Clay had a little trouble finding Jeff and Madeline’s house in Brentwood. He had never been there before. The house had been a wedding present from Madeline’s father, who ran a real estate business.

But at last, with the help of a Thomas’s Guide he bought at a convenience store, Clay drove his rental car onto the right street and parked in front of an attractive Spanish-style house with a big magnolia tree in the middle of its graciously sloping front lawn.

Clay knew he couldn’t afford to hesitate, or he just might turn the car around and head back the way he’d come. The moment he turned off the engine, he got out of the car and strode up the curving brick walk that led to the front door.

The door had a little window on top, with miniature wrought-iron bars over it. A few moments after Clay rang the bell, a woman’s face appeared behind the bars. Clay didn’t recognize her.

“Yes?” Her voice crackled from the little speaker to the right of the door.

“Is this the Kirkland residence?”

“Yes.”

Clay realized this must be a housekeeper or a maid. “I’d like to speak with Jeff—or Madeline. I’m Clay. Clay Barrett.”

“Just a minute. You wait, please.”

The woman disappeared. Clay waited, calculating the days since the wedding. He wondered if Jeff and Madeline were still in the Bahamas.

He was just beginning to believe he’d flown all the way to L.A. for nothing when he saw Madeline’s face through the little barred window.

Her gray eyes lit up. “Clay!” He heard her disengage the locks and then she threw back the door and grabbed him in a hug. “What a surprise!” Her delighted laughter chimed in his ear. “This is great. Just terrific.”

She straightened her arms and held him away from her. “Jeff’s upstairs. Come on in.” She pulled him through a small foyer into a big room with a fireplace and glass doors that led out to a shaded patio. Couches, tables and bookcases were stacked every which way and there were packing boxes everywhere.

“Don’t mind the mess,” she instructed. “We just got back. It was heaven. Heaven, I’m telling you. But now it’s move-in time. From heaven straight to hell.” She cast a glance at the ceiling and put a hand to the side of her face, as if she was afraid her head might roll off. Then she laughed again.

Clay looked at her, slim and pretty in jeans and a simple cotton shirt. Happiness shone from her, turned her prettiness very close to beauty. He’d known her almost as long as he’d known Jeff, since that first year of college, when Jeff had taken Clay to a party at one of the huge, estatelike houses in the neighborhood where Jeff had grown up. Madeline had been at that party, bright and friendly and so in love with Jeff that it was almost painful to see.

Clay learned soon enough what the story was. Madeline’s and Jeff’s mothers were best friends. Their fathers were partners in a successful real estate business. As babies, Madeline and Jeff had shared the same playpen. They’d played together as kids and gone steady in high school. All Madeline wanted was to be with Jeff. But Jeff said he had some serious living to do before he was going to be ready to even think about settling down.

Three years ago, both Jeff’s parents had died of different illnesses just a few months apart. Madeline had comforted him. They’d moved in together. Jeff had taken his rightful place in the real estate firm.

Jeff and Madeline had finally become engaged a few months before Clay moved back to northern California. The wedding had been planned for New Year’s Eve.

And a week before Christmas, Jeff had shown up on Clay’s doorstep.

“Hey, bud. Can you spare me a bed for a week or two? I need a little space.”

Clay had known instantly what was going on. His best friend was suffering from a serious case of cold feet. “What about the wedding?”

Jeff shook his head. “There isn’t going to be one. I called it off.”

Clay tried not to be judgmental. Being judgmental with Jeff never did any good, anyway. But he couldn’t help pointing out, “You’re making a big mistake, my friend. Madeline’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”

Jeff’s square jaw hardened. “Can I stay or not?”

Clay had stepped back to let him in.

“Clay? Yoo-hoo, anybody in there?” Madeline’s wide smile was wobbling a little.

Clay blinked. “Oh. Sorry. Just thinking.”

“Is this something serious, then?” The smile had faded completely now, to be replaced by an uneasy frown.

“What?”

“The reason you’re here.”

“No,” he baldly lied. “Not at all. Not serious at all. I was… I had to see an old client in Century City. Tax time coming up, you know?”

“Oh. I see.” It was obvious she didn’t.

“I just thought I’d drop in, on the off chance you two might be around.”

