Lightning

Alex Parker had a family …

a career …

a life …

until she was struck by …LIGHTNINGA novel of courage and triumph

PRAISE FOR

DANIELLE STEEL“STEEL IS ONE OF THE BEST!”—Los Angeles Times“THE PLOTS OF DANIELLE STEEL'S NOVELS TWIST AND WEAVE AS INCREDIBLE STORIES UNFOLD TO THE GLEE AND DELIGHT OF HER ENORMOUS READING PUBLIC.”—United Press International“Ms. Steel's fans won't be disappointed!”—The New York Times Book Review“Steel writes convincingly about universal human emotions.”—Publishers Weekly“One of the world's most popular authors.”—The Baton Rouge Sun“FEW MODERN WRITERS CONVEY THE PATHOS OF FAMILY AND MARITAL LIFE WITH SUCH HEARTFELT EMPATHY.”—The Philadelphia Inquirera cognizant original v5 release october 26 2010

PRAISE FOR DANIELLE STEEL'S

LIGHTNING“UNFORGETTABLE …YOU CAN'T STOP READING.”—Baton Rouge-Advocate (La.)“High drama and unpredictable twists will keep readers in suspense until the end.”—Newport Beach Daily Pilot (Ca.)“Ms. Steel has a surprise in store for her readers, and the novel's last 70 pages are an emotional whirligig.”—The New York Times Book Review“Steel is in her element here, using high drama, pathos, and unpredictable plot developments that will keep fans in suspense until the end.”—BooklistA MAIN SELECTION OF THE LITERARY GUILD AND THE DOUBLEDAY BOOK CLUB

Books by Danielle Steel

SUNSET IN ST. TROPEZ NO GREATER LOVE THE COTTAGE HEARTBEAT THE KISS MESSAGE FROM NAM LONE EAGLE DADDY LEAP OF FAD STAR JOURNEY ZOYA THE HOUSE ON HOPE KALEIDOSCOPE STREET FINE THINGS THE WEDDING WANDERLUST IRRESISTIBLE FORCES SECRETS GRANNY DAN FAMILY ALBUM BITTERSWEET FULL CIRCLE MIRROR IMAGE CHANGES HIS BRIGHT LIGHT:

THE STORY OF NICK TRAINE THURSTON HOUSE THE KLONE AND I CROSSINGS THE LONG ROAD HOME ONCE IN A LIFEME THE GHOST A PERFECT STRANGER SPECIAL DELIVERY REMEMBRANCE THE RANCH PALOMINO SILENT HONOR LOVE: POEMS MALICE THE RING FIVE DAYS IN PARIS LOVING LIGHTNING TO LOVE AGAIN WINGS SUMMER'S END THE GIFT SEASON OF PASSION ACCIDENT THE PROMISE VANISHED NOW AND FOREVER MIXED BLESSINGS PASSION'S PROMISE JEWELS GOING HOME Visit the Danielle Steel Web site at:

www.daniellesteel.comDELL PUBLISHING

To Popeye,

My first real love,

May life smile on you and

bless you forever.

With all my love,

Olive

Chapter 1

The voices droned around the conference room as Alexandra Parker stretched long legs beneath the huge mahogany table. She jotted a note on a yellow legal pad, and glanced across the table briefly at one of her partners. Matthew Billings was older than Alex by a dozen years, he was in his mid-fifties, and one of the firm's most respected partners. He rarely asked for help from anyone, but it was not unusual for him to ask Alex to sit in on a deposition. He liked to pick her brain, admired her style, her sharp eye for the opponent's fatal weakness. And Alex was merciless and brilliant once she found it. She seemed to have an instinctive sense for where the point of the dagger would do the most damage.

She smiled at him now, and he liked what he saw in her eyes. She had heard just what they needed. A different answer from the time before. The very merest inflection. She slipped him a note on her yellow pad, and with a serious frown, he nodded.

The case was an extraordinarily complicated one, and had already been in process for years. It had been to the New York Supreme Court twice, with various motions, and involved the careless dispersal of highly toxic chemical pollutants by one of the most important corporations in the country. Alex had sat in on these depositions for Matt before. And she was always glad that this particular case wasn't her problem. The suit was being brought collectively by some two hundred families in Poughkeepsie, and represented millions of dollars. The case had been referred to Bartlett and Paskin years before, just after she had become a partner.

She liked her cases tougher, shorter, and smaller. Two hundred plaintiffs were not her cup of tea, although more than a dozen attorneys had worked on it, under Matthew's direction. Alexandra Parker was a litigation attorney too, and she handled an interesting assortment of difficult cases. She was the firm's first choice when the fight was going to be hard and dirty, and you needed an attorney who knew case law and was willing to spend a million hours doing meticulous research. She had associates and younger partners to help her of course, but Alex wanted to do as much of the work as she could herself, and she had a remarkable rapport with most of her clients.

Her real forte was labor law and libel. And she did a fair amount of litigation in both fields, though certainly, a lot of cases were settled. But Alex Parker was a fighter, a lawyer's lawyer, someone who knew her stuff and wasn't afraid of hard work. In fact, she loved it.

They broke from the deposition for a recess, and Matthew came around the table to talk to her after the defendant from the chemical company left the room with all his attorneys.

“So what do you think?” Matthew eyed her with interest. He had always had a soft spot for her. She had a fine mind and great skill as an attorney. Besides which, she was one of the best-looking women he knew, and he liked just being around her. She was solid, she was smart, she knew the law, and she had great intuition.

“I think you just got what you wanted, Matt. When he said that no one knew back then of the possible toxic effects of their materials, he was lying. That's the first time they've come right out and said it. We have the government reports from six months before that.”

“I know.” He beamed. “He walked right into it, didn't he?”

“He sure did. You don't need me here. You've got him.” She dropped her legal pad into her briefcase, and glanced at her watch. It was eleven-thirty. They'd break for lunch in another half hour. But if she left now, she could get a little more work done.

“Thanks for coming in. It's always nice having you around. You look so innocent, you throw them off-guard. While he's staring at your legs, I can throw the net over him and grab him.” He liked teasing her and she knew it. Matthew Billings was tall and attractive, with a full head of white hair, and a beautiful French wife who had been a fashion model in Paris. Matthew Billings liked pretty women, but he also respected talented and smart ones.

