She’s very pretty, Riley thought. Even at the end of a difficult day. Wouldn’t it be tidy if Logan took to her? He seemed to light up a little bit when he saw her.

 And why would you think that? she asked herself.

 * * *

 Emma’s mind was really working as she drove. The domestic battery was so disturbing, so in-your-face horrid. The first thing she told herself was that her situation had never been as bad as that! She’d never been abused like that. Never.

 But then how many of her New York household had noticed that her husband didn’t hold her, that the troop of worker bees who often traveled with them were not all for work, that he had such a developed sense of entitlement he had a mistress right under her nose and bilked his clients for a hundred million dollars. No, she’d never been abused, nuh-uh. Her life had been ruined by the very man who vowed to love and protect her.

 Mrs. Andrews must ask herself those same questions every day. How did I marry that man? How did I trust him with my life, my future? And now she was undoubtedly asking herself how she could get away from him.

 Emma didn’t have to go to Riley’s office. She could have just called Makenna and Nick and chances were one of the other girls had after it was all over. But Emma wanted to look Riley in the eye as if to say, Here’s your chance. I blew it. I didn’t follow the rules—fire me.

 But Riley stood up for her. Supported her. Wanted to protect her. Emma didn’t kid herself that it was because she was Emma, it was because she was an employee. Adam had been so right about his sister—she ran a good company, provided a safe work environment, took good care of her people, was steadfast. Riley could ignore the fact that she really didn’t want to be around Emma and see the situation professionally and fairly.

 She sighed. Ah, what did it matter? She didn’t want a new best friend. She just wanted to work, live, enjoy a simple peace that helped her heal. That was all.

 Her cell phone rang and it picked up in her car. She didn’t recognize the number. “Hello,” she yelled into the speaker.

 “I know who you are,” said a very timid, female voice.

 Emma was right in front of a side street and made an abrupt turn, no signal involved, earning her a blast from a car behind her. She pulled over.

 “Hello?” she said again. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and turned off the car. “Let me get you on my cell. Okay. Here I am.”

 “I know who you are,” she said again. “The cleaner.”

 “Oh. Uh. I’m sorry I read your page. I’m not supposed to.”

 “I know. I left it where you would see it.”

 “Oh,” Emma said. “You want to talk?”

 “I go to the counselor twice a week to talk and that hasn’t done any good.”

 “Oh, I’m glad, you have someone. Why isn’t it any good?” Emma asked.

 She was met with silence and she thought, I’m an idiot. I should have apologized, asked her not to tell, confessed to Riley again and—

 “Because they don’t want to talk to me, they have to. They’re paid to.”

 “Ah,” Emma said. “I understand.”

 “Now I think you’re doing it. You some kind of spy?”

 “No,” Emma said, laughing a little in spite of herself. “I’m a cleaner who’s going to get in big trouble for touching your personal property. I apologize.”

 “Why’d you do it, then?”

 “Well... Well, there have been times I had no one to talk to. Really, no one. And I had a lot on my mind. A lot of worries and no one to listen and I know how that feels.”

 “Like when?”

 “Well...when I was sixteen, my dad died in an accident. I didn’t have a mom. I felt kind of alone then.” It was a lie. She had the Kerrigans, though she was still shot through with pain and grief. Emma was trying to understand what this girl might be up against.

 “Did you have a sister?” she asked.

 “Ah...I had a stepsister. And a stepmother. It was a dark period.” She cleared her throat. “Do you have a sister?”

 “No. They figured out after me that there couldn’t be more kids,” she said. “My mother is dead. And I have a stepmother. I hear she’s wonderful.”

 “Oh? You don’t sound like you believe it.”

 “I guess,” she said. “My stepmother says this family is getting back in the groove.” She laughed. “How’m I doing getting back in the groove so far?”

 Emma bit her lower lip. She knew nothing about this sort of thing. She’d never even been to a counselor before Lucinda. June and Riley were the nearest things to counselors she’d ever had.

 But she’d had a stepmother. “Do you like your stepmother?” she asked.

 “I want to. She’s a good person. But I try and I can’t.”

 “Why?”

 “Really? Really, why?”

 “Only if you want to say,” Emma said. “You can talk about something else if you—”

 “She wears my mother’s clothes.”

 Emma felt her stomach cramp and her throat closed. She couldn’t speak. No one was that insensitive. No one. Not the stupidest person. Even Rosemary had been more subtle than that.

 “She asked if she could,” Bethany said. “We said yes. My dad and me. But my mother’s dead and she’s wearing her clothes.”

 “What did that counselor say?” Emma asked.