be a Pink Sisterhood wish recipient, so I shouldn't get hammered for granting it. I wouldn't have gotten to know her otherwise. You know, Holly, I don't appreciate your holier-than-thou attitude. I could use some support here. Grace is spittin' mad and all I tried to do was help." Hurt colored her tone as she lowered her voice and grumbled, "I can't believe she called me names. Moneybags. Maggie the Manager. That's so rude."

  "If the Ferragamo fits," Holly muttered, popping green and yellow pieces of candy into her mouth.

  Maggie scowled, swallowed, and said, "Excuse me? What did you say?"

  "I said if the shoe fits. It's not always easy for a person with normal resources to pal around with someone who spreads money like dirt. As far as being a manager, you can't deny you have control issues."

  Maggie's back snapped straight. She grabbed the candy bag from Holly. "Control issues?"

  "Yes, control issues. You try to control everything, Maggie. Speaking from a teacher's perspective, I'll bet you were the PTA mom from hell."

  "I resent that. I was a good mother to my sons. My job was to teach them and nurture them and make them feel safe. I taught them values and gave them guidance. I instilled them with self-confidence and self-esteem. They've grown into fine young men. Men to be proud of. I did a good job." She tossed a half-dozen M&M's into her mouth at once.

  Holly curled a lip. "Yeah? I guess that's why none of them are talking to you now."

  Maggie gasped, choked on her candy. Holly hit her once on the back, then stepped away. She felt a shimmer of shame at the cruelty of her words, but the look on Grace's face, the pain in her voice, had boiled all Holly's insecurities to the surface.

  Grace was afraid.

  Holly hadn't realized that, not until just now, and it shook her to the core. The strength. The confidence. It was all assumed, an act, just an illusion. Grace was faking it and that made her whole hissy fit about lying downright hypocritical.

  Maggie wasn't one to let an attack go unchallenged. Once she found her tongue, she wielded it like a weapon. "At least I have children. I'm not too afraid to live my life. You and your Life List, that's such a joke. You're gonna ski black diamond mountains and dive underwater wrecks, but you're too scared to risk everyday living. Maybe I am too controlling on occasion, but at least I know what control is. You've given yours away."

  Holly's spine snapped straight. "I have not."

  "Oh? Right. You're basing decisions today on whether or not you might have your boobs cut off in ten years. Now that's command-and-control thinking. Good thing you're not in the military. I'd worry about our country."

  "No wonder Mike left you."

  Maggie stepped back, lips pinched in a blanched face. She threw down the bag of M&M's. Round, colored candies rolled across the floor. "I think we're done here. Don't you?" Maggie strode toward the door. "The limo will take you to the airport. I'm going to run a few errands before the flight back."

  In the empty dressing room, Holly stared at the two wedding gowns lying crumpled on the floor. Crumpled gowns. Crumpled dreams.

  Crumpled friendships.

  And they still had the long flight home. Holly shuddered at the thought and quoted Bette Davis. "Fasten your seat belts. It's going to be a bumpy night."

  Chapter 16

  Maggie walked into her living room and kicked off her Jimmy Choo pumps. She checked her watch and calculated she had an hour to kill before she needed to leave for the hairdresser for her quarterly session with bleach and foils.

  It was the one bit of pampering she completely despised. Throughout most of her life, she'd taken great pride in being a natural blonde. Then one morning three years ago, she'd looked into the mirror and saw something worse than the gray other women her age were beginning to see. Maggie saw dull. Faded, flat, washed-out blond. Lifeless blond. She'd rushed to the hairdresser that very afternoon.

  She wasn't actually due for a color touch-up for another two weeks, but tomorrow she was scheduled to speak at a chamber of commerce meeting about Pink Sisterhood' new Golden goals program and she wanted to look her best.

  Upon returning home from the debacle in St. Louis—which had concluded with a truly tense plane ride home, seated between a scowling Holly to her right and a steaming Grace on her left—a lonely Maggie had jumped feet first into getting her idea up and running. Putting her Junior League experience to work, she had labored around the clock meeting with security specialists, jewelry appraisers, and marketing people to develop a business plan. Now the program was ready to be launched.

