What was the point of being a family if you couldn’t share things?

Temper rising, Meg drew a quick breath. “It’s supposed to be nice weather this weekend,” she said, trying to focus on something other than Sarah and Boone’s marriage. “We could even hit seventy.”

“Blistering,” Sarah said with a wry smile, as she’d spent the last two years in the Southeast with truly sweltering summers.

“It is if you live in chilly Northern California,” Meg answered even as her thoughts returned to Boone and her quiet fury. How could he betray Sarah? How could he sleep with other women after Sarah had given up so much for him? For eight years Sarah had followed him across the country, from one major league team to another, through trades and free agency acquisitions. For eight years she’d put her own life on hold to support his dreams. Where was Boone’s loyalty? Where was the gratitude?

Sarah grabbed her hair, twisting it into a knot at the back of her head even as her stomach knotted inside her.

She knew what Meg was thinking. Knew Meg was still deeply angry with Boone, and it took all of her control to pretend to be oblivious, but she wouldn’t talk about her marriage with Meg. She wouldn’t talk about her marriage with any of her family, except maybe with Kit. Kit wasn’t judgmental. But the rest…they were far too Irish Catholic. Far too married to shame and guilt.

Shame. And guilt.

Sarah released her hair, letting it tumble across her shoulders. And the terrible thing was, she needed someone to talk to. Needed someone to confide in. She was worried. Scared. Always scared these days. What if Boone fell in love with someone else? What if he found someone he wanted? Someone who was…sexier, smarter, more fun?

Her stomach fell, tumbling. She couldn’t imagine life without Boone in it. She loved him. Loved him so much that it made her hate herself. Smart women, strong women, left men who cheated. Smart women had more self-respect.

Apparently she had none.

“Do you think people realize how cold and foggy San Francisco is in summer?” she asked, her breath catching, her heart bruised.

“Nope,” Meg answered, lips curling up in a tight, forced smile as she shot her sister another calculating glance. “Most people have no clue.”

Meg was dying to ask questions, or put in her own two cents, but Sarah wouldn’t go there. The weekend with her older sisters and mother was only just beginning and she’d never survive it if she opened her life up for discussion.

And so Sarah talked the entire way, chatting about her kids and Meg’s kids, helping kill the time. Traffic was light on the 101 and they reached Santa Cruz in an hour, and then things did bog down a little once they merged with Highway 1.

Antsy that they were now creeping along, Sarah turned on the radio, flipping through the stations until she found the classic rock one that they’d listened to growing up.

Sarah was delighted to discover that the San Jose station was playing hits from the eighties for the entire next hour. She knew the lyrics to all the songs—it was the music her big sisters had listened to while she was growing up—and turning off the air conditioner, she rolled down her window and sang loudly to Toto’s “Rosanna.”

Meg didn’t join in. But then Sarah hadn’t expected her to. Meg was a great person—a very honest, honorable person—but she was a little too uptight for her own good.

Turning off the highway, Meg drove through Capitola Village down toward the beach while Sarah belted out the refrain to Foreigner’s “Hot Blooded.” Got a fever of 103…

Meg parked, and glanced at Sarah, waiting for the okay to turn off the engine.

Sarah shook her head, still singing. Hot blooded…

Hot blooded…

Hot—

Meg apparently couldn’t wait any longer and turned the engine off.