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short-term affair either—right, Fred?”
    Hearing his name, the dog sat up in a way that for any other dog might be considered majestic. On Fred, it emphasized the fact that his head seemed to belong to a breed completely unrelated to the rest of his body.
    Suddenly inspired, Fred jumped out of the pool and shook himself all over Hunt.
    Hunt brushed the water off his pants. “This affair could be shorter than you think. I wouldn’t say he’s exactly ingratiating himself.” He bent down to grab theleash lying on the flagstones and reached for the dog’s webbed canvas collar. Not quickly enough, though.
    Fred was off and running again, this time through a stand of hibiscus.
    Hunt stared gloomily at the leash hanging limply in his hand. “So what do I have to do to join this class?”
    â€œNothing…well…practically nothing. Your mother has already enrolled you. All you need to do is show up tomorrow night, with a bathing suit and towel. How hard can that be?”
    Hunt sighed as Fred moved on from rummaging through the hibiscus to trampling the fragile pale pink flowers of fall-blooming cyclamen. “Tell me, do you think Mother has any pâté in the house?”
    â€œWhy? Are you feeling peckish?” Ben asked.
    â€œNo, I’m looking for something to bribe the dog with to get him to come. And knowing Mother, she won’t have anything as mundane as liverwurst.”
    Ben laughed. “I’m sure there must be some imported Brie.” Then he glanced down at his watch. “I’d stay and help, but I’m already late for picking up Matt from school. The only thing worse than seeing your mother angry is seeing my teenage son pissed off.”
    â€œAnd you call yourself a friend?” Hunt teased. “Oh, all right, far be it from me to cause any family disharmony. And just to show you how cooperative I can be, I’ll make nice with Mother and attend this water-whatever class.”
    â€œLight Water Aerobics.” Ben sidestepped to the gate. He rested his hand on the latch. “Hunt, one more thing…”
    Hunt was busy weaving and bobbing, trying to out-maneuver the dog. Fred let him come to just beyondarm’s length. Hunt lunged. Fred scampered away. Hunt swore.
    â€œHunt?” Ben said again.
    â€œI know, I know, tomorrow night. Seven-thirty. I’ll be there.”
    Ben paused. “Do you want me to leave the course listing?”
    Hunt waved him off. “Don’t bother. I think you pretty much hit the highlights.”
    â€œIf you say so,” Ben agreed. He left quickly—Hunt couldn’t help thinking—curiously relieved.

CHAPTER THREE
    W EDNESDAYS WERE ALWAYS a bitch as far as Sarah was concerned. She closed her eyes and rubbed her lower back. This particular Wednesday was proving to be beyond bitchy.
    She turned her head and eyed the seventy-year-old woman next to her who was adjusting the plunging neckline of her bathing suit. For someone her age, she looked fantastic. Okay, she had the usual upper arm waddle and her thighs, while toned, showed signs of cellulite. But, hey, Sarah wouldn’t mind having that body at that age. Even half her age for that matter.
    Sarah looked down at her swollen belly with its spidery stretch marks. “Wanda, do you really think a bikini is the way to go?” Thirty weeks along in her pregnancy, she was exhibiting all the expected signs, like clockwork.
    Talk about stretch marks. Besides her belly, pink and purple lines now etched her breasts and inner thighs. Lovely. Then there was her belly button, which had gone from being an innie to a full-blown outie.
    All those women who positively glowed in pregnancy? Not Sarah. Her cheeks might be flushed, but pimples had a way of erupting daily on her chin and the tip of her nose. She had found this incredibly expensive“nighttime eruption solution” that seemed to help. A little.
    Sarah rubbed her swollen