Chapter One
December
"It will be a cakewalk. You'll simply go in front of the judge and waive your rights to a preliminary hearing. Then the assistant district attorney will tell him we've come to a plea agreement, and the judge will tap his gavel and it will all be over."
"It's that simple?" Carly asked, her voice echoing in the marble-tiled Erie County Courthouse hallway. She'd never been in the building before, and while she hoped she never had a reason to be in it again, she couldn't help but admire its classic, stately beauty.
"It's that simple." Her attorney, Henry Rizzo, was an Erie Elementary parent, albeit a recent one. His daughter, Izzy, was in the second grade, and cute as a button. "Really, Carly, it will be fine. It's not like you habitually set your neighbor's shed on fire. It was a one-time accident and you've already paid the restitution."
"That's true." Three weeks ago, Carly had thought she was putting her past behind her.
Well, she'd certainly managed that, though not in the manner she'd anticipated.
She glanced nervously around the room, and found two cops sitting in the back. The cute young patrol officer—she thought his name was Masterson—who'd been so nice and understanding when he'd taken her to the police station. And the other one. The one who'd arrived on the scene first and stood with her during one of the lowest moments of her life, as she watched her shed and her neighbor's go up in flames.
Lieutenant Jefferson. She'd never forget his name.
He was taller than her—which was no shock, since everyone in the world seemed taller than her five feet and three inches—but he wasn't too tall. Maybe five eight? His plain brown hair was military-length short, but looked as if it would be soft to the touch. For a moment, at the fire, as he'd walked toward her, she'd stopped crying and simply admired the view. But then the fire truck pulled up and the officer had made it apparent he wasn't overly sympathetic to her plight.
All she could think of now, as she looked at him, was that he'd been there that day and that he'd seen her cry. By the time the young cop had arrived on the scene, she'd gotten herself under control, but Lieutenant Jefferson had witnessed her sobs. And she didn't cry pretty like they did in the movies. She was the type of person whose face and eyes turned red while her nose ran like a spigot. The only other person who'd ever witnessed her cry like that was her ex on what had been the absolute lowest day of her life.
Carly didn't normally cry. She actually avoided it at all costs, but sometimes it was the only thing left to do.
"Carly Lewis," a bailiff called from the courtroom door, interrupting her sad memory.
"That's us." Henry rose to his feet and waited for her.
Carly stood as well, and tried to ignore the wobbly feeling in her legs. Appearing in front of a judge wasn't something she was accustomed to.
She wasn't sure what to expect—maybe a television, Perry Masonish sort of courtroom, something in keeping with the grandeur of the hallway. What she found instead was a smallish room that looked as if any kind of business was conducted in it. There were a few ordinary tables, some chairs, and people milling about.
The man sitting behind a raised bench wasn't precisely what she'd imagined, either.
In Carly's mind a judge should be gray-haired with wire-rimmed glasses and a kindly but tough expression.
The judge was her age. In his mid-thirties tops. He had unruly-looking brown hair that looked as if, given a little more length, it might curl. Henry said Judge Anderson Bradley was tough, but fair. She hoped so.
Carly concentrated on following Henry to one of the two tables in front of the judge's bench.
The ADA, Jacqueline Kelly, smiled at her as she walked by. The woman had an abundance of dark hair that would have overwhelmed Carly's petite frame. But on the very tall Jackie the straight, long hair lent an air of warrior woman. And Carly was glad they'd reached an agreement before coming into the courtroom, because Ms. Kelly looked as if she'd be an intimidating opponent.
Things unfolded just as Henry had said. As Ms. Kelly laid out the plea agreement, Carly felt some of her tension ease. It was going to be all right.
She'd already paid Julian, next door, for the shed she'd accidently burned down. Actually, he'd been downright sweet about the whole thing. He'd gone through a difficult divorce three years ago, and said he totally understood wanting to make a fresh start. That's what his move to Pennsylvania had been, a fresh start.
"No," the judge said in a loud, clear voice. "That is not acceptable."
"Pardon?" the ADA asked politely.
Carly looked at Henry, who looked as confused as she felt.
"Mrs. Lewis, would you please stand?"
Carly obliged, feeling a jolt of nerves. She tried to tell herself the judge was only a man, but sitting there in his robes he was intimidating.
"Ms. Lewis, you burned down your neighbor's shed. Do you realize you could have burned down your entire neighborhood with your stunt?"
She nodded. "Yes, Your Honor, and I'm so very sorry."
