Private Scandals

town, stuck at a meeting. Looks like I won’t make it either.”
    “I’ll cancel, then. We’ll eat later.” She glanced up at Cassie as the woman slipped the signed correspondence from Deanna’s desk. “Cassie, cancel my seven o’clock, will you?”
    “All right. Is there anything else you need before I go? You know I can stay to go over those tapes with you.”
    “No, thanks. See you tomorrow. Finn?”
    “Still here.”
    “I’ve got some tapes I need to review. Why don’t you swing by here and pick me up on the way home? I’ll cancel my driver.”
    “Looks like it’ll be about eight, maybe later.”
    “Later’s better. I’ll need at least three hours to finish here. I get more done when everyone’s gone home anyway. I’ll raid Fran’s food stash and burrow in until I hear from you.”
    “If I can’t make it, I’ll let you know.”
    “I’ll be here. ’Bye.”
    Deanna replaced the receiver, then swiveled in her chair to face the window. The sun was already setting, dimming the sky, making the skyline gloomy. She could see lights blinking on, pinpoints against the encroaching dusk.
    She imagined buildings emptying out, the freeway filling. At home, people would be switching on the evening news and thinking about dinner.
    If she married Finn, they would go home. To their home, not his, not hers.
    If she married Finn . . . Deanna toyed with the bracelet she always wore, as much a talisman to her as the cross Finn wore was to him. She would be making a promise of forever if she married him.
    She believed in keeping promises.
    They would begin to plan a family.
    She believed, deeply, in family.
    And she would have to find ways, good, solid, clever ways to make it all work. To make all the elements balance.
    That was what stopped her.
    No matter how often she tried to stop and reason everything out, or how often she struggled to list her prioritiesand plan of attack, she skittered back like a spooked doe.
    She wasn’t sure she could make it work.
    There wasn’t any hurry, she reminded herself. And right now her priority had to be managing that next rung on the ladder.
    She glanced at her watch, calculating the time she needed against the time she had. Long enough, she thought, to let herself relax briefly before getting back to work.
    Trying one of the stress-reduction techniques she’d learned from a guest on her show, she shut her eyes, drawing long, easy breaths. She was supposed to imagine a door, closed and blank. When she was ready, she was to open that door and step into a scene she found relaxing, peaceful, pleasant.
    As always, she opened the door quickly, too quickly, impatient to see what was on the other side.
    The porch of Finn’s cabin. Spring. Butterflies flitted around the blooming herbs and flowering ground cover of his rock garden. She could hear the sleepy droning of bees hovering around the salmon-colored azalea she had helped him plant. The sky was a clear, dazzling blue so perfect for dreams.
    She sighed, beautifully content. There was music, all strings. A flood of weeping violins flowing through the open windows behind her.
    Then she was lying on that soft, blooming lawn, lifting her arms to Finn. The sun haloed around his hair, casting shadows over his face, deepening his eyes until they were so blue she might have drowned in them. Wanted to. And he was in her arms, his body warm and hard, his mouth sure and clever. She could feel her body tighten with need, her skin hum with it. They were moving together, slowly, fluidly, as graceful as dancers, with the blue bowl of the sky above them and the drone of bees throbbing like a pulse.
    She heard her name, a whisper twining through the music of the dream. And she smiled and opened her eyes to look at him.
    But it wasn’t Finn. Clouds had crept over the sun, darkening the sky to ink so that she couldn’t see his face. But itwasn’t Finn. Even as her body recoiled, he said her name again.
    “I’m thinking of you. Always.”
    She jerked awake, skin clammy, heart thumping. In automatic defense, she wrapped her arms tight around herself to ward off a sudden, violent chill. The hell with meditation, she thought, struggling to shake off the last vestige of the dream. She’d take work-related stress any day. She tried to laugh at herself, but the sound came out more like a sob.
    Just groggy, she thought. A little groggy from an unscheduled catnap. But her eyes widened as she stared at her watch. She’d been asleep for