“Thanks a lot.” She looked ruefully at him, her red hair pulled back in a severe bun, her face so lightly made up you could hardly see it, and her black suit in sharp contrast to the vivid natural colors of her red hair and green eyes. She was a striking woman. “Just what I went to law school for, to become a decoy.”

“Hell, if it works, go for it.” He laughed, teasing her again, as one of the defense attorneys drifted back into the room, and they lowered their voices.

“Do you mind if I leave now?” she asked Matt politely. He was, after all, one of the senior partners. “I've got a new client coming in at one, and I've got a few dozen cases to cast an eye on.”

“That's the trouble with you,” he pretended to frown at her, “you don't work hard enough. I've always said that about you. Just plain lazy. Go on, go back to work. You've served your purpose here.” His eyes twinkled at her then. “Thanks, Alex.”

“I'll have my notes typed up and sent to your office later,” she said seriously before she left. And he knew that, as always, her careful, intelligent notes would be delivered to his office by the time he got back there. Alex Parker was a remarkable lawyer. She was efficient, intelligent, capable, wily in just the right ways, and beautiful in the bargain, not that she seemed to care about her looks particularly, or notice the attention they brought her. She seemed to be completely unaware of herself, and most people liked that about her.

She left the room quietly, with a brief wave at him, as the defendants came back into the room, and one of the attorneys glanced admiringly at her retreating figure. Unaware of it, Alex Parker hurried down the hall, and down several corridors to her office.

Her office was large and well decorated in quiet grays, with two handsome paintings on the wall, a few photographs, a large plant, some comfortable gray leather furniture, and a splendid view up Park Avenue from the twenty-ninth floor where Bartlett and Paskin had their offices. They occupied eight floors, and employed some two hundred attorneys. It was smaller than the firm where she'd worked before, on Wall Street, when she'd first graduated from law school, but she'd liked this a lot better. She'd worked with the antitrust team there, and she'd never really liked it. It was too dry, although it taught her to pay attention to details and do thorough research.

She glanced through half a dozen messages when she sat down, two from clients, and four from other attorneys. She had three cases ready to go to trial, and six more she was developing. Two major cases had just settled. It was a staggering workload, but it wasn't unusual for her. She loved the pace and the pressure and the frenzy. That was what had kept her from having children for so long. She just couldn't imagine fitting children in, or loving them as much as she did her law work. She adored being a lawyer, and thoroughly enjoyed a good fight in the courtroom. She did defense work primarily, she enjoyed difficult cases, and it meant a great deal to her protecting people from frivolous lawsuits. She loved everything about what she did. And it had eaten most of her life up. There was never time for anything more than that, except Sam, her wonderful husband. But he worked just as hard as she did, not in law, but in investments. He was a venture capitalist, with one of the hottest young firms in New York. He had come into it right at the start, and the opportunities had been remarkable. He'd already made several fortunes, and lost some money too. Together, they made healthy salaries. But more than that, Sam Parker had a powerful reputation. He knew his stuff, took amazing risks, and for twenty years now, almost everything he touched turned to money. Big money. At one point, people had said he was the only man in town who could make fortunes for his clients with commodities. But he was smarter than that now. Sam was never afraid of a risk, and he rarely lost funds for his clients. He'd been deeply involved in the computer world for the past dozen years, had made huge investments in Japan, done well in Germany, and had major holdings for his clients in Silicon Valley. Everyone on Wall Street agreed, Sam Parker knew what he was doing.

And Alex had known what she was doing when she married Sam. She'd met him right after she graduated from law school. They'd actually met at a party given by her first law firm. It was Christmas, and he'd arrived with three friends, looking very tall and handsome in a dark blue suit, his black hair flecked with snow, his face bright from the frigid air outside. He'd been full of life, and when he stopped and looked at her, she felt weak in the knees as she watched him. She was twenty-five years old, and he was thirty-two, and he was one of the few men she'd met who wasn't married.

He tried to talk to her that night, but she'd been distracted by another attorney from the firm, and Sam had been called away by his friends to talk to someone they knew, and their paths hadn't crossed again, until six months later. Sam's firm had consulted hers on a deal they were trying to put together in California, and she'd been called in with two other associates to help a senior partner. She'd been fascinated by him then, he was so quick and so smart and so sure. It was hard to imagine Sam being afraid of anything, or anyone. He laughed easily, and he wasn't afraid to walk a tightrope of terrifying decisions. He seemed to be unafraid of any risk, although he was fully aware of the dangers. And it wasn't his clients' money he was willing to risk, it was the whole deal. He wanted it his way, or to walk away from the deal completely. At first, Alex thought him a brazen fool, but as the weeks went on, she began to understand what he was doing, and she liked it. He had integrity and style, and brains, and that rarest of all things, courage. Her first impression of him had been correct, he was afraid of nothing.

But he was intrigued by her too. He was fascinated by her intelligent, thoughtful analyses, her perception of a situation from three hundred and sixty degrees. She saw all sides and expressed the risks and the advantages brilliantly. Together, they had put together a most impressive package for his clients. The deal had been made, and the company had done brilliantly and been sold for an astronomical amount five years later. By the time Sam and Alex met, he had a reputation for being a young genius. But she was gaining a powerful reputation too, though she was building solidly and more slowly than Sam was.

Sam's business allowed for more glitter and dazzle, and he liked that about it. He thrived on the high life, and the enormous power of his high-flying clients. In fact, the first time he took Alex out, he borrowed one of his clients' private jets and took her to Los Angeles for the world series. They'd stayed at the Bel-Air, in separate rooms, and he'd taken her to Chasen's and L'Orangerie for dinner.

“Do you do this for everyone?” she had asked, amazed at all his little attentions. She was more than a little in awe of Sam. She'd had one serious relationship with a boy her own age at Yale, and nothing but a series of meaningless dates during her brutally hardworking years in law school. The relationship while she was at Yale had dissipated by her junior year, and he had long since gotten married. But Alex didn't have time for relationships. She wanted to work hard and be someone. She wanted to be the best lawyer in her law firm. And Sam's wild flash and dash didn't quite fit with that profile. She could see herself with attorneys like the ones in her firm, who had gone to Yale Law School, like her, or Harvard, sober, quiet guys, who spent a lifetime as partners of Wall Street law firms. In his own way, Sam Parker was a wild man, a cowboy. But he was great-looking, nice to her, and fun to be with. It was hard to remind herself that he wasn't really what she wanted. Who wouldn't want Sam? He was smart, gorgeous, and he had a terrific sense of humor. She would have had to be crazy not to want him.