  Maggie had not felt such a sense of accomplishment in years. She hadn't ordered anything off the shopping network for the past two weeks.

  That reminded her of the stack of packages waiting in the dining room to be opened. Now would be a good time to tackle that task. If she worked steadily, she might get through half of them before she left for the beauty shop.

  Picking up her shoes, Maggie walked to her bedroom, where she changed out of her business suit into shorts and a cotton blouse. With a mind to the job before her, all the paper and cardboard and packing, she pumped a bottle of lotion on the bathroom vanity and slicked up her hands. The pleasing fragrance of lilacs drifted over her, and she was reminded that this particular bottle had been another gift from Grace and her granddaughter.

  Sadness melted through her and she consciously shifted the direction of her thoughts. She'd wear her red power suit to the luncheon, she decided. Black pumps. Clear nail polish and understated jewelry. She'd be the consummate professional, no PTA bowhead, and the audience would take her seriously. Respect her and her ideas.

  Mike had regularly attended chamber meetings like the one taking place tomorrow. What would he think if he were in the audience? He'd be proud of her, she bet. If they were still together, she'd want him to be there.

  Just like he wanted you to be in the audience for his keynote at that Chicago conference, only you chose the track meet instead.

  "Oh hush," she grumbled aloud to the voice in her head. She'd been hearing way too much from her conscience of late. Ever since Holly had called her everything but a controlling bee-witch, she'd been defending herself from herself a dozen times per day.

  Maggie marched into the dining room and ripped open the first package she laid hands on. A set of embroidered golf towels. Oh, joy. No one in her family played golf. Maybe she'd send them to John. He could use them to wash his car. Or maybe he would pass them on to Mike. He could use them to polish the teak on his boat.

  "The Second Wind," she muttered softly. Funny, but the name didn't bug her as much as it once had. As ironic as it was, the past few weeks Maggie felt like she'd gotten a second wind herself.

  Putting together the Golden Goals program had proven to be just the ticket to pull her from her doldrums. She felt useful for the first time in months. Taking an idea from conception to implementation was rewarding in a way she'd never before experienced. This must be similar to what Mike felt in his professional life every time he designed something new.

  In a way, that put the two of them on an equal footing. Maggie smiled ruefully at the thought and reached for another package. She'd yearned for a sense of equality for years, and now that she could legitimately lay claim to it, he wasn't around to see.

  He'd be happy for her, though. She knew that. Mike wasn't competitive that way. He never begrudged another's success. No, he just didn't tike it when you dated.

  "He dated, too," she grumbled as she shoved aside foam packing worms to reveal a set of bar glasses etched with the letter P. Lifting one from the box, she frowned at it as a treacherous little thought snuck in. You can't blame him. You were a total witch to live with.

  Sighing, Maggie wondered if the neighborhood Presbyterian church might have a use for the glasses. She certainly didn't.

  She checked her watch, then reached for a fourth package just as the doorbell rang. She peeked out the dining room window and groaned. An overnight delivery truck waited at the curb.

  Maggie opened the door to a too-familiar face. "Hi, Gary. I'd hoped I'd seen the last of you for a while."

  He grinned. "Mrs. Prescott, you wound me. I haven't been here for three days. I'd hoped you'd missed me."

  "Don't take it personally, sugar. I say that to all my deliverymen. Now, what do you have for me?"

  Signing for the package, she waved Gary off and closed the door behind him. Moseying back to the dining room, she picked at the shipping tape bonding the envelope flap, finally ripping it away. The small padded envelope contained a black velvet ring box and a note. Curious, she read the note first.

  Dear Mrs. Prescott,

  I have enjoyed working with you these past weeks to develop a security plan for your Golden Goals project. You are doing a very fine thing.

  Enclosed, please find my donation to your cause.

  These rings belonged to myself and my late wife, Sarah, who lost her fight with breast cancer three years ago. We had been married seventeen years.

  Thank you for providing me with this opportunity to honor my beloved wife.

  Sincerely,

  Jack Harris

  Lumas Security

  The diamond was a one-carat emerald cut, the matching his-and-her wedding bands simple gold rings. Maggie looked at them and burst into tears. These were the first donations to Pink Sisterhood' Golden Goals program which would fund scholarships for children who had lost a parent to breast cancer.

