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“What do you mean?” Mara said quietly, the meaning of Dena’s words all too clear.

“I mean that I think you and Shane are having an affair, and . . .” Mara began to protest, but Dena shook her red curls and with a look that could turn flesh to stone, continued with her accusations. “I think you’ve been with him for years, long before Peter died.”

Dena had come up to face Mara . . . so close that Mara could taste the heady scent of Dena’s cologne as she licked her lips.

“You think I was unfaithful to Peter?” Mara said, shocked at the cold sound of the words as they stung the air.

“Weren’t you?” As far as Dena was concerned, the question, spit with such passion, was purely rhetorical.

“Of course not!” Mara argued, her small fists clenched in frustration. “I . . . I thought that Shane was dead!”

“So you say,” Dena goaded.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not for a minute!”

Mara took the time to close her eyes for just a second, long enough to steady herself and get control of her tattered emotions. She shook her palms and her head in the same dismissive gesture.

“Look, Dena. It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. While Peter was alive, I was faithful to him. I know it and Peter knew it. What you thought then, or think now, doesn’t matter.” Mara could feel the hot stain of color on her cheeks, but she swore to herself that no matter how catty Dena became, Mara would control the situation and confrontation. If they were going to spar verbally, Mara was not going to lose her dignity nor her self-esteem.

Dena stepped back to put some room between herself and her sister-in-law. She knew the determined glint in Mara’s cold, blue eyes was a sign that Mara’s back was up against the wall. She only hoped that she hadn’t pushed Peter’s wife too far. Her purpose was to glean information, not to anger Mara. Dena knew her sister-in-law well enough to realize that if pushed too far, Mara would end this conversation and Dena would never again have the chance to find out if her suspicions were correct.

“All right, all right,” Dena murmured, falling into a nearby chair and idly chewing on her fingernail. She averted her green eyes away from Mara’s direct gaze and seemed to concentrate on the hem of her mint green plaid blouse. “I’m sorry . . . I had forgotten that you thought Shane was dead.” Her eyes, when they lifted, were shining with pooled tears. Suddenly she looked older than her thirty-seven years.

Mara felt the play of emotions pull at her heartstrings, but she stood, unmoving, behind the desk. If she knew anything at all about Dena, it was that her sister-in-law knew well the art of drama. Were the tears a real sign of distress, or merely a prop in Dena’s theatrical show?

“Perhaps . . . perhaps I’m wrong. But when I see Shane with Angie . . . the way that he seems to adore her,” Dena stopped for a minute. “And it goes both ways. Angie seems to love him, a feeling that she never had for Peter.”

“That’s not true—”

“Don’t lie to me, Mara! I can see it!”

Mara felt herself wavering with pity for Dena, and she damned herself for her own soft-hearted weakness. Dena had turned on Mara so many times in the past that Mara shouldn’t ever trust her, and she knew it. But the way that her sister-in-law was slumped in the chair, swayed Mara’s resolve, and against her better judgment, she decided to give Dena one more chance.

As the words were out of her mouth, Mara knew that she was making a mistake. “Okay, Dena . . . what is it, exactly, that you’re trying to say?” Mara asked quietly.

Dena dabbed at her eyes with a tissue from the desk. “Oh, Mara,” she sighed with genuine despair. “I know that I’ve been just awful to you sometimes. And I know it’s not your fault that Dad left most of Imagination to Peter. But it all seems so unfair sometimes!”

“I know.”

“No, no, you don’t. No one could!” Dena asserted, her anger and frustration mounting. “Maybe all this . . . it wouldn’t have been all so important, but it seems wrong to me!”

“What does?”

“The way things turned out! First you had Peter, and whether you were smart enough to know it or not, my brother worshipped the ground that you walked on!”

A lump in Mara’s throat began to swell.

“And,” Dena continued, “I was foolish enough to think, to hope, that Bruce would feel the same way about me.” Her voice quivered. “Or at least thatsomeonewould.”

“Oh, Dena . . .”

“No, don’t interrupt!” Dena cried, gathering strength. The heat in the room seemed to rise a few degrees. “And now, now Shane Kennedy comes along, on the pretense of investing in the company, and falls compliantly into your open arms! And not only that, but helovesyou, Mara. God, how he loves you!” Dena pointed out, her small face twisting with the pain of thirty-seven unfulfilled, unloved, vanished years. “And . . . and he even wants Angie.” Dena sighed. “Do you know how incredible that is?” She looked up at Mara and let the torture in her face go unsuppressed. “It all seems so incredible . . . such a storybook romance. It’s almost as if . . .” her voice faded.

“As if what?” Mara asked, sucking in her breath.

“As if Angie werehischild, for God’s sake,” Dena whispered.