They had driven to Malibu before they left L.A., and walked along the beach, talking about their families, and their lives, and their futures. Sam's experiences had been interesting, and very different from Alex's. He had said, almost casually, but with a tense look in his jaw, that his mother had died when he was fourteen, and he had been sent to boarding school, because his father didn't know what else to do with him. He had hated boarding school, detested the kids, and missed his parents. And while he was away at school, his father seemed to have drunk himself to death and spent the last of his money. He died when Sam was in his senior year, though Sam didn't tell Alex what he had died of. Sam had gone to college then on the small amount of money his grandparents had left him. His parents had left him nothing. He'd gone to Harvard and done well, and he didn't say anything to Alex about being lonely when he was in college. He made it sound like a great time, though thinking about it, she knew that it must have been rough for him to have no family at all by the time he was seventeen. But it didn't seem to have hurt him.

After Harvard undergraduate, he had eventually moved on to Harvard Business School, and had been totally enamored with venture capital. He'd found a job the minute he graduated, and in the eight years since he had made fortunes for several of his clients.

“And what about you?” she had asked quietly, watching his eyes as they walked along the beach at sunset. “There's more to life than venture capital and Wall Street.” She wanted to get to know him better. She had just had the most exciting weekend of her life, and she hadn't even slept with him. She wanted to know more about Sam Parker before they disappeared back to their own lives after they left California.

“Is there more to life than Wall Street?” he laughed, slipping an arm around her. “No one's ever told me. What is there, Alex?” He had stopped walking and looked down at her. He was enormously taken with her, even then, but a little bit afraid to show it. Her long red hair had been flying in the breeze, her green eyes looked deep into his and made him feel a stirring he had never felt before. In some ways, it scared him.

“What about people? Relationships?” She knew he had never been married, but she didn't know more than that. She assumed, just looking at him, and watching his easy style, that he must have had hundreds of girlfriends.

“No time for those,” Sam teased, as he pulled her a little closer and they continued walking. “I'm too busy.”

“And too important?” she asked pointedly, fearing that he might be conceited. He certainly had every reason to be, but so far she hadn't seen it.

“Who said that? I'm not important, I'm just having a good time.”

“Everyone knows who you are,” she said matter-of-factly, “even here. Los Angeles, New York …Silicon Valley, for sure …Tokyo …where else? Paris? London? Rome? It's a pretty big picture.”

“And not exactly a correct one. I work hard, that's all. So do you. No big deal.” He shrugged his shoulders and smiled down at her, but they both knew there was a lot more to it than he admitted.

“I don't fly to California in my clients' planes, Sam. My clients come to me by cab. If they're lucky. The rest of them come by subway.” She grinned and he laughed.

“Okay, so mine are luckier. Maybe I am too. Maybe I won't be lucky forever. Like my father.”

“Are you afraid of that happening to you too? Losing everything?” It was an intriguing side to him, and clearly a motivating factor.

“Maybe. But he was a fool … a nice fool …but a fool. I think it killed him when my mother died. He gave up. He lost his grip, he was like that when she was sick too. He loved her so much that he just couldn't handle it when she went. It killed him.” He had long since decided that he would never let that happen to him. He would never love anyone enough to let them pull him down with them.

“It must have been awful for you,” Alex said sympathetically, “you were so young.”

“You grow up fast when you're the only one you have,” he said soberly, and then he smiled sadly, “or maybe you never do. My friends say I'm still a kid. I think I like that. It keeps me from getting too serious. There's no point getting too serious in life. It's no fun when you start to do that.” But Alex was, she was serious about her work, and her life. She had lost her parents by then too, although less dramatically than Sam had. But in her case, it had sobered her, made her feel more responsible. She had to be more grown up, more alert about her career, more intense about her work. It was as though she felt obligated to live up to their expectations of her, even now that they were gone. Her father had been an attorney too, and he had been so happy when she'd gone to law school. And she wanted to be the best attorney she could now, for him, even though he wasn't there to see her do it.

They were both only children, they both had important careers, they both had a lot of friends, which for both of them replaced family in some ways, though Alex spent a lot of time with friends of her parents', and families of her friends from law school. Sam's friends were mostly bachelors, people he worked with, clients, or women he'd gone out with.

He had kissed Alex for the first time on their walk down the beach in Malibu, and he had slept most of the way back to New York, with his head on her shoulder. She had looked down at him pensively, thinking that he looked like a long, lanky boy as he lay there beside her, but she was also thinking how much she liked him. Too much probably. She wondered if she would ever hear from him again, if this was a beginning or an interlude for him. It was hard to tell with Sam, and he had admitted that there was a young off-Broadway actress he was currently going out with.

“How come you didn't take her to L.A.?” Alex had asked candidly, shy, but never afraid to ask important questions. It was too much a part of her makeup not to.

“She was busy,” he said honestly, “and I thought it would be more interesting to get to know you.” He hesitated and then turned to Alex with a smile that melted her heart in spite of her best efforts not to let it. “To tell you the truth, I didn't ask her. I knew she had rehearsals all weekend, and she hates baseball. And I really wanted to be with you.”

“Why?” Alex had no idea how beautiful she was when she asked him.

“You're the smartest girl I've ever met … I like talking to you. You're bright and you're exciting, and you're not exactly hard to look at.”

He had kissed her again when he dropped her off at her apartment, but there was no commitment in the kiss, no promise. It was quick and casual, and in a moment the cab was gone, and Alex felt strangely let down as she walked into her apartment with her suitcase. She had had a wonderful time, but she figured that he was in a hurry to get back to his off-Broadway girlfriend. It had been wonderful, but she knew it didn't mean anything. It was just another fun weekend in the life of Sam Parker. She didn't think there was much room in his life for Alex Andrews.

