What? she would say, her Irish ire up. (Woot?) You didn’t trust me?

And the truth would be out there between them, stinking and obvious.

Claire didn’t trust her.

She couldn’t tell Siobhan now, in the middle of the party. Maybe someday soon . . . but no, never. Claire would never tell, not even with Siobhan pushing her up against the wall. As long as it was just Claire and Lock, contained in a cell, it was not real; after they left each other, it vanished, it never was, it could not be pointed to or proved. There was no paper trail, not one physical, tangible object that implicated the two of them. If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a noise? No, Claire decided. As long as nobody knew, it was safe. If it stayed secret, nobody would get hurt. But somehow, Siobhan had gotten hurt. She knew that Claire had a new heart. You are a different person. Ironic that Siobhan had noticed, but not Jason. And yet Siobhan was closer to Claire in nearly every way, and Claire felt just as bad, if not worse, about betraying Siobhan.

How to keep herself from spilling this, like the ribs, all over the place?

“I’ve been upset about Zack,” Claire said, which was true. “His birthday brought it all back. And then, on the way here, Jason and I were talking about Malcolm . . .”

Siobhan snorted. “Malcolm?” she said. “Ah, yes!” She turned away with her tray of ribs. “By the way, nice pearls!”

Claire was about to follow her (and say what to make things right, she couldn’t guess) when she saw something that rendered her temporarily speechless: her husband and Julie Jackson coming down the stairs. The stairs were lit with small votive candles on each end, but as far as Claire knew, that was just decoration and not an invitation to ascend the stairs. As far as Claire knew, the upstairs was dark and deserted except for Liam and Aidan, who were sleeping.

Claire felt like she was going to vomit. Julie Jackson was the most beautiful woman Claire knew. She was touching Jason’s arm, leaning into him, holding on to him. She was wearing a short skirt and a pair of very high heels and she was having a hard time getting down the stairs. Claire thought back to Jason’s turning her down in the bedroom. We don’t really have time, do we? She thought of him racing over here in an unprecedented hurry. What on earth would Jason and Julie Jackson have been doing together, alone, in the dark upstairs? Claire might have looked to Siobhan for a reality check, but Siobhan had stormed off. Claire drank what was left of her wine and approached Jason. She knew her cheeks were pinking; she felt like her face was going to explode. Her eyeballs felt like hot glass, and her lips were stretched into a fake smile that made her teeth chatter. Julie squeezed Jason’s arm and ducked out, toward the kitchen.

Jason said, “Hey, babe.”

“What were you doing upstairs?” Claire asked.

Jason laughed and took a swig of his beer. “You should see your face.”

“I asked you a question.” She could not believe the rage inside her. While Siobhan had been raking her over scorching emotional coals, her husband had been upstairs, hiking Julie Jackson’s skirt and bending her over in the guest bedroom. There wasn’t a doubt in Claire’s mind. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You were fucking her.”

“Whoa!” Jason said. His eyebrows shot up.

“Don’t deny it,” Claire said. “The two of you were upstairs alone together. I’m not stupid, Jason.”

Jason set his beer bottle down on the table behind him with a thud. “I was showing her the half-round trim detail in the master bedroom,” he said. “She and Brent are starting their addition and she asked to see it.”

“Oh, yeah, I bet,” Claire said.

“Are you accusing me of cheating on you?” Jason said. “Is that honestly what you’re doing?”

His voice was very loud, and although they were separated from the rest of the party by a wall, the people going to and from the bathroom could see them and maybe hear them—and Adams and Heidi Fiske were peering at them from the doorway of the living room. Making a scene at a party like this was a very bad idea; everyone would be talking about it in the morning.

Jason grabbed Claire’s arm. “Let’s go ask Julie what we were doing upstairs. Come on, right now, so you can hear it for yourself. Let’s go find her.”

“No,” Claire said. “God, no.” The last thing she wanted was some kind of messy confrontation in the kitchen with everyone watching. Claire would never be able to look Julie in the eye again.

“You just accused me of fucking her,” Jason said. “After fifteen years of being together, thirteen years of marriage, and four kids at home. You think I would desecrate all that by fooling around with one of your friends at a party? Is that how little you think of me?”

“She’s very pretty,” Claire said.

“You’re very pretty!” Jason was screaming now. “This has nothing to do with pretty! This has to do with you accusing me. This has to do with you not trusting me—me, Jason Crispin, your husband! Do you honestly think I would cheat on you?”

He was hot now, hopping mad. First her best friend, now her husband. Why tonight? What had she done wrong?

“You didn’t want to fool around at home,” Claire said.

“We were going to be late,” Jason said. “And my back is killing me.”

“Then you drove like a bat out of hell . . .”

“So you thought what? That I couldn’t wait to get here so I could take Julie Jackson upstairs?”