"To your golden anniversary party?" Maggie gasped, enacting a theatric faintness with a hand against her forehead. "I should say not."

  "But Maggie—"

  "No. Your fiftieth anniversary dress is second in importance only to your wedding dress."

  "In that case, I should wear something from my closet. Ben and I were married at the courthouse. The dress I wore was six months old. I did have a pretty little headpiece with a veil." She paused, smiled wistfully, and added, "I always regretted not having a formal wedding."

  For a moment, silence lay on the air like a delicate French lace. Holly felt a pang in her chest as she tried to swallow, longing for Justin.

  Maggie sighed. "Our wedding was lovely. You saw my gown. I kept my veil. Actually, it was a hat. Very seventies. You wouldn't have expected it to go with the vintage gown, but somehow, it did."

  Eyeing a stylishly turned out Maggie, Holly didn't doubt it for a moment. For today's shopping expedition, she'd dressed in basic, classic black that Randall had eyed with greedy attention. Holly glanced down at her own jeans and sneakers and winced.

  "We married at Sacred Heart Church in Wichita Falls," Maggie continued. "We decorated the altar in votives and yellow roses. My colors were blue and yellow. Do girls even do colors anymore?"

  Holly shrugged. She hadn't a clue. She worked hard to avoid weddings and their arrangements. She'd managed to make it to twenty-five without being a bridesmaid once—no easy feat, considering she'd been asked eight times.

  Maggie giggled. "You know the worst thing about getting married in the seventies? The tuxes. To this day I can't believe I got Mike Prescott to wear a white tux and baby blue ruffled shirt."

  "Oh, my," Grace said.

  "He used to say that if I ever needed proof that he loved me, all I had to do was pull out our wedding pictures."

  Seeing the sadness invade her eyes, Holly hastened to move the conversation along. "What did Ben wear to your wedding, Grace?"

  Clasping thin hands, Grace gazed into the past. "His one and only suit. Navy blue. He looked so handsome."

  Randall swept into the room with three more dresses for Grace, one of them an ivory silk. "Try that one next," Holly suggested. "It reminds me of a wedding gown."

  "Why, you're right," Maggie agreed. "In fact, I saw something similar at the Pink Sisterhood sale."

  Sadly, that particular dress didn't fit properly around Grace's hips and when Randall conferred with the shop's seamstress, she confirmed that this was not the anniversary dress for Grace.

  Throughout the discussion, for once, Maggie remained silent. After Randall excused himself to make a phone call and just as Grace began to return to the dressing room, she piped up. "Why don't you buy a wedding gown. I sold a gown on Saturday to a woman who was celebrating her thirty-fifth. Fifty has so much more cachet. That's what you should do, Grace. Make a renewal of vows part of the party. You could finally have your formal wedding. Church, flowers, wedding cake. The works."

  "Oh, that would be lovely." Grace's eyes lit with excitement, then suddenly dimmed. "I... can't do it."

  "Why not?" Holly asked.

  Grace's chin angled up, her jaw taking on a stubborn set. "Frankly, it's a personal matter and none of your concern. Now, I'd appreciate it if you dropped the subject."

  She marched into the dressing room, then the door slammed shut behind her with a bang.

  "Well." Maggie looked at Holly. "The woman does a good snit in addition to a sulk and a pout. Do you have a clue what just happened here?"

  "I think you touched a nerve."

  "Obviously. And Ben's Gracie showed us she has a temper. Last time I saw that much starch was when the Stay-Flo truck turned over on Airport Freeway."

  When Grace returned a few minutes later she wore her own clothes and a contrite expression. "I apologize for my outburst. It was terribly rude of me. I hope you'll allow me to buy you lunch to make up for it."

  Maggie slipped her arm through Grace's. "Honey, I never turn down a free lunch, although I insist on buying dessert."

  "Good. Let's find Randall."

  "I'm here, madam. Have you made your choice?"

  Grace turned a pleading gaze on her two friends. "Which one? The blue? The salmon suit? The black one?"

  "Well..." Maggie pursed her lips. "I think maybe the blue—"

  "None of them," Holly said, shoving to her feet, speaking with such certainty that it obviously took both Grace and Maggie aback. "She should have an ivory dress. This one was almost perfect. I think we should keep looking until we find one that is perfect."