Until he sent her a dozen red roses at the office the next day, and called her that afternoon and asked her to dinner. Their romance began in earnest after that, and in spite of the heavy cases she had to prepare, she could hardly concentrate on her work during her four-month courtship with Sam.

He asked her to marry him on Valentine's Day, almost four months to the day of the first time he'd taken her out to dinner. She was twenty-six by then and Sam was thirty-three. They got married in June, in a small church in Southampton, with two dozen of their closest friends in attendance. Neither of them had families, but their friends provided the warmth and celebration to make it an extraordinary day. They had gone to Europe on their honeymoon, and stayed in hotels that Alex had only read of. They went to Paris and Monaco, and spent a romantic weekend in Saint-Tropez. Sam had a client who was dating a minor movie star there, so they had a fabulous time, and went to a party on a yacht and sailed to Italy and back by morning.

They went to San Remo, and then on to Tuscany, Venice, Florence, Rome, and then they had flown to stay with a client of his in Athens, and then to London for the last few days, where they went to Annabel's, and all of Sam's favorite restaurants and nightspots. They looked at antiques, and jewelry at Garrard's, and he bought her all kinds of fun clothes in Chelsea, though she said she had no idea where she'd wear them, surely not to the office. It was the perfect honeymoon, and they had never been happier than when they got back to New York, and she moved into his apartment. She'd been staying there anyway, but she had kept her own apartment until after the wedding.

She learned to cook for him, and he bought her expensive clothes, and a beautiful simple diamond necklace for her thirtieth birthday. He could have afforded to buy her a lot of things, but there was very little she wanted. She loved her life with him, their love and romance and friendship, their mutual respect, and passion for their work. He had asked her once about giving up her career, or at least putting it on hold to stay home and have kids, and she had looked at him as though he were crazy.

“What about not retiring, and having kids?” he had modified his previous offer. They had been married for six years by then, and he was thirty-nine years old, and once in a while he thought about having children. Most of the time, it would have cramped their style, but still, he thought it would be too bad if they never had them. But Alex had said she wasn't ready.

“I just can't imagine having anyone be that dependent on me, I mean all the time. I'd feel guilty working as hard as I do now, I'd never see the kids, and that's no way to bring up children.”

“Can you see yourself slowing down eventually, working less?” he asked. But he couldn't see her doing that, and neither could Alex.

“Honestly? No. I don't think you can be a part-time lawyer.” She'd seen other women try it, and they always drove themselves crazy. Eventually, they either came back to work full time, and felt guilty as hell toward their kids, or retired completely. And she didn't want to do that either.

“Are you saying you don't want children at all, ever?” It was the first time she had ever really thought about it, that seriously, and she wasn't ready to say that either. Their conclusion was “not now, maybe later.”

The subject came up again when she was thirty-five, and by then it seemed like everyone they knew had had children. They'd been married for nine years by then, and they were very comfortable with their life as it was. She was already at Bartlett and Paskin, she had made partner, and Sam was something of a legend. They flew to France every chance they got for holidays, and California at the drop of a hat for a weekend. Sam still had a lot of business in Tokyo, and quite a lot in the Arab states, and Alex found his life fascinating, but her career wasn't unimpressive either. And there just didn't seem to be room in either of their lives for a baby.

“I don't know, I feel so guilty about it sometimes …like it's unnatural of me … I don't know how to explain it to anyone, but it's just not for me, at least not now,” she concluded with him, and they put the subject away for another three years, until she was thirty-eight and he forty-five. An alarm had gone off on her biological clock, albeit briefly, and this time she brought the subject up to him, after another partner at the office had a baby, and this time she conceded it was just adorable, and her friend seemed to be handling both career and child well. It had made Alex think seriously, for the first time, about having children.

But this time, Sam could no longer imagine it. Their life was too set, too well regulated, and too easy without kids. After twelve years of marriage to her, he thought it was too late, and it would no longer enhance anything. He wanted her to himself now. He liked things just as they were, and she surprised herself at how easily she gave the idea up again. Obviously, it was just not meant to be. She had an enormous trial to handle right after that, and the subject of children in their lives went out of her head completely until four months later.

They were coming back from a trip to India, where she had never been before, and she was feeling seriously ill, and afraid she had caught some dread disease, when she went to her doctor. It was the first time she had felt really sick in years, and it scared her. But what he told her of her malady scared her even more. And that night, she looked at Sam and told him the news in bleak desperation. She was pregnant. She had really put it out of her head, this time permanently, after the last time the subject had come up, and so had he. And they looked at each other like two victims of the crash of ‘29 when she told him.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” she said miserably. It was the first time she'd ever been pregnant. And she now knew what she'd never been completely sure of before. She didn't want children.

“It's not cholera or malaria, or something like that?” A near fatal disease would have been more welcome news to either of them than a baby.

“He says I'm six weeks pregnant.” She had been late on the trip, but she'd thought it was from the extreme heat, or the malaria pills, or just the rigors of travel. And she had never looked as miserable in her life as she did now, staring unhappily at her husband. “I'm too old for this, Sam. I don't want to go through it. I just can't.” Her words surprised him too, but he was relieved to hear them. He didn't want the baby either.

“Do you want to do something about it?” he asked, startled by her adamant dislike of the situation. He had always suspected that she might want kids someday, and lately, he had begun to fear it.

“I don't think we should. It seems like such a spoiled rotten thing to do. It's not like we can't afford to have a baby … I just don't feel I have the time, or …not the energy,” she thought about it carefully, “but the interest. The last time we talked about it, I just figured that was it. The conversation was over. We're happy like this …and then, blam …we're pregnant.”

He grinned ruefully at her. “It's ironic, isn't it? We finally decide not to, and you get pregnant. Life certainly has its little curve balls.” It was one of his favorite expressions, but it was true. And this was a doozy. “So what do we do?”

“I don't know.” She cried when she thought about it. She didn't want an abortion, or a baby. And after two weeks of agonizing about it, they decided to go ahead and have the baby. Alex didn't feel that they had a choice, morally, and Sam agreed, and they tried to be philosophical about it, but they were anything but enthusiastic. Alex was depressed every time she thought about it, and Sam seemed to forget about it completely. And when they did discuss it, which was as seldom as possible, they sounded as though they were discussing a terminal illness. This was certainly not anything they looked forward to. It was something that had to be faced, but they were clearly dreading everything about it.