"I'm sure you are. Being brought before me tends to make many criminals sorry. However, there's no excuse for your wanton disregard of your neighbor's property, as well as your inability to comprehend that your act might have unforeseen consequences."
Carly was willing to apologize, was willing to take her browbeating as stoically as possible, but the judge glaring down at her in his oh-so-condescending way didn't seem to understand. "Pardon me for saying so, Your Honor, but there is an excuse."
"Do tell," Judge Bradley commanded with definite sarcasm in his voice.
"You see, I was dating Dean when my parents died. In hindsight, I suspect losing my family had something to do with why I married him—I was only twenty and felt so alone. I was a junior in college, and he was a senior. I got pregnant almost immediately, and I quit school to work full-time and put him through law school. I was supposed to go back to college and finish my last year as soon as Dean passed the bar, but he said he needed me at home, supporting him, and that my working so much would short-change the kids—we had two by then—and so I should stay home. I thought I'd go back and finish my degree after they got older—"
Judge Bradley looked bored. "Mrs. Lewis, I'm sure this would be an interesting story if someone were looking to be entertained. Maybe you should consider writing your autobiography? I hear memoirs are all the rage. What I want to know is what sort of excuse you have for burning down your neighbor's property?"
"I'm getting to that, sir. I became a perfect lawyer's wife. I decorated the perfect house Dean insisted we buy even though I hated it. At his prodding, I joined all the appropriate organizations. I dedicated my life to my family. Last year, for Dean's birthday gift, I even decided to redecorated his office. It was another piece of perfection, Your Honor. A steel-gray wool carpet."
In her mind's eye. she could still see the room. "I spent months shopping for the perfect antique mahogany desk. The painting. The Tiffany lamp. The only thing that I couldn't find was a couch. Functional but antique. It would be the focal point for the whole room. Four months, Your Honor. I spent four months combing thrift shops and estate sales. Finally, I found it on eBay, and drove to central Ohio to pick it up. Then I spent two weeks putting new fabric on it, a pattern that pulled everything in Dean's office together."
"Is this the couch you burned?" the Judge asked, looking a bit more interested now.
She nodded. "Yes, but we're not quite to that part of the story, sir. You see, I'd finally moved the couch into Dean's office—his office was done. I stopped by with a surprise picnic. He was working late on a big case, and I thought we'd celebrate. And that's when it happened." She paused, the horrible sight still fresh in her mind, still able to cause her pain.
"Mrs. Lewis?"
"It was six o'clock," she said softly, lost in that moment. "I walked in with dinner in my hands. His reception area was empty, but that wasn't a surprise. I hadn't expected to find anyone there that late. I opened his inner office door and . . . sir, I smiled. I looked at the beautiful office I'd worked so hard on for Dean—I saw his desk and the wall of law books behind it. It looked so stately, so perfect, then a movement caught my eye and there they were."
"Who?"
"My husband and his secretary . . . on the couch." She stopped as the embarrassment, the humiliation, the shock of that moment hit her again. "On my couch. On the couch I spent months searching for. The couch I'd driven to Ohio to get. There was Dean, with his secretary. Together with his secretary, if you know what I mean. How much of a cliché is that? His secretary."
"I'm not sure I follow. How does catching your husband and his secretary together offer an excuse for arson?"
"Your Honor, when my ex and I split our assets, the biggest sticking point was that couch. I wanted it. I was the one who'd found it, who'd put that whole office in order. Dean could keep the rest, but I deserved that couch. He didn't want me to have it because the office was, in fact, wonderful. Eventually he wanted to conclude the settlement more than he wanted a perfect office, so I got the couch."
"And? I do have other cases to hear today, Mrs. Lewis."
"And he brought it to my house the day after Thanksgiving. I had him move it into the backyard. I needed to put that portion of my life to rest. All the bitterness, all the anger. Those kind of emotions can be draining. So, I went into the garage, got the can of gas, poured it on that fabric I'd so painstakingly chosen and I lit it . . . and well, you know the rest. I only wanted to burn the couch, sir. Not my shed. And certainly not my neighbor's shed. So you can see, burning anything but the couch was an accident."
"An accident brought about by your recklessness," he insisted.
"Yes, sir. It won't happen again."
"I'm sure it won't. And while I have no intention of sending you to jail, because I do believe this was an aberration, I don't think merely making restitution with a year of probation before your record is expunged is enough. So, I sentence you to the restitution and thirty hours community service. Specifically, there's a school district program in January, a safety awareness program. You'll have your nursing degree at the end of this month, I believe I read? You'll be taking your boards in January?"