She smiled again. “Well. I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah.” It was Jeff’s voice. “Always glad to see a friend.”

Clay looked up. Jeff was leaning against an arch that led to a hallway. He wore the bottom half of a pair of cotton pajamas and his muscular arms were crossed over his bare chest. His pose was relaxed. But Clay didn’t miss the watchfulness in his eyes.

“There you are, lazybones.” Madeline wrinkled her nose at him. “Clay’s here.”

“I can see that.”

Clay remembered his objective. He had to get Jeff alone. “Had lunch yet?”

Madeline chuckled. “Oh, please. He hasn’t had breakfast yet. As a matter of fact, I was just going to see if I could find some eggs and a frying pan in my disaster of a kitchen. Any takers?”

Both Clay and Jeff were silent, looking at each other.

Madeline glanced from one to the other and back again. “Hey, I swear it won’t take long. I’ll get Marina to help me.”

Jeff shrugged. “Naw. Let’s go out.” His voice was offhand. His eyes were not. He looked down at his pajama bottoms and the bare feet sticking out of them. “I’ll get decent.”

Clay valiantly cast about for a way to convince Madeline to stay behind without making her suspicious about this visit all over again.

Madeline did it for him. “Listen. I adore you both and there’s nothing I’d like better than a long, leisurely lunch with the two of you. But look at this place. I’ve got to get going on it.” She gave Clay a soulful look. “Please understand.”

Clay tried to look regretful, though what he actually felt was relief. “All right. I’ll forgive you. Just this once.”

Ten minutes later, Clay and Jeff sat in Clay’s rental car. Jeff suggested a place he knew out in Santa Monica. Clay drove in silence, dealing with the traffic and trying to think how he was going to phrase what he had to say.

When they were almost to the restaurant, Jeff spoke up. “I’m not really hungry.”

Clay glanced at his friend. “Me, neither.”

“Let’s go to the beach.”

They went on to where the highway met the ocean. Clay found a parking space easily. They walked down to the beach, where the winter wind had a bite to it in spite of the cloudless sky. Overhead, the gulls soared. A few hardy surfers and boogie-boarders tackled some rather puny waves.

Clay and Jeff sat down side by side, wrapped their arms loosely around their drawn-up knees and stared out at the waves.

Jeff said, “I was wondering when you’d show up.” His voice was flat, matter-of-fact.

Clay’s throat felt tight. “You were?”

Jeff shot Clay a look, then grunted. “Come on. You were bound to figure it out.” Jeff gave a humorless laugh. “I told your cousin that. But she still held on to her hopeless idea that you wouldn’t have to know.”

Clay found he couldn’t speak for a moment. Then he asked, “It’s true, then?”

Jeff looked down at the sand between his knees. “Yeah.”

Clay stared hard at the ocean as the truth came to him. It hurt. Bad. But just knowing wasn’t enough. The words had been too vague. It had to be said bluntly so there would never be any doubt concerning it.

Clay said, “You had sex with my cousin.”

Beside him, Jeff didn’t move. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Hell. Why? How do I know why? Because it was New Year’s Eve, the night I should have married Madeline. And I’d called Madeline. And she wouldn’t speak to me. Because I was confused and hurting and wanted to forget it all. Because your cousin was there, sweet and pretty and soft. We had too much champagne. And it happened. I know it’s hard for someone like you to understand, since control is more or less your middle name. But sometimes, for ordinary guys with weaknesses, things just get out of hand.”

“Things get out of hand.” Clay repeated Jeff’s words with great precision.

“Yes.”

For a moment, Clay said nothing. Then he swore low and feelingly. “You’re dead right about one thing. I don’t understand. You didn’t even think to use a condom, did you?”

“No. I didn’t. I was a jackass. Believe me. I realize that.”

“You were my friend. Staying in my house.”

“I know.”

“You spent the night with my cousin—because she was there, and then you came back here to L.A. and you patched things up with Madeline. You married Madeline, even though Andie had called you and told you she was going to have a baby. I was at your wedding. I was your best man. And you never said a damn word.”

“Guilty. On all counts.”

Clay couldn’t bear to look at Jeff, couldn’t seem to get his mind around the enormity of Jeff’s betrayal. He wanted to hurt Jeff right then. He wanted to do him great bodily harm. At the same time, scenes from their ten-year friendship kept playing in his head.