Exactly four weeks later, Alex came home from the office early one afternoon, throwing up uncontrollably, and with such acute pains in her abdomen that she was literally doubled over. The doorman helped her out of the cab, and carried her briefcase inside for her. He asked if she was all right, and she insisted that she was, although her face was the color of paper. She got upstairs in the elevator, and let herself into the apartment, and fortunately her cleaning lady was there, because half an hour later, Alex was hemorrhaging all over their bathroom and barely conscious. She had taken Alex to the hospital herself, and called Sam at his office, and by the time he got to Lenox Hill, Alex was already in the operating room. They had lost the baby.

They both expected it to be an enormous relief. The source of all their anguish was gone. But from the moment Alex woke up in a private room, crying miserably, they knew that it wasn't that easy. They were both consumed with guilt and grief, and everything she had never allowed herself to feel for their unborn child, she felt now, all the love and fear and shame and regret and longing she had never felt before. It was the worst experience of her life, and taught her something about herself she had never known or suspected. Maybe it had never even been there before, but it was there now. All she wanted, to fill the aching void the miscarriage had left, was to fill the void with another baby. And Sam felt it too. They both cried for their unborn child, and when Alex went back to work the following week, she was still feeling shaken.

They had gone away for a few days over a long weekend, and talked about it, and they both agreed. They weren't sure if it was a reaction, or real, but they knew that something major had changed. Suddenly, more than anything, they wanted a baby.

Sensibly, they decided to wait a few months, to see if the feelings stayed. But even that was impossible to do. Two months after the traumatic miscarriage, Alex sheepishly told Sam the news with barely concealed glee. She was pregnant.

And this time, unlike the first, it was a celebration. A cautious one, because there was always the possibility that she would lose this one too, or that she would never be able to carry a child to term. She was thirty-eight years old, after all, and she'd never had a baby. But her health was excellent, and her doctor assured them that there was no reason whatsoever to anticipate another problem.

“You know what? We're nuts,” she said, lying in bed one night, eating Oreo cookies, and getting crumbs all over their bed, but she claimed they were the only things that settled her stomach. “We are completely crazy. Four months ago, we were suicidal about having a kid, and now we lie here talking about names, and I keep reading articles in magazines in the doctor's office about what kind of mobiles to buy to put over the crib. Have I lost my marbles or what?”

“Maybe.” He smiled tenderly at her. “You're definitely harder to share a bed with. I had no idea that cookie crumbs would be part of the deal. Do you think you'll have this fixation for the whole time, or is this just a first trimester addiction?” She giggled at him, and they cuddled in bed. They made love more frequently than they had in years. They talked about the baby as though it were real, and already part of their lives. She had an amnio, and as soon as they knew it was a girl, they decided to call her Annabelle, after their favorite club in London, but it was a name that Alex had always loved, and it had good memories for them. This pregnancy was completely unlike the first one. It was as though they had learned an important lesson the first time, and felt as though they had been punished for their indifference and hostility to that baby. This time, there was no question of anything but unbridled excitement.

Alex's partners gave her a shower right after the New Year, and she left the office reluctantly that week, only two days before her due date. She had wanted to work right up until she went to the hospital, but it didn't make sense to continue working on cases she couldn't complete, so she left on schedule, and went home to wait for their little miracle, as they called her. Alex was afraid that she'd be bored, but found that she enjoyed setting up the nursery, and was surprised herself at how much time she spent folding little undershirts, and arranging diapers in neat stacks in the changing table. For a woman who struck fear into most lawyers' hearts when she entered a courtroom, she seemed to have changed in a single instant. She even worried sometimes that it might dull her skills when she went back, maybe she wouldn't be as tough, or as focused, but in spite of her concerns about that, all she could think of now was the baby. She could imagine holding it, feeding it, she wondered if she would have red hair like her own, or dark, dark hair like Sam's, blue eyes, or green. Like a long-awaited friend, she could hardly wait to see her.

They had arranged to have the baby in a birthing room at New York Hospital, Alex wanted everything to be natural. She was planning to savor every moment of the experience. At thirty-nine, she couldn't imagine doing this again, so she didn't want to take any of it for granted. Despite Sam's aversion to hospitals, he went to Lamaze classes with her, and was going to be at the delivery with her.

And she and Sam were having dinner at Elaine's three days after her due date, when her water broke, and they left quickly for the hospital, and were then sent home, until labor had started in earnest. They did everything their coaches had told them to do. She tried to sleep for a little while, then she walked, Sam rubbed her back, and it all seemed very pleasant and very easy. There was nothing difficult about this, nothing they couldn't handle, or she couldn't do. They lay in bed and talked, about how amazing it was that after thirteen years of marriage they had come to this, and Sam glanced at the clock, and tried to guess in how many hours they'd have their baby. They both fell asleep eventually, and when the contractions woke Alex again, she took a warm shower, as she'd been told to do, to see if labor would stop or get harder. She stood in the shower for half an hour, timing the pains, and then suddenly, with no warning, hard labor began for real. She could barely stand as she got out of the shower, and when she went to wake Sam, he was dead to the world, and she started to cry in panic as she shook him. He awoke finally, and gave a start when he saw the look on her face.

“Now?” he said, leaping out of bed, with his heart pounding, looking frantically for his trousers. He had left them on a chair, but suddenly in the dark, he couldn't find them, and Alex was doubled over in pain, gripping his arm, and crying.

“It's too late …I'm having it now …” she said, panicking, forgetting everything they'd told her. She was too old for this, it hurt too much, and she no longer wanted natural childbirth.

“Here? You're having it here?” He looked terrified as he stared at her, unable to believe it.

“I don't know … I … it … oh God, Sam …it's awful … I can't do this …”

“Yes, you can …we'll get you drugs at the hospital …don't worry about it … go put some clothes on.”

