They both had secrets to keep. His was from his mother. While his mother always said she wanted her children to go their own way, she wasn’t subtle about making suggestions when she felt they weren’t hewing to the course she had set out for them. What would she say if she knew Lily was staying with him? He’d rather not find out. He only hoped that she didn’t decide to get into the car and drive over here.

When I married my Israeli husband so many years ago, I had a feeling that would be the end of the Christmas tree for me. Saving the forest one Hanukkah candle at a time? But Christmas trees were part of my youth. A festive part? Let’s not go there. Yet.

She didn’t think Steve was into mysticism either, at least judging from his apartment. It was situated in a Georgetown brick building with three other condos and looked so charming on the outside. Inside, it was like the deck on a starship.

Finally, her contest-entering had paid off; and she won an all-expense-paid cruise of the Mediterranean. All-expense didn’t include airfare to Athens or “spirits,” which she assumed meant anything good to drink.

Her first month as Dr. Wu’s executive assistant had been rough because she had to set down ground rules. Like he asked her to bring him a cup of coffee. Hell no. She told him it was self serve. Then it was a request to pick up his dry cleaning. Really? “I’m sorry. That’s an impossibility.” When he asked her why, she told him, “It’s inappropriate and could get us both into trouble.” She thought that was diplomatic enough.

Not that she was a suspicious person, knock wood, but all her children seemed to be happy. At the moment. This was unheard of, so Bernice knew something was going on. But with which one of them? Or—all?

After last night, when the cops were called once again, there was no way Lily Stanton could stay in that house for another minute.

How apropos, Eden thought. An invitation to an opening at Glazé Galleria. Most likely all connected with the Renwick’s latest display of ceramics for which she got partial credit—and blame for that allegedly broken piece.

Heart attacks. Were they in fashion with men? Look at Jerry. Despite the whispers, bondage was all his idea. She was to be his dominatrix. Black mask and all. At least no whip. All she really had to do was tell him he was a bad boy as she tied him to the bed.

She was surprised that her son had bought a house. Was there something going on that she didn’t know about? Most likely. The kids shared only what they wanted to. Maybe the house would be a project for Frank, make him less stressed about being a lawyer—from which he was making a good living and thus could afford a house.

Another dissatisfied customer. Riley made a note to herself to call Simon in and see his side of the story. Maybe it wasn’t too late to become a lab technician or an insurance adjuster or, well—anything?

It was mystifying. Eden wasn’t a virgin, but she never felt she was having a heart attack when she climaxed.

What’s with him? Well, he bought a house. In Massachusetts, crazy because of the taxes, but he fell in love with it.

It was with a great sense of relief that Bernice Franklin walked away from her latest “date.” What had possessed her to think she couldn’t live alone for the rest of her life? She’d get a cat; she’d be fine.

Skills. She had them. At middle management level. She could parlay what she did into another profession—like prison guard? What about going back to school to get her Ph.D. School boards like to hire someone with a doctorate.

The photo he had used for this new dating site, his umpteenth effort, was professionally taken. His glasses were missing and his hair was groomed. His mother called it Einstein hair.

Oh, there were men. Her age. Let the swiping begin. But when she had a date, she found all she did was listen to how important the men were, what their out-sized hopes for the future were and who they knew and could name-drop.

Frank was much better looking than she remembered. But then her glimpses of him were mainly fleeting, as Eden and she always went up to Eden’s bedroom to gossip and Snapchat with friends out of anyone’s, meaning, parents’, hearing.

She laughed at those simple fears. Now. But she hadn’t when Federal agents showed up at their Tuscan orange door in a quiet street away from traffic but near enough to walk to the train.

“I want to be blessed with my fucking twenty thousand dollars!” Eden shot back before she slammed down the phone.