She nodded.
"Fine. You can go and tell school students in local schools all about the dangers of playing with fire, and whatever other health-related topics the committee would like you to discuss—"
The police lieutenant coughed loudly, causing the judge to stop, as everyone else turned around to glance at him.
Judge Bradley continued, "—and you'll still have time to study for your boards."
"I wasn't exactly playing with fire, Your Hon—"
"And I wasn't exactly done, Mrs. Lewis. As a mother, I'm sure you've taught your children to know better than interrupt while you're speaking. The same rule applies in my courtroom. As I was saying, you can participate in this safety awareness program. Go to the schools, talk to the kids. When the program's over, there will be no probation and your record will be expunged immediately, rather than a year from now. I assume that will make your job interviews go easier?"
She nodded, "I'm sure it will, but sir—"
"Mrs. Lewis, this is open for neither debate nor for argument. Do the community service, and get on with your life. All that's left is for you to say. 'Thank you, Your Honor.'"
Henry, her lawyer, jabbed her in the side. "Thank you, Your Honor," Carly muttered.
"I think you'll find the experience very insightful."
Carly muttered under her breath, "Insightful my a—"
"Pardon me?" the judge barked.
"I said, Thank you, Your Honor." Carly frowned.
"Next case," the judge barked.
Henry hustled her out of the courtroom.
"Carly, I'm sorry," Ms. Kelly said. "Judge Bradley can be . . . well, unpredictable. Especially this last year or so."
"I'll be fine," Carly assured the woman, who wished her luck and said goodbye, leaving Carly standing with Henry.
"Carly, I'm sorry as well," he said. "Maybe the community service won't be too bad."
"I'm sure it won't," Carly reassured her stricken-looking lawyer.
She pulled herself together and started walking down the hall, ignoring the fact she'd just told Henry a lie.
A big one.
When Heidi assigned her to the PTA Social Planning Committee, it'd turned out to be a stroke of good fortune, but she didn't believe she'd be that lucky again with enforced volunteering.
Safety awareness?
Carly had graduated. She had her nursing degree. She'd done her internship at the hospital. All that was left was passing her boards.
She needed to pass the test first time around.
Carly tried to lay out her January in her mind. She'd have to work at the hospital, study for her boards, plan the PTA Valentine Dance and spend hours talking about fire safety to schoolchildren.
Add to that, and most importantly, she had to be there for her kids.
Thinking of her kids reminded her that today was the Christmas Fair. Michelle and Samantha were both working it and expecting her.
She glanced at her watch. She'd better hurry. They were bound to ask how today had gone. She felt better just thinking about the sympathy they'd be bound to give her.
Speaking of sympathy, the lieutenant shot her a glance that seemed to contain more than a bit of that emotion in it.
Carly didn't want his, or anyone else's pity. She purpose didn't make eye contact and hurried past him.
She was going to be just fine.
LIEUTENANT CHUCK JEFFERSON watched as Carly Lewis walked by him. She was a little bit of a thing. Maybe five three, with a good pair of heels. Her dark hair was cut to shoulder-length and swayed from side to side as she stalked down the hall. Still, if her nose stayed that high and it rained, she'd drown. Of course, it was winter in Erie, so rain wasn't likely. Snow was likely, and with the cold shoulder Carly was nudging in his direction, she'd be right at home.
He felt sort of sorry for her, though he knew she wouldn't like that. He'd been a cop for twelve years and had thought he'd long since grown immune to defendants' sob stories, but something about hers touched him.
No, it wasn't her story, it was her reaction. She wasn't willing to stand by and be a victim. She'd been proactive.
She hadn't meant to burn down her neighborhood.
The day of the fire she'd referred to herself as an accidental arsonist.
He smiled as he thought of the phrase.
Chuck headed through the hall to the door of the judge's private office. Anderson Bradley was still talking to his secretary Joyce and looked up as Chuck walked in. "Didn't know this was one of yours. We didn't need you guys as witnesses, obviously."
"The DA prefers to have us here, even if he suspects he won't need our testimony. And the case wasn't exactly mine. I was only a witness—the first officer on scene—not the arresting officer. I was holding down the fort until the patrol officer could get there."
"I thought desk jockeys like you didn't go out on calls." Anderson laughed as he turned and walked into his inner office.