In the end, he'd had to help her dress and find her shoes, and he had never seen her as vulnerable, or in as much pain. The doorman had found them a cab instantly. It was four a.m., and she could hardly walk when they got her to the hospital. The doctor was already waiting for them there, and the labor nurses were well pleased with Alex's progress. She, on the other hand, was a lot less pleased with the process they referred to happily as “transition.” She sounded like someone Sam didn't even know as she shouted for drugs, and got hysterical with each contraction. But as labor progressed, she calmed down finally, and two hours after they'd gotten to the hospital, Alex was hard at work pushing out their baby. She'd had an epidural finally, and was calmer, as Sam held her shoulders and everyone in the room cheered her on. It seemed to take forever, but it was only half an hour before Annabelle's little face appeared. She had bright red hair, and she let out a huge yell, and then as though she'd surprised herself, she looked up at Sam, as tears coursed down her parents' cheeks. Annabelle just stared at Sam, as though she had been looking for him for a long time and had finally found him. She was introduced to her mother then, and Alex held her, overwhelmed by emotions she had never even dreamed of. She felt complete in a way she had heard people talk about, but never believed, and she couldn't even imagine what her life would have been like if she'd missed this experience. Within an hour, she was holding Annabelle as though she were an old hand at it, and happily nursing her baby. Sam took a thousand photographs of them, as he and Alex cried, unable to believe the blessing that had been bestowed on them, the miracle they had almost missed, and fortunately hadn't. They had been spared from their own stupidity, they felt, by a wiser Power who had showered them with good fortune.

Sam spent the first night in the hospital with them, and he and Alex spent most of it staring down at Annabelle, taking turns holding her, wrapping her and unwrapping her, changing her diapers and her nightgown, and Sam watched raptly as Alex nursed her. He thought it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and as they looked at her, they both agreed, what they wanted now was another baby. They couldn't believe that they had almost deprived themselves of this. And Sam could hardly believe that Alex was willing even to think about it so soon after the ordeal of labor, but she said it to him as they kissed over Annabelle sleeping soundly between them.

“I want to do this again.”

“You're not serious.” He looked stunned, but pleased. He had been thinking exactly the same thing. He would have loved a son, but another little girl would be fine too. Their little girl was so perfect and so beautiful. He kept touching her tiny toes, and Alex kept kissing her tiny fingers. They were completely enamored with their daughter.

It remained a passion with them once they got home, and Annabelle flourished in the unbridled adoration of her parents. Sam came home early as often as he could. And Alex went back to the office, with regret, when Annabelle was three months old. She tried to continue nursing her even after that, but it became impossible with the pressures of her schedule. What she did instead was come home for lunch as often as she could, and she made a promise to herself to leave promptly at five, whenever she wasn't in trial, and work at home at night after Annabelle went to bed. And on Fridays, she left at one o'clock, come hell or high water. It was a system that worked for them, and she was religious about coming home promptly whenever possible. And in exchange for their love and efforts, and their incessant appreciation of her, Annabelle adored her Mommy and Daddy. She was the light of their lives, and they were all that mattered to her. Carmen took care of her in the daytime, but Sam and Alex took care of her themselves the moment they got home from work, and Annabelle lived for that moment. She would squeal with excitement and delight whenever she saw them.

Carmen liked working for them. She was crazy about Annabelle, and they were nice people. She bragged a lot about Alex and Sam, about how important they were, and how hard they worked, and how successful. Sam was in the financial columns a lot. He had made a big splash early on, and had continued to make news frequently with record-making deals for important clients. And Alex had been on television more than once, with exceptionally newsworthy or landmark cases. Carmen loved that.

And there was no question in Alex's and Sam's minds that Annabelle was not only beautiful, but absolutely brilliant. She walked promptly at ten and a half months, spoke clearly shortly after that, and spoke in sentences long before it was expected.

“She's going to be a lawyer,” Alex always teased Sam, but neither of them could deny how incredibly she resembled her mother. She looked just like Alex, and even her mannerisms looked like a miniature version of her mother's.

In fact, the only disappointment to them was that their efforts to get pregnant again had been surprisingly unfruitful. They started when Annabelle was six months old, and had tried for a year after that. Alex was forty by then, and decided to go to a specialist to see if anything was wrong. But she and Sam had both checked out, and there was no problem with either of them. The doctor had just explained that, at her age, conception often took longer. At forty-one, they had put her on Serophene, a form of progesterone, to “improve” her ovulations, and for the past year and a half she had taken the drug that seemed to add more stress to her life than she already had. They were making love on schedule, using a kit to tell them exactly when her LH surge was, and when the optimum time was for conception. Alex had to add her urine to a series of chemicals, and when they turned blue, it was time for Sam to rush home from die office. They laughingly called it “blue day,” but there was no doubt that the pressure it put on them didn't make things any easier in lives that were already filled with stress and tension provided by their clients, and in Alex's case, her opponents.

It was not an easy time for them, but it was something they both agreed they wanted very badly. And it seemed funny to both of them that after so many years of emphatically not wanting children, they were now willing to go to any lengths to pursue having them. They had even talked about her taking Pergonal shots, which was a more extreme solution than the Serophene pills, with other side effects. And they also considered in vitro fertilization. They hadn't ruled out either of the more elaborate treatments. But at forty-two, she still felt she had a chance for conception without such heroic measures, particularly with the hormones she was currently taking. That in itself was already a big commitment, because taking them was anything but easy for her. She was one of those people who reacted severely to medication. But she felt it was worth it, because she and Sam both wanted another baby so badly. Annabelle had taught them many things, mainly how sweet life could be with the bond of a child between them, and how much they had missed in their years of childlessness. They both had impressive careers to show for it, but now she felt that they had missed something far more important.

Annabelle was three and a half years old by then, and Alex's and Sam's hearts melted every time they saw her. Her hair was a halo of coppery curls, her eyes were huge and green, just like her mother's, and her face was dusted with a thin veil of what Alex called “fairy dust,” which were her freckles.

There was a huge photograph of her, holding a shovel on the beach the summer before, in Quogue, as Alex sat at her desk and glanced up at it, with a quick grin. She glanced at her watch again. The deposition she'd sat in on had cost her the better part of her morning, and she had less than an hour now to go over some papers before she met with a new client.

She glanced up as Brock Stevens came in. He was one of the young associates in the firm, and he worked exclusively for her and one other attorney, doing research, and legwork, preparing cases for trial for her. He'd only been with Bartlett and Paskin for two years, but she was impressed with him, and his handling of her cases.