Though Jeff was silent beside him, it seemed to Clay that he could hear his friend’s reckless laughter as Jeff burst into Clay’s room at the dorm back in college and dragged him off to a beach party or an impromptu baseball game somewhere.

More than once, Jeff had shaken Clay awake at midnight, demanding he throw on some clothes and go with him to a cantina on Alvarado Street, where there was this little señorita who could play eight ball like no one you ever saw. Or he’d haul Clay over to some loft downtown, where he’d introduce him to a punk poet with spiked pink hair. They’d stay up all night, the poet reciting, Clay and Jeff listening, talking, laughing. Having fun.

And later, after college was over, when Clay was killing himself to learn the ropes on the audit staff of Stanley, Beeson and Means, Jeff would climb in the window of Clay’s apartment with a six-pack under one arm and five Clint Eastwood videos under the other. He’d refuse to go away until Clay drank half of the beer and watched, at the very least, A Fistful of Dollars.

Clay had come to L.A. to prove himself, to learn his trade from the best of the best. He had always intended to return home eventually and put what he’d learned to work in the business he would inherit from his father. But the long years of schooling and apprenticeship had been hard for him. He missed the mountains, missed his family.

Jeff, almost singlehandedly, had made life in L.A. bearable for Clay. Having a friend like Jeff made the drudgery endurable. Life in L.A. was okay.

Jeff was like Andie, Clay realized. Jeff was laughter and adventure and a hell of a lot of fun. But with Andie, Clay had always been outside looking in. With Jeff, it was different. There was no family rivalry with Jeff. There were only good feelings and good times.

And now Jeff had done this. The unforgivable. And the unforgivable had produced new life.

Clay pointed out carefully, “Andie says the baby won’t have your name.”

Jeff let out a low groan. “Look. Your cousin wants to raise the baby alone. She doesn’t want me to help her. And things are good now, with me and Madeline. I just don’t want to mess that up. Can’t you understand?”

“You’re saying you don’t want Madeline to know.”

“Right. It would break her heart.”

“You’d deny your own child, just so Madeline wouldn’t have to know?”

“Your cousin doesn’t want it to be my child.”

“That’s a feeble excuse. You know it. It is your child, no matter what Andie says.”

“If she’s willing to take full responsibility, then she and I are agreed. It’s the way it will be.”

“She might change her mind. Women have been known to do that.”

“I’ll deal with that if and when it happens.”

Clay thought of Andie, of the proud set to her chin and the absolute determination in her eyes when she’d said, “The man is out of my—our—lives. For good and all.”

“You know it’s not going to happen, don’t you?” Clay taunted. “You’ll never have to deal with it. Another woman might change her mind, but not Andie. She’s too proud. So you’re deserting her and your baby, that’s what you’re doing.”

“It’s how she wants it.”

“That doesn’t matter. You’re turning your back on your responsibility. You’re just walking away.”

Jeff grabbed a tiny shell from the sand and tossed it overhand, out toward the waves. Then turned his head and met Clay’s eyes. “You set such damn impossible standards. For yourself and everyone else. Well, I can’t live up to those standards. That’s all there is to it. What the hell else do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Clay said flatly, realizing it was true at the same time as he said it. “I want you out of my life. And my cousin’s life. I never want to see or hear from you again. As far as I’m concerned, you’re dead.”

Clay watched the emotions chase themselves across Jeff’s face. Pain. Anger. Sadness. Relief.

Clay turned the knife. “Look. If you don’t want Madeline to know, it’s the best way.”

“I know that, damn you.” Jeff stood. He held a hand down to Clay.

Clay stared up at him, not moving. “Well?”

Jeff stuck his hand in his pocket. Overhead, the gulls wheeled. One cried out, a long, lonely sound.

“All right, bud.” A faraway smile curved Jeff’s mouth. “I’m dead.”

Clay got to his feet unaided. The two men stood, one brown haired, one blond, both tall and well built, facing each other on the sand.

Jeff’s distant smile turned knowing. “You ain’t really all that civilized, are you now, bud?”

Clay shrugged, though the violence within him seemed to make the air shimmer in front of his eyes.

“I’ll make it easy for you,” Jeff said. Then his fist shot out and connected with Clay’s jaw.