Chapter 1: The November Dinner

"I hate my husband."

Deirdre Wylie hurled her overstuffed red bag onto the table at which her three friends sat drinking wine. She was half an hour late for their monthly dinner, and it was all Paul's fault. She'd reminded him at least twelve times today that he had to be on time because it was moms' night out, and still he was late. And she was drenched, from the storm that had been raging all day and was still driving pellets of icy rain against the dark windows of Cleopatra, Homewood's new French-Egyptian place. And then, she'd been in such a rush to get here that she'd hit a squirrel, sending its small furry body flying right over somebody's white picket fence.

"I mean it," she said, shaking the rain from her auburn curls and collapsing onto a chair. "I really hate him."

Lisa was the first one to start laughing. Then Anne, whose lusty chuckle was always such a surprise, erupting from her lean body in its conservative business clothes. Last Juliette, who was her best friend in the group and usually tried to be supportive, even when Deirdre herself suspected that whatever tantrum she was having wasn't worthy of anyone's support, including her own.

"That Paul," Lisa said, obviously working to make her voice sound serious. "He's such a monster."

"You ought to divorce him immediately," said Anne, leaning back in her chair and stretching so that Deirdre caught a flash, beneath Anne's starched white business shirt, of a lace bra in a fierce red that matched her lipstick.

"I'll take him," said Juliette. "I love Paul."

Everyone loved Paul -- all her friends, all her family. Okay, even she loved Paul, the sweetest, gentlest man on earth, the very opposite o