“Hi, Alex …got a sec? I know you've had a busy morning.”

“That's okay. Come on in.” She smiled up at him. At thirty-two, he still looked like a boy to her, he had sandy blond good looks, and looked like everyone's kid brother. He had gone to a state law school in Illinois, and she knew he came from a simple family with very little money. But he had worked his way through school, and he burned with a real fire for the law. It was a feeling that had always governed her life too, and she had a lot of admiration for him.

He strode across the room, and sat down across her desk from her, with a serious look, his shirtsleeves rolled up and his tie askew, which also made him look younger. “How was the depo?”

“Pretty good. I think Matt got lucky. His principal defendant let his slip show, and I think Matt may have gotten just what he wanted. He's wearing them down anyway, but it's still going to take forever. That case would drive me crazy.”

“Me too, but it's interesting making history with it. They're setting a lot of precedents. I like that.” He was so young and alive and filled with dreams, sometimes she thought he was naive, personally, but he was also an extraordinarily fine lawyer.

“So whatcha got? Anything new on the Schultz case?”

“Yup.” He smiled happily at her. “We hit pay dirt. The plaintiffs been cheating on his taxes for the past two years. He's not going to look great to the jury. That's why they've been resisting giving us his records.”

“Nice. Very nice.” Alex smiled at him. “How'd you find out?” They had had to file a separate motion to get the financial records, and they had finally come in that morning.

“It's pretty easy to figure out what he did. I'll show you later. I think this might open us up for a settlement, if you can get Mr. Schultz to settle.”

“I doubt it,” she said thoughtfully. Jack Schultz owned a small company that had been sued twice, unfairly, by previous employees. It was the latest game to win fat settlements from employers who didn't want to be hassled. But settling had created precedents for him, and now he was being sued by another previous employee, who had been skimming money from the company and taking illegal kickbacks, but was trying to sue Jack Schultz for discrimination. And this time Schultz did not want to settle. He wanted to develop a reputation for fighting and winning.

“I think we've got what we need anyway. With that testimony about kickbacks from the guy in New Jersey, I think we can bury the plaintiff.”

“I'm counting on it.” She smiled at him. They were set for trial the following Wednesday.

“I have a feeling the plaintiffs attorney will call you about a settlement sometime this week, now that we've got their financial records. What are you going to tell them?”

“To take a flying leap. Poor Jack deserves a win on this one. And he's right, you can't keep rolling over to settle. I wish more employers had the guts to do what Jack is doing.”

“It's cheaper to settle, most of them don't want to be bothered.” But they both knew that there was definitely a growing trend among businesses to fight and win, rather than to buy off their opponents with settlements that rewarded plaintiffs for filing bad lawsuits. Alex had won several of those cases the year before, and she had a great reputation for defendants' work in suits like this one. “Are you ready for trial?” he asked her, but he also knew that in Alex's case, that was a foolish question. She was always extraordinarily well prepared, she was extremely knowledgeable about the law, did all her homework, and then some. And he always tried to back her up in every way he possibly could so that there would be no surprises for her in the courtroom. He liked working for her. She was tough, but fair, and she never expected anyone to work harder than she did. He didn't mind the hundreds of hours he spent working, preparing cases for her, he always learned a great deal from her strategy. She never put herself out on a limb unless she was absolutely sure she wouldn't hurt her client by taking risks, and she always warned them fully of the risks she was taking.

Brock wanted to be a partner like her someday, and he knew that time was not far off. He also knew that, given their successful working relationship, Alex would be more than willing to recommend him. Although she complained occasionally that once he made partner, which she hoped wouldn't be soon, she would have no one decent to do her grunt work. He also knew from the other partner he worked for in the firm, that Alex had already put a good word in for him to Matthew Billings, though Alex would never admit it.

“Who's the new client you're seeing today?” He was always interested in what she did. And what's more, he liked her.

“I'm not sure. He was actually referred by another firm. I think he wants to sue an attorney, in another law firm.” She was always leery of those, unless she felt they were truly justified. Being a litigator frequently had its downside. She wound up with a lot of people across the desk from her who were looking to take out their anger against the world on people who did not deserve it. The miserable and the bitter and the greedy frequently thought that their lot in life could be improved by a lawsuit, and Alex never took those cases, unless she felt their claims were justified, which they usually weren't.

“Anyway, do whatever you can to wrap up Schultz, and why don't we spend tomorrow morning going over it. It's Friday tomorrow, so I'm leaving at one, but that should give us enough time to sum it up pretty squarely, and I'll go over the files again this weekend. I want to read all the depositions again and make sure I didn't miss anything.” She frowned as she made a note on her calendar to meet with him at eight-thirty the next morning. She had no other meetings scheduled for the entire day, and she usually saved Fridays for in-house business.

“I've been going over the depositions all week for just that. I made some notes I'll show you tomorrow. There's some real good stuff in there you'll want to use, and I made some indications about the videos too.” They had videotaped some of the depositions. It was a tool which she sometimes found useful, and if nothing else, it aggravated the opponents.

“Thanks, Brock.” He was a godsend for her. As busy as she was, without a good associate to work for her, she'd have been lost in a sea of cases. She had an excellent assistant too, a law clerk who spent as much time with Brock as he did with Alex. They were a good team, and they all knew it. “I'll see you at eight-thirty tomorrow. Thanks for the diligent preparation.” But it was nothing new for him, it was his style, just as it was Alex's. He was thorough and smart, and a nice guy. And it also helped that he wasn't married. He had lots of spare time to spend on work, late at night, over holidays, on weekends. He was willing to do what he had to to build an important career. At times, he reminded her of her and Sam in their early days. They worked just as hard now, but differently, there wasn't that blind hard push that kept you in the office till midnight, as it had for them years before. Now they had Annabelle and each other, and they wanted more out of life than just careers. But fortunately for her, Brock Stevens wasn't there yet. She knew he had seen someone in the firm for a while, another associate, a very attractive girl who'd gone to Stanford, but Alex also knew that Brock valued his career too much to risk getting too involved with anyone from the law firm. There were rules against that, and getting serious with another associate, or a partner, might keep him, or her, from making partner. And Alex knew that both he and the other associate were too ambitious, and too sensible, to let that happen.