Chuck followed without invitation. "There was a big pileup on Twelfth Street and everyone else was busy. I was in the neighborhood and stopped to see if I could do anything until the patrol car arrived."
Anderson shrugged off his robe and hung it on a hook next to the door. "Anything else new?" He took his seat.
Chuck sat in the chair opposite Anderson's. "Why'd you do it? Throw out her plea and make her work the program?"
"I'll confess, my sentence wasn't what I'd originally planned. I was going to make it a stiffer penalty. But in the end, I couldn't. And when I saw you, I remembered the program. It's a perfect plan. This way her record is cleared by the end of January."
Chuck didn't bother to try to hide his grin. "She got to you."
"No. I don't let people 'get to me.' I can't. My job—my only concern—is to administer justice, and I think I've done that."
"Your mushy center's showing, Andy," Chuck taunted.
"Don't call me that in here . . . at all." He glanced at the doorway and his secretary.
"I didn't hear anything," Joyce called.
Chuck called back, "Perjury's a crime."
"I didn't swear any oath," Joyce reminded him. "So it's not perjury."
"You know, most judges get some respect," Anderson groused.
"Hey, we don't want your position going to your head," Chuck said. "But my razzing you is done . . . for now. I'd better get back to the station."
He stood, went a couple steps, then turned back. "And, Andy, don't worry. I won't spread any rumors about your mushy center. Your gooey middle. Your soft spot for a sob story."
Anderson blustered a response, but Chuck hurried out of the office and shut the door behind him, which made it difficult to discern Andy's words. And he didn't add that he shared Anderson's soft spot for Carly Lewis's sob story.
Remembering her crying at the fire, then her look of stony defiance today, he knew he had a decided soft spot for the tiny woman as well.
He couldn't wait to see her again.
And she didn't know it yet, but she'd be seeing him again soon.
IT HAD BEEN A BUSY week for Carly. The Christmas Fair and her trial had been on Monday, Christmas on Wednesday. She'd had the kids until Christmas Day evening, when Dean had picked them up. He'd have them until Saturday night. That had left Carly plenty of time to work and study.
But it was Friday and she was taking the night off because she deserved it.
She drove along the salt-covered street toward Colao's Restaurant where they'd be having their social committee meeting. Well, not really a meeting. Samantha and Michelle were joining her at the Italian restaurant to celebrate the holiday, and the fact that their committee had successfully completed two-thirds of its duties.
The Thanksgiving Pageant and the Christmas Fair had been huge successes. Samantha and Michelle had each done a great job as coordinator. All that was left was the Valentine's Dance that Carly was in charge of. She only hoped it turned out as well as the first two events. But they'd worry about that at the next official meeting.
Tonight was a night for friends.
Carly had brushed off Samantha and Michelle's questions about her trial at the Christmas Fair. They'd been so busy, and the holiday was almost upon them. She didn't want to worry them. She knew they'd want to hear everything though, and tonight she'd tell them. It would be a relief to vent.
Most of the time she'd simply park her car herself, but tonight, with the snow heaped everywhere, she opted to let the valet park it. She handed him her keys, and took the receipt from him as she hurried in to the restaurant.
Samantha was already there. They'd barely said hello when Michelle bustled in.
"Merry Christmas," Michelle cried as she walked up to the table balancing boxes. "I have some news. So much news for just a couple days." She took off her glove and waved a finger at them.
"Oh, my—" Samantha stood up and hugged Michelle.
Carly had noticed that Samantha was always hugging someone.
Her kids.
Her friends.
Her boyfriend, Harry.
Carly wasn't as big on the hugging but she was just as thrilled for her friend. "I told you so."
The waitress came up the to table and asked Michelle for her drink order. Carly knew Michelle would order something sensible, like a diet soda. This was definitely not a diet-soda sort of celebration. "Champagne, please. We're celebrating our friend's Christmas engagement."
"Congratulations," the waitress said, and moved.
Michelle slid into the booth. "There's more."
"More than you're engaged?"
"The test results came." Michelle was raising her nephew ever since her sister Tara had died. Tara had never told her son who his father was. Last fall, at thirteen, Brandon thought he'd found his dad, a man named Daniel McLean. Daniel and Tara had been friends many years before and had had a one-night stand. Daniel and Brandon hadn't been willing to wait until the DNA test came in, and Michelle wasn't willing to allow a stranger to be alone with her nephew, which is why the three of them were inseparable. At least that's why in the beginning.
Carly and Samantha knew the question of paternity wasn't all that was keeping them together now.
