"Training wheels," Sunny trumpeted. "They add structure. They help when the mom can't be there to hold on."

Pam smirked. "You can't keep training wheels on forever."

"I know that, Pam. We're talking metaphorically. I've built training wheels into my kids' lives. Our home has structure. They know where snacks are when they come in from school. There's a chalkboard by the kitchen phone for messages. We have dinner at seven, and we start with grace. These are comforting things, things to fall back on. I am there for them."

"You're not there," Pam argued. "You're at work."

"Right down the street, a two-minute drive, one phone call away. And what about you? You're not sitting around the house all day. Does Abby know where you are every second?"

"No, but she can always reach me."

"But you don't work. Do you think that's good for Abby to see? I mean, what if she marries someone who isn't as rich as Tanner? What if she needs to work? She'll have no role model."

Pam smiled a little snidely. "But she's seen you all. She'll do fine. Besides, I'm on the school board. And I raise money for charity. Being civic-minded is important, too."

Sunny's face reddened. "You agree with George Abbott. You think women who work aren't as good mothers as women who don't."

"I never said that."

"Come on, guys," Susan cut in. "Don't fight."

"It isn't a fight," Pam insisted. "It's a discussion. I may not have a career like you all, and I am constantly made to feel guilty about that, but I am there every day when my child gets home from school."

"And that makes you a good mother?" Sunny asked in dismay. "You do agree with George."

"Sunny," Susan breathed, frustrated.

But Pam put a hand on her arm. "It's okay. If she wants to attack me, she can. Deep in her heart she knows." She gathered her things.

"Knows what?" Sunny cried.

"That training wheels are rigid," Pam said as she stood and picked up her coat. "Kids rebel against rigidity. I keep a good house, Sunny. I take care of my daughter. So maybe we have dinner at six one night and seven another, and maybe I'm in Portland when Abby gets an asthma attack, but I'm back in an hour. Don't confuse scaffolding with love." She had her coat on.

"Don't leave," Susan cried.

"Are you saying I don't love my children?" Sunny asked.

"I'm not helping," Pam told Susan. "You three have more to discuss than I do."

"Oh, really?" Sunny cried.

"But you're part of this," Kate told Pam.

"Am I? I'll call you, Susan," she said as she set off.

With a frightened look at the others, Susan ran after her. "Wait, Pam. I'm sorry if Sunny offended you. We're all supersensitive right now."

"And I'm not?" Pam asked without stopping. "Honestly? I have a stake here. My reputation's on the line. I've become known in the family for PC Wool, and now my brother-in-law may dump it from the catalogue."

"Were his kids perfect?" All three were grown, but the stories lingered. "His daughter got divorced eleven months after a huge white wedding. Does he ever blame himself or his wife?"

"Of course not. Corey was a difficult child all along."

Susan had a sudden thought. "She's the one who got the abortion?"

Pam stopped with one hand on the door. "Where did you hear that?"

"It doesn't matter. But if it's true, shouldn't Cliff be a little more compassionate?"

"Cliff is a Perry," Pam said with a sigh. "I have to go."

Susan let her leave. Only after watching the Range Rover head out of the lot, did she return to the others.

"She is impossible," Sunny cried as soon as she was within earshot.

"So were you," Susan said. "Ease up, Sunny. This is hard on all of us, but if we don't try to understand what the other is feeling, we're lost."

"She basically said I didn't love my children."

"No. She simply said she loved hers. She was defending herself."

"As well she should. Did I tell her how involved her own daughter really was? That would have been the honest thing to do, but I kept my mouth shut. That took restraint."

"She'll find out about Abby," Susan said, pouring herself coffee. "Abby will tell her."

"When? Five years from now? A lot of good it'll do then. Pam Perry needs to be taken down a peg now. She needs to make sure that PC Wool stays alive."

Susan returned to the table. "Exactly, which is why fighting doesn't help. Pam's heart's in the right place. That was the whole point about ratcheting up our coverage in the catalogue. She wants this to work."

"And I don't?" Sunny asked. "PC Wool is a growing part of the department I manage. If something happens to it, my department sees a loss."

Kate waved a hand. "Whoa. This is my entire livelihood. If something happens to PC Wool, I'm out of work! Susan's right. You have to ease up, Sunny. We need Pam on our side."

