Dabney had stayed much longer at Clen’s house than she’d meant to, allowing him to reassure her, waiting for the knife pain in her gut to diminish so that she could get to her feet.

Before she left, Clen had said, “You seem to be dropping a lot of weight, Cupe. Have you thought of seeing a doctor?”

Dabney gasped involuntarily. “A doctor?”

“You’re very thin,” he said. “Damn near skeletal. And your skin is turning a funny color. And you said you nearly fainted in the boardroom. I’m just worried about you.”

Dabney pasted a smile on her face, which felt like a picture hung crookedly. “Lovesick,” she said.

“I hear you saying that. But, Cupe—”

Dabney kissed him goodbye and scurried to her car.

At home, Dabney eased open the front door, which wasn’t a door anyone in the house ever used. When she stepped in, she cried out in surprise.

Box was standing before her, blocking the stairs.

“Where have you been?” he said.

“What?”

“The truth, Dabney.”

“I went for a drive with the top down,” she said. “I needed air.”

“A drive?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t stop anywhere?” he asked. “You didn’t see anyone?”

She had sort of been telling the truth up until that moment.

She said, “I have horrible pain, Box. I’m still not feeling well.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re not answering my question. Did you stop anywhere? Did you see anyone?”

Dabney couldn’t tell him the truth, but neither could she lie. She said, “I can’t believe you’re asking me this. I can’t believe you care. You haven’t paid attention to me in years, Box. And now all of a sudden you care where I’ve been, if I stopped, if I saw anyone?”

“You’re my wife,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “I am.”

“Tell me the truth!”

Tell him the truth, she thought. He was asking for it. He deserved it.

“I was driving,” she said. “Driving around the island. Driving makes me feel better.”

“That is a load of crap!” he shouted. “Something is going on and I want to know what it is!” He slammed the door shut and the whole house shuddered. And yet Dabney was relieved that the front door was now shut because, from the corner of her eye, she had just seen a light go on across the street at the Roseman house. What on earth would York and Dolly Roseman make of the screaming coming from the Beech household, where two of the most civilized people they knew lived? Would they even believe it? No, they would think there was something horribly wrong. They would call the police.

“I don’t feel well,” Dabney said. “The antibiotics didn’t help, and I thought it was a wheat allergy, but—”

“You need to go to the doctor,” Box said.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“A real doctor,” Box said. “In Boston.”

“Okay.” Dabney hoped that if she agreed to this, he would let her off the hook.

“And another thing,” Box said. “When I was talking to that philistine Hughes at Elizabeth’s party, he said the two of you had bumped into each other on Main Street. You had a conversation with the man and didn’t tell me. But that isn’t the worst thing. The worst thing is that you told him I was in Washington consulting with the president!”

Oh dear God, she thought. Now was the time. She just had to say it. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“He’s a journalist, and by all accounts, a bloodthirsty, ruthless wolf. I don’t want my involvement with the administration reported to the Times or the Journal, or anywhere else!”

“Of course not, darling,” Dabney said. “Clen would never—”

“We don’t know what he would never do.”

“He would never turn anything I told him into a news story,” Dabney said. “That I can assure you.”

“I didn’t realize you had forgiven him so wholeheartedly,” Box said. “I didn’t realize you two were on such chummy terms.”

“We aren’t on ‘chummy terms,’” Dabney said.

“Don’t lie to me!” Box screamed. He had spittle on his lower lip and his glasses had slipped to the edge of his nose; they looked in danger of dropping to the floor. He had officially become someone else.

“Please,” Dabney said. “Please stop yelling. You’ll wake Miranda.”

“I don’t care about Miranda!”

“I think she has feelings for you,” Dabney said. “She’s been rosy ever since she got here.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if Miranda is rosy or not!” Box said. “And I am most certain the answer is ‘not.’ She’s engaged to be married, Dabney.”

“But she loves you,” Dabney said. “I can see it.”

“You can see it! You can see it!” Box said. “I don’t give a good goddamn if you can see it! I have heard enough about rosy auras and perfect matches to last me the rest of my life! I don’t believe in it, Dabney. I don’t believe in it at all!”

“I’ve never been wrong,” Dabney said.

“You are wrong about me and Miranda! That much I can assure you!”

At that very moment, Dabney saw Miranda’s form at the top of the stairs.