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heart. The two of them had much in common, the most predominant being their work ethic and

business savvy. Phillip was the Vice President of Marketing at a very large training firm in

Philadelphia. He and Melanie shared long conversations about their work, Melanie attributing

much of her success to her Uncle Phil's advice.

Phil ip and his wife, Darlene, Melanie's mother's sister, had only one child, their daughter

Samantha, who was two years older than Melanie. Despite their distinctly different

personalities, the cousins had grown up quite close to one another. Each was an only child and

knew the other was the closest to a sibling they were likely to get.

Melanie was pleasantly surprised to hear her uncle's voice.

"Hi there, Red," he said with a smile in his voice.

Although her hair had gone from the strong red of her childhood to a softer, more mature

auburn many years ago, Phillip Richter still used the pet name he had given his niece when she

was three.

They breezed through the pleasantries, inquiring about the weather and each other's families.

Then Phillip became serious.

"There is a specific reason I called, Red. I need your help, if possible."

"Sure, Uncle Phil. What's up?"

"Wel , it's your cousin, Samantha. I'm afraid she's gotten herself into an unfavorable

situation that I can't seem to get her out of."

"Really." Melanie knew Samantha all too well. She was probably in a situation she found very favorable, but Phillip wouldn't give her any more money.

Samantha Richter had been a wild, spoiled rotten teenager who blossomed earlier than most

girls her age. Boys fel all over themselves to be near her, and she quickly learned to use that

to her advantage. In school she drank, smoked, screwed around with everybody and their

brother, and barely got her diploma. Melanie used to watch her in awe, sometimes disgusted at

Samantha's behavior, sometimes envious of it. She helped her cousin with her studies, often

actually doing papers and assignments for her.

Samantha, in turn, took Melanie under her wing socially, allowing her to tag along to parties

and gatherings. Melanie was a quiet, shy, late bloomer, and having somebody as popular as

Samantha vouch for her kept her from being picked on.

At parties, Melanie would stand near a wall or in a corner, invisible to everybody through the

loud music and smoke of various substances.

She would watch in amazement as her beautiful blonde cousin worked the room. It was almost

artistry, the way she commanded attention. Everybody, guys and girls alike, wanted to talk to

her or bring her drinks or simply stand near her. She absorbed the desire like a sponge, and

when she had had her fill, she would float in Melanie's direction, grasp her fifteen-year old

hand, and make her grand exit. That was the moment Melanie loved, the looks of jealousy and

disbelief on the faces of the party guests, because of all the worthy people in the room,

Samantha chose to leave with the scrawny, flat-chested little redhead. Samantha had been

invaluable to Melanie's fragile, teenage self-esteem.

"You knew she and Jeff split up, right?" Uncle Phil asked.

"I think Mom mentioned it around Christmas," Melanie replied. She'd been surprised by the

wedding in the first place. Neither Samantha nor Jeff had ever been faithful to anybody. Had

they really thought getting married and moving to Rochester would solve the infidelity

problems?

"Wel , since he's been gone, Samantha's been having trouble with the bookstore. I think he

must've run it, and since he's taken off with his little snow bunny, he's kind of left Sammy

high and dry."

Melanie loved Phillip dearly, but his naïveté when it came to his daughter, or maybe it was just

plain blindness, was a bit frustrating. Samantha had never been "left high and dry," would never al ow herself to be "left high and dry." If Jeff had left with his snow bunny, Melanie was sure that Samantha most likely had a little pet of her own. As for the bookstore, if

Samantha was having trouble running it, that was probably because she didn't want to.

Phil ip had given them the little shop for their first wedding anniversary, saying he knew

Samantha had always loved books.

There was already strain in the marriage, and Melanie deduced the store was probably Phillip's

attempt at stabilizing it. Jeff couldn't hold a job; Samantha didn't want a job. Maybe

dropping a source of income in their laps would help the situation.

"Red, do you think maybe you could give her a call, talk to her about the business end of

things? I've tried to do it myself, but she won't listen to me. I know she listens to you. She

always has. I'd hate to see such a nice place go under because she doesn't know how to

prevent it."

"And I'm sure you'd prefer she didn't completely throw your money away without at least

trying to make the place work," Melanie said with a smile, voicing the truth her uncle wouldn't.

He laughed heartily. "You got that right."

"Sure, Uncle Phil. I'll give her a call. I can't guarantee it will make a difference, but for you, I'll give it a shot."

"I have never gotten a favor out of Samantha that quickly. Would you be my kid?"

"I'll call her tonight. Love to Aunt Dar."

"You're the best, Red. Take care."

Chapter Three

FROM THE ROAD, Rochester seemed like a nice place. The plan had been to call Samantha and

pump her for information on exactly what was going on with the bookstore. Instead, they got

caught up in reminiscing and gossiping. When Samantha found out Melanie had some free time

on her hands, she begged and pleaded with her cousin to come and stay for a bit. Deciding that

a road trip would be less depressing than sitting around in her empty apartment, Melanie

finally agreed.

As Melanie cruised along in her Jeep Grand Cherokee in the warm June sunshine, the

expressway took her directly through the heart of the city, which seemed to have everything;

tall buildings, a baseball stadium, a river, even a brewery. According to Samantha, very few of

the suburbs were that far from downtown. A nice set-up, Melanie thought as she followed

Sam's directions to Webster.

Thirty minutes later, she pulled into the driveway shared by Samantha and the Rhodes family,

her landlords.

The main structure was a big, yellow farmhouse, complete with white pillars holding up the

open front porch and white shutters on each of the many front windows. Large, full trees,

mostly maple, adorned the property, and Melanie couldn't help thinking of the Waltons. A

brick walkway curved around from the porch to the driveway, which led to a matching two-car

garage with a red Honda parked in front of it. Just beyond the garage and off to the right a

hundred or so yards away was a small, cottage-like structure, decorated in the same colors

and design as the main house. She followed the driveway around to the cottage, as her cousin

had instructed her.

