“I didn’t expect you so soon,” she said. “For some reason, I thought your presentation would take longer. Come on in.”

If the argument with Vivian made it hard to concentrate and the meeting with Taglieri left my head spinning, then stepping into the home of a recently divorced woman with whom I’d shared a bed made the day seem even more surreal. It felt wrong somehow, inappropriate, and I reminded myself that I’d simply come by to get my daughter. It was no different than picking her up from my mom’s, but even so, the feeling that I was doing something illicit only intensified as Emily motioned toward the stairs.

“The kids are up in the playroom with Noodle. They finished lunch about half an hour ago so they haven’t been up there that long.”

I nodded, making sure to maintain distance between us. “Did they have a good time?”

“They’ve had a great time,” she said. “They’ve been laughing a lot. I think your daughter is in love with the dog.”

“That doesn’t shock me in the slightest,” I said. “How did Noodle do with the hamsters?”

“He sniffed the cage for a few seconds and that was about it.”

“Good.” I put my hands in my pockets, the voice inside my head continuing to whisper that I shouldn’t be here, that my presence in Emily’s home was inappropriate. Turning away from Emily, I surveyed the room. With an open floor plan and shaded sunlight streaming through large windows along the rear of the house, it was comfortable and eclectic, with odds and ends scattered throughout the room, the home of an artist. On the walls, I spotted a handful of large paintings that I assumed she’d done.

“You have a beautiful home,” I said, trying to keep the conversation innocuous.

“Thank you,” she said, sounding far more at ease than I was feeling. “I’ve actually been thinking about selling the place. There’s too much maintenance, and a couple of the rooms are in serious need of renovation. Of course, I’ve been saying that ever since David moved out. I’m sorry it’s such a mess.”

“I didn’t notice,” I said. “Are those some of your paintings?”

She moved closer to me, not too close, but close enough that I was able to catch a whiff of the honeysuckle shampoo she used. “Some of my older work. I’ve been wanting to trade a few of them out for some more recent paintings, but that’s been on the back burner, too.”

“I can understand why the gallery owner loves your work.”

“They remind me of when I was pregnant with Bodhi. They’re darker and less textured than a lot of what I do now. Moodier, too. Of course, I was sick as a dog for months when I was pregnant, so maybe that has something to do with it. Hold on a second.” She walked toward the staircase. “Bodhi? London?” she called out. “Are you still okay?”

In chorus, I heard their answer. “Yes!”

“Your dad’s here, London.”

Footsteps pounded overhead and I caught sight of my daughter peeking through the railings. “Daddy? Can I stay longer? Bodhi has an extra light saber and it’s red! And we’re playing with Noodle!”

I looked toward Emily. “It’s fine with me,” she said with a shrug. “She’s keeping Bodhi busy and happy, which makes my life easy.”

“Maybe a few more minutes,” I called up. “But we can’t stay long. Remember that you have dance tonight.”

“With Ms. Hamshaw?” Emily asked. When I nodded, Emily went on. “I’ve heard some pretty interesting things about her. And by ‘interesting,’ I mean not particularly good.”

“I’m not sure London enjoys it all that much,” I admitted.

“So pull her out.”

With Vivian, such things aren’t always that easy, I thought to myself. In the silence, Emily hooked a thumb toward the kitchen. “Would you like some sweet tea while you wait? I just made a pitcher.”

I heard the voice in my head again, this time telling me to politely decline, but instead, I found myself saying, “Sounds good.”

I followed her toward the breakfast table in the kitchen; the hamster cage was on the floor in front of French doors that led to the backyard. Off to the side, I saw another room, obviously her studio. There were paintings stacked along the walls and another on an easel; there was an apron draped over the battered desk, along with hundreds of containers of paint.

“This is where you work?”

“My studio,” she said, pulling out the pitcher of tea. “It used to be a screened porch, but we glassed it in when we bought the house. It’s got perfect light in the morning.”

“Is it hard to work at home?”

“Not really. But I’ve always painted at home so I don’t know any different.”

“How does that work with Bodhi?”

She poured the tea into the glasses, added ice to both, and brought them to the table. “I work in the mornings before we really get going for the day, but even after that, it’s not too bad. If I get the urge to paint, he’ll head upstairs and play or watch TV. He’s gotten used to it. “

She took a seat and I followed her lead, still feeling far too self-conscious. If Emily felt the same, she didn’t show it.

“How did it go with Taglieri?”

“It went well,” I said. “He hired me. For the entire campaign I proposed.”

“That’s great!” she cried. “Congratulations! I knew you’d nail it. You’ve got to be thrilled.”