Chapter One

Slowly I turned the corner onto my perfect little street of stone houses and picket fences already steeped in the long shadows of early evening. I parked my Toyota, then picked a path through the tricycle and other toys left on the sidewalk by the neighbors' children. There was no hurry. I had no plans.

Inside, my reading corner waited, a lady's wing chair in wool plaid pulled close to the white brick fireplace. Passing into the narrow galley kitchen, I gathered the makings for a simple meal, a standard entry in my repertoire of Single Working Girl's Twenty-Minute Dinners. Green salad, leftover balsamic vinaigrette. I set a pot of water on to boil for angel-hair pasta, peeled garlic cloves, and chopped parsley. On second thought, I turned off the water and went upstairs. Blue and white toile papered the renovated bathroom and dressing room in an eighteenth-century pastoral scene. I switched on a brass student lamp in the darkened study. Twin green globes cast ponds of light on a wall of photographs: smiling family members and friends; vacation shots from hiking the Alps; skiing in Italy; watching the races at Saratoga Springs. All evidence of a full, happy life, right?

I kicked off high-heeled pumps and hung up my tailored suit while I drew a hot, foamy bath in the claw-footed tub, then got in for a soak. Even that didn't take the edge off an evening with too much free time. Wrapped in a silk dressing gown, I went back downstairs and launched a CD of John Coltrane's My Favorite Things. In a nightly ritual, I dared myself to light the fire with a single match, touching the flame t