  Grace glanced nervously toward Randall. "But—"

  He clucked his tongue and patted her hand. "Not to worry, Mrs. Hardeman. Your friend is right. You must continue to search. Might I suggest the Lemon Tree two blocks north? It's been a pleasure to help you. Miss Weeks. Mrs. Prescott."

  "Thank you, Randall. You're a dear." Maggie flashed him her brightest smile. "By the way, I set aside a small stack of things I'd like. Charge them to my account and send them out to me, would you please?"

  "It will be my pleasure."

  On the way outside, Holly noted a shirt atop a small mountain of clothing and accessories piled high on a tapestry chair. It was the same shirt she'd seen Maggie admiring earlier. "Is that what you call a small stack?"

  Maggie grinned. "I haven't been shopping in some time."

  Grace suggested a small cafe in the hospital district.

  They ordered salads to assuage guilt, then one piece of chocolate cake with three forks. They discussed their mutual love of chocolate while waiting for the dessert. Holly asked, "Have y'all tried the German chocolate cake at Colonial Cafeteria? This cake is good, but that's superb. We'll have to go there next time."

  Maggie mentioned a chocolate torte served at a little Italian place up in Keller. The waitress who delivered their cake recommended the chocolate pie from a bakery over by Texas Christian University.

  They each took a bite from a huge wedge of chocolate cake. Then, while an unsuspecting Grace smiled with pleasure, Maggie struck. "Now. Tell us why you vetoed my idea about a renewal of vows."

  Grace set down her fork.

  "Maggie," Holly protested.

  "Well, are we friends or acquaintances? I need clarification."

  Annoyed, Holly slid a protective glance toward Grace. "What's the difference?"

  "Acquaintances keep things light. Friends take it deeper."

  After savoring another bite of cake, Maggie set down her fork and wiped her mouth with her yellow gingham napkin. "The fact is, ladies, I have lots of acquaintances, but very few friends. Actually, I don't know that I'd claim to have any true friends anymore. The two who qualified moved away, and while we still keep up, we've lost the intimacy that allows a girl to tell her deep dark secrets."

  Grace nodded. "I've experienced a similar situation a time or two in my past."

  Maggie continued, her tone serious. "I've done some thinking since Saturday, and I realize I'm ready... I need... to make a friend or two. I need someone I can share my problems with. Someone I can talk to about Mike. It can't be my children—I won't put them in the middle despite the fact they've been ringing my phone like a fire alarm since the weekend. I don't have a sister and my mother is gone. My nail tech will do in a pinch, but I only see her every other week."

  Holly sipped her iced tea, then attempted a nonchalant shrug. "If you need to talk to me about Mike, feel free. After all, you had a front row seat at the airing of my dirty laundry."

  "But not mine," Grace said. She set down her fork. "I haven't told you anything of import, have I?"

  "Maybe you have nothing to tell," Maggie said with a casual wave that conveyed the message she didn't believe it for a minute.

  Grace responded with a rueful smile. "Oh, I have a secret or two I could share. But to be honest, it's been a pleasure for me to spend time with friends who don't know what it is. It's been a long time since I had the opportunity. I'd hoped it would last a bit longer."

  "Oh." Maggie blinked in surprise. "Well, in that case... listen, sugar. Never mind. I'm not trying to force you into anything. That's the last thing I want to do. I was being selfish. I guess I just wanted a little reassurance that I can trust in this fledgling friendship of ours. At the moment, my brain isn't working well enough for me to trust my own judgment. It's because I'm too much like my mother, you see."

  "Your mother?" Grace asked.

  Interested, Holly leaned forward, silently encouraging.

  "Yes, my mother. You see, for the most part she was a lovely woman. However, she had the biggest mouth south of the Red River. She'd tell total strangers that she was feeling poorly because she'd gotten her period that day. She wasn't shy about sharing the details of my personal body clock, either."

  Holly stuck her fork into another bite of cake. "That embarrassed you."

