Her eyes skimmed over the changes they had made. A dark pumpkin-colored carpet covered the large living room floor. Cabinets took up one wall: bookcases, a stereo unit and wood carvings. An imposing piece of driftwood served as the base of a coffee table, with a thick plate-glass top. Her huge crewelwork patterns in the oranges and creams and greens that she loved were centered above an oversized couch upholstered in olive. The living room was sunken; three steps up was the kitchen, with a low tan brick wall serving as a divider between the two areas. Copper pans and plants hung from the ceiling. It was all very bright and very simple, and Erica found more richness in the room than she had ever found in the luxurious surroundings she had been accustomed to from childhood on. “The place on the beach seems sterile now,” she said musingly. “I’m not sure I’d ever want to go back.”

“Sure,” Morgan agreed dryly. “Have another drink, sweetheart.”

He clearly didn’t believe her. “Do you honestly dislike this house?” she insisted.

“It’s a measure of your ability to make a home out of anything, Erica. I just have a hard time picturing the two of you in anything so small. Where is your weaker half, anyway?”

“Kyle? He’ll be back any minute.” She smiled obligingly at his quip, but was uncomfortable at not being able to come up with the exact wheres and whens for her husband. For no real reason, Morgan was the last person she would want to know there was trouble between herself and Kyle. “Tell me what’s been going on since we last saw you,” she urged.

Morgan hesitated, swirling the wine in his glass. “The business is going terrific, if you can believe that in these economic times. We’ve been checking out markets in Milwaukee, Chicago, any number of-”