Sunny stared at her, then rose and grabbed her coat. "Pam's right. You don't need me here."

"Sunny-"

"Oh please-"

"No, no," Sunny insisted, pushing her arms into the sleeves. "I'm better off at home imposing rigid rules on my family. She wouldn't have said any of that if she'd grown up the way I did. We were on our own-no rules at all-parents who totally resisted them." She finished buttoning her coat. "I do believe in structure. Children need to know what their parents expect. And still sometimes they break the rules. I'm trying to cope."

"You have to listen," Susan said. "My parents wouldn't. That's what I was trying to say Thursday night. My way or the highway-that was my dad's credo, and look where it got us."

But Sunny was past hearing. "My daughter and I aren't talking, my husband and I aren't talking, and I'm trying to hold things together. I'm just doing my best. Isn't that what a good mother does?"

"Yes," Susan cried, but Sunny kept going, and Susan didn't follow this time. She was too discouraged. Turning back to Kate, she waited only until the front door closed, then echoed Sunny's words. "I'm just doing my best. Aren't we all?"

Was her best enough? Susan used to think so-used to believe she had done the best job in the world with Lily. Now, with critics all around, she was second-guessing herself.

She thought she was a good principal. In her mind, openness set the right tone. But maybe she should be more punitive in her approach.

She thought she was a good friend, but she had let Pam, then Sunny, walk out the door. Maybe she should have been more insistent that they stay and work things out.

Hell, she didn't even know if the last two colors she and Kate had formulated were any good-and now Pam and Sunny were angry, the catalogue issue was unresolved, and the survival of PC Wool itself was in doubt.

And finally, here was Lily, home at six on Saturday evening, joining Susan in the den to complain of heartburn-a perfect opportunity for Susan to coddle her daughter, who might, just might not have bargained for what she got. But the best Susan could do was to offer to reheat pizza left over from dinner earlier that week.

Lily's sigh said it all. Dismally, the girl looked out the front window-then ducked and croaked, "Omigod. Robbie and his parents. Omigod."

Susan froze. "Here? Now?"

"Coming up our walk," the girl whispered as the bell rang. "Don't answer. Do not answer."

Susan didn't want to. She wasn't any more ready for a confrontation than Lily, but what choice did she have? "They must have been waiting for you to get home. They know we're here. The car's in the driveway and the lights are on." Besides, hiding would only postpone the inevitable. Robbie must have said something to his parents.

Bracing herself for yet more flagellation, she opened the door. Bill and Annette Boone stood there, with Robbie slightly behind. The boy looked nervous and his parents awkward, maybe even guilty. It occurred to her that they didn't know who had seduced whom.

"I think we need to talk," said Bill.

Stepping back, Susan gestured them inside. Lily was leaning against the archway to the den, hands in her pockets, arms pressed to her sides as if to contain her panic. She was barely looked at by the senior Boones when Susan shepherded them to the couch. Taking his cue from Lily, Robbie stood against the opposite arch.

"Would you like something to drink?" Susan asked his parents.

"I'd take a double scotch straight up if I thought it would help," Bill said.

His wife looked at him. "Is this amusing?" Then at Robbie. "Is anything about this amusing?"

Bill cleared his throat and addressed Susan. "Our son tells us he's the father of Lily's baby. I take it you figured that's why we're here, so she must have told you, but we'd like to hear it from her."

All eyes turned on Lily, who looked cornered.

Say it, Susan instructed silently. They have a right to hear it. You cannot lie.

After what seemed an eternity, the girl nodded.

"How can we know for sure?" Annette asked.

"You can't," replied Lily in low voice.

"She certainly can," Susan argued. She didn't like Annette's tone, but Lily's wasn't much better. "When I asked the same question," she told the Boones, "my daughter was offended. She told me she would know, because she's only been with one boy in her life. I believe her."

"If she was my daughter, I'd believe her, too. That doesn't mean it's so."

"Mom. It is," Robbie said.

His father held up a hand and said softly, "Please, Annette. We agreed we would do this. I know you want proof, but we can't do a paternity test until after the baby is born, and in the meanwhile, there's a good chance this young girl is carrying our grandchild." He looked at Susan again. "We're prepared to help."