  "It mortified me. All my life, I've been afraid I'm going to grow up like her. And I am like her. I'm so like her it scares me. I keep hardly anything to myself. At least, I haven't up until the last few months when I've been so sad and not talking to anyone. Now after the scene with Mike on Saturday, I find I want to talk, but at the same time, I can't talk to just anybody. Not anymore. My thoughts and feelings are all jumbled. I don't even know why I'm sitting here saying all this. Never mind about any of it. I'll shut up now."

  "Oh, sweetheart." Grace reached across the table and gave Maggie's hand a squeeze. "I understand. Truly, I do. You're at a crossroads in your life and it makes you vulnerable right now. Someone could easily take advantage of you. But your instincts are good ones, and it's right for you to listen to them. You want equality in your friendships."

  "I want equality in my marriage," Maggie grumbled. "Lost that years ago."

  "Well, I can't do anything about your marriage, but I can affect this friendship we're forming. I agree. We need to be on equal footing. I know hurtful things about you two and your men, so now I'm going to share a hurtful thing about me and Ben."

  Grace took a fortifying bite of cake, set down her fork, sipped her tea, then said, "Ben is making something that is already difficult for me almost impossible. I understand why he acts this way. Heaven knows, I love him so much I want this to be as easy on him as possible. But at the same time, I'm tired, so very tired of pretending. It saps my energy at a time when I need every resource. It would be so much easier if I had the freedom to speak from my heart about what I think and believe and how I feel. But that would make it worse for Ben and for the children, so I can't. On the other hand, why should I put his needs above my own, especially now? That I can't or don't or won't makes me angry. Very angry. And that wastes energy, too."

  Defiantly, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and took another bite of cake.

  Holly and Maggie traded puzzled gazes. Maggie said, "You've lost me, Grace. What has Ben done?"

  "He won't face reality, so that means I put on a happy face every day, pretending everything is fine when it's not. It's not."

  "What are you pretending about?"

  Turning her head, Grace gazed out the window. "I'm pretending I'm not scared when I'm frightened to the bone. I'm pretending I'm not in pain when every part of me hurts. I'm pretending that everything is going to be okay, when in my heart, I know that it won't."

  "Grace, what's wrong?"

  "When you suggested Ben and I renew our vows, I acted ugly because I was embarrassed. It was a wonderful idea and it was something I'd love to do. The fact is, we can't afford it. The Pink Sisterhood Foundation is paying the expenses of the party and I don't feel right about asking for more. I don't feel right about accepting party arrangements as it is. The treatments are working. Other families' needs are more immediate. My mistake was mentioning how much I wanted to bring my family together for a happy occasion in front of Charlene."

  "Wait a minute," Holly said, her heart beginning to thud. "Are you saying you are a Pink Sisterhood wish recipient?"

  Grace met Maggie's gaze first, then Holly's. "Eight years ago, I was diagnosed with Stage II breast cancer. I had a double mastectomy, recovered well, and celebrated my five-year anniversary by taking a Caribbean cruise with my husband. I thought I was over the worst of it."

  The blood seemed to drain from Holly's head. No no no no no! She wanted to shove to her feet and dash from the cafe, to run away from what she knew surely must be coming.

  "Two years ago, it came back. The cancer had metastasized to my bones."

  Maggie reached across the table to take Grace's hand.

  Nausea rolled through Holly's stomach, and as the full implication of Grace's revelation hit her, she gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Through her fingers, she breathed, "You're dying."

  Then Grace did the most amazing thing. She laughed. "No, sweetheart. That's the whole point. I'm not dying, I'm living. As boldly and creatively and enthusiastically as I can manage for as long as God gives me."

  Sobering, she added, "That, in a nutshell, is the problem. I'm trying to live, but my Ben is so hurt, so frightened, he can't see beyond the dying."

  "And it's driving you crazy," Maggie said with sudden insight.

  "Exactly. There's always an article to read, a new exercise to try, a new drug trial to investigate. He coddles me. He watches me like a hawk. Some mornings I wake up and he's lying there staring at me, his face so full of pain and fear it breaks my heart. It makes me feel guilty for being sick."

  That particular sentiment pierced the cold fog that had gathered in Holly's heart. She shook her head. "No, you shouldn't feel guilty."