"And?" Carly was about to explode waiting for Michelle to get to the point.
"Daniel is Brandon's father. It sort of seemed anticlimactic, if you know what I mean. After all, we knew that Daniel was Brandon's father no matter what the test showed."
"Oh, I think I'm going to cry." Samantha got a tissue from her purse and started sniffling.
Michelle stared at Samantha's hand. "Oh . . . Samantha?"
Carly watched as Samantha looked down at her hand. And that's when Carly saw it . . . a ring.
More specifically, an engagement ring.
"Us, too," Samantha admitted, wiggling her finger.
"Geez, this is turning into a freakin' wedding show," Carly teased.
Well, mainly she was teasing. Mostly, she was thrilled that her friends were happy, but, to be honest, the idea of marriage made her stomach do a little flip. She couldn't imagine ever trusting a man enough to marry again.
Carly's trust in Dean had obviously been misplaced. She tried to tell herself that she couldn't measure all men by what her ex had done, but. . .
That but was always there. And as long as there was a but, she'd be better off on her own.
Still, she wasn't going to let her own cynicism taint her friends' engagements. The waitress arrived with the champagne and glasses.
"When dinner's over, bring the check to me," Carly told her, "since it appears we're celebrating not just one, but two Christmas engagements."
"And will you be back to celebrate a third?" The waitress grinned as she poured the champagne, as if everyone in the world should be married. As if marriage was the pinnacle of any woman's aspirations.
"The day I come in and tell you I'm engaged is the day you'll know hell has officially frozen over." Carly tried to smile, hoping it would appear she was joking. But in her heart, she wasn't joking.
Michelle seemed to buy her act. "Carly, if you'd asked me a month ago I'd have told you it was never going to happen to me, yet here I am, head over heels."
"And me," Samantha added. "If you'd asked me at the start of the school year, I'd have told you I planned to avoid men like the plague. And yet . . . " Samantha wiggled her ring finger at Carly. "Maybe it's the committee. Two of our social activities done, and two of us are engaged. Carly, I hate to point it out, but you have the most romantic event of them all."
Carly drained her glass and set it down with a thud, then poured another. "Let me repeat, when hell freezes over."
Samantha's smile started to slip.
Carly wanted to kick herself. She should be cheering her friends' happiness on, not raining on their engagement parades. She raised her glass. "To happily-ever-afters for all of us."
And Carly knew a happily-ever-after for her involved remaining single.
Permanently.
She wisely didn't add that part, as they all clinked their glasses.
"So, tell us about your hearing," Samantha said. "We've blathered on about happily-ever-afters and engagements long enough."
"Yes, I'm sorry. You didn't say much at the Christmas Fair. It wasn't so bad?"
"Well, it didn't go quite the way we thought it would, you see . . . "
Carly had planned to be stoic. She wanted to hear about the holiday her friends were having with the new men in their lives, but Michelle's question opened the floodgates, and the words tumbled over one another as Carly told Samantha and Michelle all about the sentencing. " . . . and that is why I have to meet with some stupid public relations police officer at the station on Monday."
Back in September, when Heidi had called and told Carly she'd assigned the three moms who'd missed the PTA's first general meeting to the Social Planning Committee—the one committee no one on Erie Elementary PTA ever wanted—Carly had been seriously annoyed.
But over the last three months, Carly's meetings with Samantha and Michelle had been a lifeline. Something she counted on, that she looked forward to.
"Carly, I'm sorry," the oh-so-sensible and placid Michelle said. The tall blonde was a sea of tranquility. The only time Carly had seen that unflappableness flap was when Michelle's nephew, Brandon, had wanted to find his real father. That one time, Michelle had seemed scared and confused. Scared that if Brandon did find his father, he'd be hurt. And she'd hesitantly confessed that she was afraid of losing custody of her nephew to a stranger.
Then she'd had a total melt-down when Brandon turned up with his suspected father in tow. But things had turned out well. Michelle had not only come to grips with the idea of sharing Brandon, she'd fallen for Daniel McLean.
"I know you're sorry," Carly told Michelle. "Thanks. I really needed to vent."
"I'm sorry, too," Samantha said. "Have another roll . . . piece of bread. I love whatever they season the olive oil with."
"What happened to the diet?" Carly asked as she took a slice of bread and dipped it into the warm oil.
"Harry said he likes a woman with curves, and I've decided I'm happy to oblige. I'm no longer trying to lose weight, but I'm going to try not to gain any. Maintain the status quo. That's my new mantra."
