After dessert, the kids dash off, disappearing upstairs into the big bonus room again. Nathan lingers for a bit before excusing himself, leaving just Lucy and me at the table.

It’s a quiet night on the lake, and silence envelops the table. I get the sense that Lucy wants to open up, have a real talk, but I won’t let it happen. I’m sure Lucy’s confused and fearful and probably in some pain, but it’s not something I can deal with. My mother’s affair destroyed our family and killed the relationship I had with her.

“You’re angry with me,” Lucy says in a small voice, her words so faint that they’re nearly swallowed by the night.

I open my mouth to disagree but end up saying nothing.

“It wasn’t what Peter’s telling everyone. There wasn’t this big affair. It was one night. One mistake. A terrible mistake.”

It feels as though she’s dragging her fingernails down a chalkboard. My skin crawls. I want to get up, walk away. “What were you thinking?”

For a moment, I don’t think she’s going to answer, and then she whispers, “I thought he loved me.”

I’m silent, my throat thick, my chest aching.

“I just wanted to be loved again,” she adds even more softly.

“Now you’ve lost everything,” I blurt out.

“Hopefully not my friends.”

“Hopefully,” I echo after a moment.

She nods and a minute later plants her hands on the tablecloth and pushes to her feet. “It’s late. I should get the kids home and into bed.”

“Thank you for coming,” I say stiltedly as I rise.

“Thank you for having me,” she answers just as stiltedly.

I stand at the door as she drives away and then slowly head into the kitchen, where Nathan’s tackling the dishes.

“She seemed like she had fun,” he says, scraping the appetizer plate and putting it in the dishwasher.

He has no clue. And I can’t bear to clue him in.

I met Lucy seven years ago at First Pres’s preschool Christmas pageant. We’d both been pregnant, and we both had a four-year-old wise man—in my case, my daughter Jemma—bearing gifts for the infant king.

“The kids did have a good time, didn’t they?” I answer, dumping what’s left of my wine into the sink. “So tomorrow what are our plans?” I ask, changing the subject. “Are we still going boating with the Prices, and if not, can we sneak away to Vashon?”

Nathan picks up his glass and takes a drink. “I’d like to play a round of golf. Don made us a ten a.m. tee time.”

“We’re not going to do anything as a family?”

“We do things as a family all the time.”

I press my lips disapprovingly.

“Take the girls to the pool,” he says. “Or down to the beach. You know how much Tori loves it.”

“I also know there’s something in the lake water that gives Jemma hives, so no.” I give him a dark look. “We should have gone to Vashon for the weekend. Anything but stay here. I need to get away.”

“Honey, you’re never home. You’re either at the Bellevue Club or the Seattle Tennis Club—”

“You like me working out! You want me in great shape. You’ve said so yourself.”

He sighs, exhaling slowly. “Can I just play golf, Taylor? Can I please do this without fighting? I don’t ask a lot. I really don’t.”

“Go.