As Melanie pulled the Jeep to a stop in front of the small house, the front door flew open and

Samantha bellowed, "Mellie!"

She caught Melanie in a hug before she even got both feet out of the Jeep. "God, it's been a

long time," she said, squeezing her cousin hard. "Let me look at you." She held Melanie at arm's length and looked her up and down. "My God, Baby Cousin, you look terrific."

"I bet," Melanie scoffed, running a self-conscious hand through her rust-colored hair. "Ten hours in a car always brings out the best in me." She smiled lovingly at her cousin. "It's good to see you, Sammi."

Samantha was a classic example of somebody able to get by on looks alone, although she was

by no means dumb. Melanie was an extremely attractive woman, but she always felt mousy

next to Sam. Standing two inches tal er than Melanie, Samantha was blonde and tanned and

could have easily blended in on the set of Baywatch. She was the stereotypical Blonde

Bombshell, but rather than try to fight the brainless beauty stigma, she embraced it and

taught herself to manipulate it. As much as Melanie despised the idea of somebody who didn't

work for what they wanted, there was the tiniest hint of admiration for the way Samantha

just flat out used what she had to get what she desired. She had become very good at it.

"I'm so glad I was able to talk you into visiting. How long do you want to stay?" Sam asked as she helped unload the Jeep.

"I'm not sure yet. Let me know if you get sick of me before I make up my mind."

"Nonsense. You're welcome to stay forever. Come on in and I'l show you around."

TAYLOR RHODES WATCHED from the kitchen window as the black Jeep pulled into the

driveway and around to Sam's place.

She dried her hands on a flowered towel, vaguely remembering Samantha saying something

about her cousin coming to visit, and put away the breakfast dishes she'd left behind earlier.

Saturday morning breakfasts had become sort of a tradition between Taylor and her father,

Ben, since she moved back home two years previously after the death of her mother.

She wiped down the counter and folded the towel over its rack. Picking up a can of Pepsi, she

leaned back against the sink and looked around the open, sunny kitchen, allowing herself to be

transported back to simpler days when her mother baked cookies and Taylor had nothing to

worry about except coming in from her woodland fort in time to scrape the bowl of batter.

There was so much of her mother in this room. True, the entire house reflected Anna

Salvaggio Rhodes, but the kitchen had been her domain. From the white, ruffled valences on

the windows to the various knick-knacks and framed prints on the walls, the kitchen was pure

Anna. Taylor could still see her bustling around, humming Neil Diamond or Barbra Streisand

completely off-key, her unruly dark hair trying desperately to escape from the clip fastening

it behind her head, wiping her flour-covered hands on the apron she wore faithfully every day,

like a uniform. It infuriated Taylor, the talk these days that criticized women without a

career, women who chose to stay home with their children. Housewives. Taylor hated that

word. Keeping the household running smoothly, being available for either Taylor, her big

brother Frankie, or Ben, cooking, cleaning, laundry, shopping, sewing, gardening. How could

anybody say that wasn't a full-time career?

Anna was President and CEO of Rhodes, Inc. That was all there was to it. Taylor was fiercely

proud of what her mother had represented. She just wished she had taken the time to at

least mention it to Anna when it would have mattered.

Trouble was, Taylor had been on the side of those hurling the criticism for a long, long time.

She knew it wasn't uncommon for a woman of the 90s to be embarrassed by a woman of the

previous generation who chose family and home over education and success in business, but

that didn't make it any easier now that her mother was gone.

She sighed, the sad, weary sigh of one that knows she never said the things she should have

while she had the chance.

The jingling of the telephone cut through Taylor's guilt and brought her back to the present.

She picked it up, watching out the window as Samantha and her cousin unloaded the Jeep.

"Hello?"

"Tay?"

Taylor closed her eyes, cursing herself for not just letting it ring. "Maggie."

"Hi." The voice on the line was soft and unsure, with a slight crack, as if the speaker could burst into tears at any moment. Taylor knew the tone well. She had dubbed it the Morning

After voice. It was the inflection Maggie's voice took on when she had tied one on, said or

done something stupid the night before, and was trying to make up for it. Although they

hadn't been together the night before, or in several weeks for that matter, it was still

obvious to Taylor that Maggie had been drinking recently.

"Hi."

"How are you, Tay?"

"I'm fine." Taylor chose her words carefully, not wanting to invite a prolonged conversation.

"Good. That's good." There was a long, awkward pause. "I miss you. I miss you so much."

Here we go, Taylor thought. "Maggie..."

"Honey, I know I screwed up. I can change. I can." Maggie’s voice was pleading now, pathetic.

"You were right. I know that now. I just miss you so much. I love you. I need you. Please,

Taylor."

Months ago, even weeks ago, conversations like this would cut right through to Taylor's soul,

corralling all the possible guilt and hope available within her and combining it into forgiveness

and willingness to give it another shot. And another. And another. Again and again, she would

agree to allow Maggie another chance to stop drinking, get some professional help for her

depression and make their relationship work. It had taken almost three years, but Taylor had

finally realized that no matter how much she tried to help, no matter how much she hoped or

prayed or begged, nothing would ever change with Maggie. After several failed attempts, she

had finally managed to make a clean break, at least in her own mind.

"Maggie," she said firmly. "We've been through this a hundred times. You have got to stop calling me."

"I can't." Maggie was crying openly now. Instead of sympathy, Taylor could feel her anger

building and worked hard to push it back down.

"Pull yourself together," she ordered. "This is ridiculous. You're not hurting anybody but you here, Maggie. We are no longer a couple, do you understand me?"