"How about the whole sucking the stomach in thing?" Carly teased. Back in September, Samantha had confessed her new exercise plan consisted of sucking her stomach in all day in place of crunches.
"Now, that I'm sticking with. I have abs of steel. . . with just a bit of padding over them." She laughed.
Samantha had been doing a lot of laughing ever since Thanksgiving and admitting fighting her attraction to Erie Elementary's new principal, Harry Remington. When Samantha's assistant, the third-grade teacher, Mrs. Tarbot, got ill and it meant the entire Thanksgiving Pageant was in Samantha's hands, Harry had stepped up to help. Now he was becoming an integral part of Samantha's family. Even her four kids were getting used to having Harry around. Happiness practically radiated off her, and Carly was glad for Samantha.
"I'll have to spend my January working with a bunch of cops and firefighters on some safety program. I'm supposed to talk about the dangers of playing with fire."
"You weren't playing when you lit that couch on fire," Michelle said.
"You're right, I wasn't. Dean and I had been divorced for months, despite the fact we hadn't settled the custody or division of assets, but he got an order of bifurcation so he'd be able to get engaged to his secretary while we spent months bifurcating all over the place."
"Bifurcating?" Samantha asked. "That doesn't sound right."
"I'm pretty sure I'm using the word wrong. For us, it meant Dean could have his divorce before we worked out all the terms. You can be officially unmarried, and still sorting the details. I'll confess, I like how the word sounds, and Dean did his best to make the process as hard as possible. More than once I wanted to tell him to go bifurcate himself."
Michelle and Samantha both laughed, which made Carly smile, some of her ire easing off.
She'd been angry for so long. Angry that she'd given up so many things for Dean, and he'd so casually thrown her away once she'd served her purpose. Angry he could forget the vows they'd made so long ago. Angry that he could walk away from her and the kids so easily.
"Honey," Samantha said, her voice laced with concern. "You can't be angry with him forever."
"The truth of the matter is, I'm not. I told myself that I was burning that couch as a way of purging my past, letting go of the anger and the hurt. And I think I did. I think I'm over Dean Lewis. The problem is, I don't have a couch to burn to get over being mad at myself. I need a change. More than the haircut I got the other day."
She'd gone into the hair salon and asked them to cut off all her hair, wanting—no needing—to do something more to break from the past. The stylist thought the new style suited her.
"Carly?" Samantha asked softly.
She ran a hand through her spiky hair. "I let it happen. I don't know how, I don't know why. I just let him take over. It wasn't any big decision, you know. Just little ones. Don't cut your hair so short. I like it longer, he'd say. So, I let it grow out."
"I really like the new do, it suits you," Samantha said, and Michelle agreed.
"Thanks," she said and paused. "Then he just pecked away. Piece by piece. Honey, I don't know if I can do law school and work. . . So, I quit college to financially support us. I planned to go back and get my nursing degree when he passed his bar exam, but it was the kids, and honey, I really need you to stand by me while I get my practice off the ground. Then it was joining the right club, volunteering with the right organizations, befriending the right people, decorating in the right way. . . And the problem was, the right way was never my way. I love color. Big, bright, bold color. Our house was in tasteful neutrals, and if I was really wild, a pastel or two. That's the problem, I guess. That's the anger. I let myself fade from a vivid color to a washed-out imitation."
"The divorce was final months ago. You've divided the assets, so it's finished. You've graduated, and you'll take your boards and be official," Samantha said. "Your future is just a few weeks away, waiting for you. You can decide your own color, Carly. You can be as vivid as you want."
"But. . . I can't seem to get back to the color I was before Dean."
"Of course you can't," replied Michelle. "You're different now. The thing is knowing you're not your old color, and you're not the colors Dean tried to make you. The trick is finding out what color you are now."
"I don't know if I can."
"Sure you can. And finding out could be fun," Samantha promised.
Fun?
That's not exactly the word Carly would use.
Somehow she'd do it. She'd get through January. She'd study for her boards, do her service hours, plan the PTA's Valentine Dance, and start interviewing for a job. Working as a graduate nurse at the hospital was good, but she wasn't sure if it was where she wanted to build her career. So, she needed to figure out what sort of nursing she wanted to practice, and what color she was now.
Carly Lewis, the teenage college student, was long gone.
Carly Lewis, a perfect lawyer's wife, was gone as well.
Carly Lewis, single mother and nurse . . . she was just waiting to be discovered.