Not like anything had gone bad.  It wasn’t even necessarily a smell I didn’t like.  It was just wrong.

“What’s that smell?” I asked Raf.  We were in the dining room, setting the table.

“That is the best pizza sauce in the world that you taught us both to memorize at birth,” Raf shot back, grinning at me.

He didn’t smell it.

I went into the kitchen, looking over Gustave’s shoulder at the saucepan.  “Did you do something different to the sauce?” I asked him.

He shot me a puzzled look over his shoulder.  “Are you kidding?  Who messes with perfection?”

Well, hell.

Gus didn’t smell it either.

I tried to ignore it, but ended up thinking about it more and more.

The smell of a lot of things had changed to me of late.  But it took something that familiar, a family recipe, to make me realize that it wasn’t the food that was off.

It was me.  I was changing, and that wasn’t the only change.

I’d gained a bit of weight, but I’d attributed that to the fact that I’d gone out to eat so much when I’d been dating Kevin.

And so back to me, freaking the hell out, driving to the store after my sons left, in the middle of the night, to grab a home pregnancy test.

It’s impossible, I reassured myself, for maybe the thousandth time.

It’s at least improbable, I tried telling myself when the impossible didn’t work, because it was simply a lie.

My God, what was I going to do?  This was not a problem I should be having at this stage of my life.  It was ridiculous.  Too silly to give any credence to.

Dammit.

I’d always had problems with the pill, and Eduard had gotten a vasectomy after Gustave was born, so it wasn’t something I’d had to worry about for a very long time.

Until that one night, months ago, when Heath had decided to show up to my house without condoms.

Dammit.

I couldn’t believe it.  It was too silly.  I was too damn old to be dealing with a mistake like this.  Okay, making a mistake like this.

I bought five home pregnancy tests, brought them home, laid them out on my bed, and just stared at them.

And then I used them each, one by one.

And just stared at them.

Five plus signs.

I was well aware how unlikely it was to get five false positives.  The home pregnancy tests were pretty damn accurate these days.

Even so, I made an appointment with my doctor, taking her first available window.

But I knew what I needed to know.

I was pregnant.

Heath had knocked me up.

My first reaction, and it lasted a while, was pure shock.

Heath had left me a number, nothing else, and he’d said very clearly that it was for emergencies only.  That’s why I waited until after my doctor’s appointment to call it.  I wanted to be absolutely certain before I freaked him the hell out right along with me.

“Jimmy’s Market,” an unfamiliar male voice answered the phone.

I thought at first I’d dialed wrong.  But I asked anyway.  “I need to talk to Heath.  It’s an emergency.”

“No Heath here.  Wrong number, lady.”

His tone was abrasive, but I checked the card, and the number I’d dialed, and they were the same, so I went on.  “Tell him Lourdes needs to talk to him,” I tried.

There was a long silence on the other end, and with a curse, I added, “It’s an emergency, like I said.”

More silence.  I hoped the fucker was taking notes.  “Tell him—fuck—tell him I just found out I’m pregnant.”

I hated doing it like this, but I didn’t know this system they were using, didn’t know if I’d get to talk to him directly at all, and I felt strongly that he needed to be aware that he was going to be a father, the sooner the better.

The other line went dead.  Well, hell.

What was I supposed to do now?

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

It was a few days later.  I still hadn’t told anyone the big news except that stranger over the phone.

And I had yet to hear from Heath.

I was just sitting on it.  I figured I’d put off telling anyone for as long as I could, but the fact was, this baby was coming in around six months, and I couldn’t hide it for long.

I was still in the shock phase, and I’d decided to embrace that for a while.

I was at home, photo-shopping a shoot I’d done recently, trying to distract myself with work.

My phone rang, and I checked it.

Unknown caller flashed on my cell.

Well, hell.  I hated answering unknown numbers, but if Heath were going to call, it would likely be from an unknown line just like this.

I answered.

“Lourdes,” a familiar voice said on the other end of the line.

I hung up the phone instantly, cursing at it.

What was she doing calling me?

Christie.

I’d blocked her number ages ago.

Right after I’d listened to her having sex with my husband.

My phone started ringing almost instantly.

The worst ex-best friend in the history of time had the nerve to call me again?

I ignored the call.  When she tried three more times, I turned my cell off.  No way.  There was no reason on this earth I should ever have to speak to her again, for any reason.  Women like her, the home-wrecking variety, should be shipped off to their own island in the middle of nowhere as far as I was concerned.

It occurred to me that with my phone off, I might miss a call from Heath, and I switched it back on a few hours later, but it didn’t ring again.

It was late afternoon and I was just heading out, literally halfway out the door to run errands, bag in hand, when my doorbell rang.

I wasn’t expecting anyone, but sometimes, even though they had keys, Raf or Gus would ring my doorbell, so I went to answer it.

I checked the peephole, because if it was solicitors I was damn well going to ignore it.

It was her.  The home-wrecker.  Christie.  At my house.

Was she demented, thinking she could come here?

She should know better.  I should never have to look at this woman’s face again.  Never have to hear her voice, or breathe the same air.

Dealing in any way with the bitch who had pretended to be my best friend while she fucked my husband was nothing a woman like me should have to do.

When I say we’d been best friends, I mean best friends.  Get up every morning and call each other friends.  Tell each other our deepest darkest fears and secrets friends.  And for over a decade, no less.

I’d never forgive her.

It wasn’t even that I was still bitter about the divorce.  And it sure as hell wasn’t that I wanted my ex-husband back.

This bitch could have him.  Hell, anyone could have him, as long as it wasn’t me.

It was the betrayal.  The kind of betrayal that, to this day, made me feel more alone in the world.

A woman that could do that to a friend, sneak around behind her back for who knew how long, and still smile to her face.

My contempt for her would never change.  It was that simple.

I decided pretty quickly that I’d just ignore her.  If I opened that door, there’d be some kind of confrontation, and I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she could get under my skin.

I started to walk away, heading toward my garage.

Her voice, calling out loud enough to be heard through the thick walls of my house, stopped me cold.

“Lourdes!  It’s about Eduard!  He’s been killed!”

Well, that did it.  One second ago I’d have sworn it was impossible, but she’d found a way to get me to talk to her.

I opened my door, staring at the woman that had tried her best to wreck my home.