  Grace waited until the waitress refilled their iced tea glasses. Then she squeezed lemon into her glass, plunked in a spoon, and stirred. Hard. "Nevertheless, I do feel guilty and that in turn makes me feel resentful toward Ben."

  Maggie rearranged her napkin in her lap. "Looks to me like it's more than resentment. Sounds to me like you're nail-spittin' mad."

  "I am angry." Grace drummed her fingers on the Formica tabletop. "I didn't get sick on purpose. I didn't want to have a recurrence. But I did. Now he has to learn to live with it. He has to let me live with it. I may have ten years left. I may have more than that. I may have twenty years left. And if I'm that lucky, if I'm that blessed, then by gosh, I don't want to spend the rest of my life dying!"

  To Holly, the words seemed to reverberate through the cafe dining room. In reality, they only echoed through her mind. I don't want to spend the rest of my life dying.

  It was, Holly realized, a profound thought. Something she might want to think about. Someday.

  Chapter 5

  Springtime weather in Fort Worth kept the timid on their toes. Thunderstorms blew in like clockwork, bringing fence-flattening winds, roof-battering hail, and sometimes that wickedest of storms, tornadoes. A few years ago, an April twister had ripped right through downtown, destroying buildings and businesses, livelihoods and lives. For the most part the city had recovered, but it would never forget. Especially on those spring afternoons when the air grew still and sticky and the sky turned mean.

  However, most days from March through May, Fort Worth weather offered a glimpse of heaven. Warm without being hot, bright and breezy with the bluebonnets in bloom, these were days that lifted a heart, lightened a smile, and simply made a person feel good.

  At least, that's what Maggie kept trying to tell herself. She figured if she said it often enough, the Black Mood Devil that perched on her shoulder would eventually disappear.

  But she wasn't counting on it.

  She'd toted the demon-cloud around with her for months now, and when Mike moved out two weeks ago, it had set its pitchfork even deeper. She hadn't heard a word out of her husband since that day at the Greystone. Her boys were a different matter entirely.

  They had taken their father's side in this fight. All four of them. For Maggie, it was the worst of betrayals.

  They'd showed up en masse last night. Steven, her eldest, had done the talking. He'd sounded just like his dad.

  "Condescending know-it-alls," she muttered as she slammed her car door shut in a parking garage downtown. "Try to tell me I'm acting poorly. Brats."

  How dare they judge her? They didn't understand how she felt. Nobody understood. Shoot, Maggie didn't even understand.

  They'd had the audacity to make an appointment for her with a therapist.

  Maggie took aim at a small rock with her sneaker and sent it skidding across the concrete, the sound a lonely echo that suited her mood. Their interference really chapped her hide. So maybe she was having a bit of trouble adjusting. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to speak with a therapist again. But if she decided to do that, it would be her decision, not Mike's. Definitely not the boys'.

  And if one of them brought up the state of her hormones again, she'd snatch them bald-headed.

  She slammed her palm against the black button on the elevator. The doors opened immediately. For some reason, that gave Maggie a little surge of power. You're losing it, girl.

  "Put it out of your mind," she told herself as she stepped into the elevator. Be Scarlett O'Hara and think about it tomorrow. Today was a day for play, and dang it, she intended to enjoy herself. Despite the fact that this year, as she strolled the white canvas tents of the Main Street Arts Festival, her husband wasn't at her side.

  Curse the boat-buying runaway.

  Maggie tried hard to improve her mood as she wandered from booth to booth admiring sculpture, pottery, and paintings on display. She managed a smile when a band struck up a Glenn Miller tune on the performance stage at Fourth and Main, and she laughed aloud when the little boy riding his father's shoulders in front of her decided he was finished with his ice cream cone and planted it in his daddy's hair.

  Then she caught the scent of roasted corn—her all-time favorite street fair food—and the aroma triggered a pang of grief that pierced to the marrow. Last year Mike had teased her unmercifully when she'd asked him to purchase her a third ear of corn. They'd been happy and laughing like kids that day. It was only a week later that Maggie's mother fell ill and life as she'd known it began to unravel. In fact, the Main Street Arts Festival a year ago was the last time Maggie recalled truly having fun with Mike.