"You're up to something, aren't you?" she asked.

"Who, me?" Phil countered with exaggerated innocence. Home free.

"Don't you try to fool me," Marge scolded. "I know how you stay mayor of this town."

"And how you stay Mrs. Mayor," Phil replied. "Here's what I want you to do…" As he talked, he could almost see Marge making quick notes, already planning the menu, the flowers, the seating plan, and every other detail that would make the evening perfect.

Marge would set the stage.

He would introduce the cast.

But the rest would be up to Ted Conway; the man would have to sink or swim on his own.

Either way, nobody would ever be able to accuse Phil Engstrom of having taken a stand.

Still, he'd go this far. After all, Ted Conway had struck him as a hell of a nice fellow, and it couldn't hurt just to introduce the man to a few people.

Could it?

The clouds gathering in the sky were a perfect reflection of Janet's mood-dark and angry, promising that before the day was over a major storm would rage over St. Albans. But there would be no storm in the Conway house that day. No matter what Ted's condition might be when he eventually came home-if he came home-she would ignore it. Her suitcase was already packed and waiting by the door next to the boxes she'd packed for the children. She would simply put Molly in the Toyota, pile the boxes in, and leave. If school wasn't yet out, she'd wait for the twins in front of St. Ignatius, and they'd leave from there.

No more arguments.

No more fights.

No more scenes.

But what if Ted didn't come home?

What if he'd wrecked the Toyota?

That won't happen, she told herself.

But what if it did?

She tried to come up with a list of people she might call to come and rescue her and the children from St. Albans. Only there wasn't a single person she felt she could ask to come down and pick them up.

And that, she thought morosely as she gazed out at the gathering thunderheads, was something she should have thought about years ago, when she first realized Ted's drinking was eroding her friendships. In those days, she'd told herself her friends were wrong about Ted, but now, nearly twenty years later, she knew they hadn't been.

And now, when she'd finally decided it was over, there was no one left for her to call.

Janet was about to turn away from the living room window when she saw a car pull into the driveway. A moment later a woman picked her way through the tangle in the front yard-a woman whose bearing marked her as someone who counted, at least in St. Albans. Though her dress was linen, she was the type who could wear it all day without a single wrinkle daring to show. Her hair was ash-blond and framed her face in the simple blunt cut that seemed never to go out of style for a certain sort of woman.

"I'm Marge Engstrom," the woman said as Janet opened the door. She was smiling easily, her hand extended. "For the last half hour I've been trying to think of some clever reason why I'm here, but I'm afraid I'm not very good at dissembling. My husband is the mayor of St. Albans, and he sent me. It seems you have a problem. May I come in?" Somehow, Marge Engstrom managed to slip through the door before Janet really thought about whether she wanted to invite her in or not. "This is a terrible intrusion, isn't it? But since you don't have a phone yet, what could I do?" She scanned the expanse of the huge entry hall and her smile faded. "Oh, my, this is a mess, isn't it?" As she heard her own words, she reddened. "Oh, Lord, listen to me. Phil always says I talk before I think, and there I go. I'm so sorry. I-"

"It's all right," Janet assured her. "It is a mess. In fact, it's a horrible mess!" Stop! she told herself. Whatever the reason she's here, it isn't to hear about your marriage. She took a deep breath, then started over. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Actually, I'd like to see this house," Marge told her. "And maybe you can tell me just what it is that has Father MacNeill in such an uproar?"

By the time they entered the kitchen half an hour later, Janet had decided she liked Marge Engstrom's directness and the warmth the woman exuded like a comfortable old blanket. Marge had told her exactly why she was there, and what the purpose of her proposed dinner party was. For her part, Janet had held back from unburdening herself to this woman she barely knew.

Still, she had to say something. But what?

That she was going to be out of town for a few days and they would set something up when she got back? "Don't ever lie, Janet," she heard her mother admonishing her from the dim reaches of her childhood. "Lying only makes a bad situation worse." If she told the truth-that her husband was a drunk, and she was planning to leave him that very day-what chance would Ted ever have-

Ted!? Why was she worrying about him? Besides, didn't Marge Engstrom-and everyone else in St. Albans, for that matter-deserve to know the truth? Before she could say anything, though, she saw their old Toyota pull into the driveway, towing a trailer filled with more building supplies-at least five times as much as Ted had brought home the day before.

Who was going to unload it all, with Jared at school? she wondered. Unless she did it herself, she was sure the supplies would remain in the open trailer to be ruined as soon as the steadily building storm broke. And when Ted heard about Father MacNeill's visit to Phil Engstrom, she knew exactly what would happen.

First he'd get mad.

Then he'd get drunk.

Then he'd start feeling sorry for himself.

Then he'd start blaming her, or the kids, or anyone else he could think of. And given the hangover he was still undoubtedly nursing after last night, she suspected he'd probably already had a couple of drinks this morning. She braced herself for the scene to come, wishing there were some way to get Marge Engstrom out of the house, or at least to warn her. But it was too late. Ted was already coming through the back door.

"Do I smell coffee?" he asked. "Boy, would a cup of that taste good right now!" Janet, already on her feet, started toward the stove, but Ted waved her back to her chair. "Sit, sit! I can get it myself." Picking a cup out of the sink, he rinsed it, and, as he filled it with coffee, offered one of his dazzling smiles to Marge Engstrom. "I'm Ted Conway," he said. "And you'd be Phil Engstrom's wife, right?"

Janet stared at him, bewildered. After last night, his eyes should be bloodshot, his face haggard, and his mood even nastier than it had been yesterday afternoon. But his eyes were clear, there was a buoyancy to his step, and he was treating Marge Engstrom to the brilliant white smile Janet hadn't seen in years.

A smile she knew would darken into black rage as soon as Marge explained why she'd come, to invite them to a dinner party she was proposing for Saturday evening.

But Ted's smile didn't darken. It simply softened into an expression that looked more like sympathetic regret than anything else.

"Well, I guess I can't expect everyone to think my idea's as terrific as I do," he said. "I'm just glad we're not going to be totally on our own." His eyes shifted to Janet. "Do we have any plans for Saturday night?"

As if we've had plans for any Saturday night in the last ten years, Janet thought bitterly. She shook her head.

Ted turned back to Marge Engstrom. "Then we'll see you on Saturday. Can we bring anything?"

Bring anything? Janet silently echoed. The only things Ted had ever taken to a party were the half-dozen drinks he'd belted down before they got there. But what did it matter, really? With her and the kids gone, the odds of Ted even remembering the dinner party were next to zero, and the chances of him showing up sober were far less than that. And whatever chance he might have had at enlisting the mayor's support would vanish.