  "It's going to work," she spoke aloud, her words echoing in her empty house. "It's going to be a success."

  She wanted to call someone, share the news. She rushed to the phone and automatically dialed a number. "Cody and Prescott Engineering," came the operator's voice.

  Oh, shoot. She'd called Mike's office. "Sorry. Wrong number."

  She slammed down the phone, thought for a moment, then dialed the Pink Sisterhood Foundation office. Charlene wasn't in.

  Maggie hung up, then paced the kitchen. Who could she call? Who else would appreciate her news? Not the boys, certainly. She'd love to call Grace or Holly, but she couldn't very well do that when they weren't speaking to her.

  Mike was the one she really wanted to tell. Mike.

  Her traitorous gaze drifted back toward the phone.

  "Oh, you couldn't reach him even if you tried," she scolded. "He's gone. He's sailing the ocean blue. He's out of touch." Even as she said it, Maggie walked to the phone and dialed his cell number.

  Darned if the man didn't answer, sounding distracted and impersonal. "Hello?"

  "Uh, Mike?"

  Following a dead silence, he asked, "Maggie?"

  "Yeah. Um. It's me. Hi."

  "Are the boys all right?"

  "Oh, yes. I'm sorry. The boys are fine. As far as I know, anyway. They're not why I called."

  Silence stretched. Eventually, she figured out he wasn't going to fill it. "Can you talk, Mike? Is this a good time?"

  Again, he paused. "I guess."

  "Good." Maggie wound the phone cord around her finger and wished she'd used the portable to call. "You're not going to sail out of the cell's reach anytime soon?"

  "I'm moored."

  She wanted desperately to ask where, but a note in his voice warned her not to do it. "Are you enjoying your trip?"

  "What's this about, Maggie?"

  She was quiet for a moment, searching for words. "I've done something really neat, Mike, and I wanted to tell you about it."

  When he coughed, Maggie couldn't tell if it was real or fake. He excused himself to get a glass of water, and she waited impatiently, gripping the handset hard, wondering if someone was with him. She didn't take a good breath until he returned and said, "Okay. I'll listen."

  Her back against the yellow-striped wallpaper, Maggie slid down the wall and sat on the floor. This would be easier if he didn't sound so removed from her. Nervous, she began to tell her husband about her idea.

  At first, she rattled on a bit, but when he started interrupting her with questions that indicated interest, she settled down. The awkward pauses disappeared and the strain stretching across the line eased. Eventually, Maggie forgot about the tension and trouble between them, and simply spoke with Mike, the man to whom she'd been married for twenty-five years.

  Hearing admiration at her accomplishment in his tone, she puffed up with pride. The conversation continued for almost an hour. Only when the topic turned personal did the uneasiness return. Maggie wished she'd never asked him where he was moored.

  Mike cleared his throat. "I'm still on my way to the Caribbean."

  "Oh." It told her nothing she wanted to know, not his location or whether he was traveling alone or with a young and supple companion. She didn't want to delve any deeper because she feared he'd end the conversation. She wondered if he might feel similarly when he quickly changed the subject.

  "So what do your new friends think about Golden Goals?"

  Leave it to Mike to choose a sore spot. "I haven't told them about it. We've had a... well... I guess you could call it a falling-out."

  "Oh? Over what? Did the young one try to poach on your dates?"

  Great. Just great. Maggie closed her eyes. This conversation was sliding downhill fast—and yet, to her surprise, she didn't want to hang up. Didn't want to give up.

  "We had a big fight because I planned a surprise party for Grace."

  Maggie told Mike about the vow renewal debacle and her row with Holly. To her utter shock and surprise, he rose to her defense. "Your heart was in the right place, and they shouldn't be so judgmental. Not if they're true friends."

  His words warmed her, filled a place within her that had felt empty for too long. At the same time, it stripped her down to honesty's bare bones. "They have a point, Mike, and you know that too well. I've recognized that about myself. Finally. I do like to be in control."

  "You're a leader, Maggie."