She met with the new client shortly after that, and she was very llikewarm about what she heard from him. It was an ugly case, and she was not at all convinced that the plaintiff in this case wasn't lying. Generally, she preferred defense work. She told him that she'd think about it and discuss it with her partners, but that she felt that her own schedule at the moment, and the number of cases she had pending trial, could well keep her from giving him the kind of attention she felt he deserved, and was certain he wanted. She was very diplomatic with him, but very firm, and promised to call him in a few days after a meeting with her partners. She had no intention of meeting with anyone. She just needed some time to think it over, but she doubted very seriously that she'd take it.

And at five o'clock sharp, she looked at her watch, buzzed her secretary, Liz Hascomb, at the desk outside, and told her she was leaving. She left at five o'clock every day, whenever she could, and her schedule allowed it. She signed a few letters her secretary had left, jotted a few notes, and buzzed her again with a few instructions. A few minutes later, Elizabeth Hascomb came in to pick up the notes from her, and she and Alex exchanged a smile. Elizabeth was a widow who was approaching retirement age, and she had had four children of her own. She admired the fact that Alex thought enough of her little girl to go home to be with her as early as she could every night. It proved to Elizabeth that she was not just a good lawyer, but she was a good woman, and a good mother. And she liked that. She had six grandchildren of her own, and she loved hearing stories about Annabelle, or seeing photographs of her when Alex brought them into the office.

“Give Miss Annabelle my love. How's she doing in school?”

“She loves it.” Alex smiled, dropping the last of her papers in her briefcase. “Don't forget to send Matthew Billings my notes from this morning, please. And I'll need all the Schultz files on my desk when I come in tomorrow. I have a meeting with Brock on it at eight-thirty.” There were a thousand things she was going to have to think of. The Schultz trial was set to start the following Wednesday and she was liable to be out of the office for a week or more, which meant she had to take care of as much as she could before that. It was going to be a grim Monday and Tuesday.

“See you in the morning.” Alex smiled warmly at Liz, who also knew that if an emergency arose after Alex left, she could call her at home, or send papers up to her by messenger if she had to. As devoted as Alex was to Annabelle, she was never completely out of contact. And when Alex was in court, she always wore a beeper.

“Good night, Alex.” Liz Hascomb smiled at her as she left, and five minutes later, Alex was on Park Avenue, plunging into five o'clock traffic. The rush hour had just begun, and it took real spirit to grab a cab before anyone else did. She got one headed uptown, and noticed with surprise what a beautiful day it was. It was one of those splendid October days with bright sun and a hint of warm air, but a brisk breeze that carries with it just the merest suggestion of autumn.

It was the kind of weather that made her want to walk uptown, except that she didn't want to waste a minute getting home to her daughter. Instead, she settled back in the cab, thinking about Annabelle and her mischievous little face with the freckles. It was hard not to think about getting pregnant again too. They'd been trying for three years, and it was discouraging that it just hadn't happened. But on the other hand, she wasn't ready yet for more dramatic measures. She wondered how, with her schedule, she would ever manage either in vitro fertilization or even Pergonal. It all seemed so complicated with everything else she had on her plate. It would be so much easier if it just happened. Her progesterone was high enough, her FSH, or follicle-stimulating hormone, was low enough …but there was still no baby. And thinking about it reminded her that she had to run a test with the “blue kit” as soon as she got home, just to make sure they didn't miss the ideal moment. According to her calculations, she was due to ovulate sometime that weekend. At least she wouldn't be working, or in trial, thank God, she thought to herself, as the cab lurched and darted through the traffic around them.

They wound up in a traffic jam on Madison and Seventy-fourth, and she decided to get out and walk the last three blocks. The air felt good on her face after being cooped up all day. And there was a real spring in her step, as she swung her briefcase beside her, and thought about getting home to Annabelle. Maybe Sam would even be home. Her smile deepened as she thought of him. She was still crazy about him after more than seventeen years of marriage. She had everything. A fabulous career, an adorable little girl, a husband she loved deeply. She was the luckiest woman alive, and she knew it. That was the best part. She never took any of it for granted. She was grateful for every blessing in her life, every day. And if she didn't get pregnant again, it wouldn't be the end of the world. Maybe they'd adopt. Or maybe they'd just have Annabelle. She and Sam were only children, it hadn't done them any harm. On the contrary, people said only children were smarter.

Whatever happened, she knew they had it made. Just thinking about it made her smile broadly as she reached their building, and smiled at the doorman as she strode confidently into the lobby.

Chapter 2

As Alex opened the front door, the apartment seemed strangely quiet. There was not a sound anywhere, and she wondered if Carmen had taken Annabelle to the park for longer than usual. On most days, they were home by five o'clock, and then had a bath before dinner. But when Alex walked into her bathroom, she found Annabelle sitting like a little princess in a mountain of bubble bath that almost hid her completely. Carmen was sitting on the edge of the bath, watching her, and Annabelle was pretending to be a mermaid. She wasn't saying a word, she was just “swimming” up and down the tub nearly hidden by the huge froth of bubbles. Using her mother's deep marble tub had been an extra treat, and was why Alex hadn't heard her as she came into the apartment. The master suite was at the end of a long hallway.

“What are you doing in here?” Alex grinned broadly at both of them, happy to see her baby. She was the cutest little girl Alex had ever seen, and her bright red hair shone like a beacon in the bathtub.

“Shhh …” Annabelle said seriously, holding her finger to her lips. “Mermaids don't talk.”

“Are you a mermaid?”

“Of course I am. Carmen said I could use your bathtub and your bubble bath if I let her wash my hair tonight.” Carmen smiled at her employer and Alex laughed. Annabelle loved to make deals, and Carmen was as much putty in her hands as her parents were, Annabelle didn't take unfair advantage of it, but she knew that she was everyone's darling.

“How about if I take a bath with you, and we both wash our hair?” her mother suggested. She wanted to take a bath anyway before Sam came home for dinner.

“Okay.” Annabelle thought about it for a minute. She hated to have her hair shampooed, but she was beginning to suspect there would be no way out this time.

Alex slipped out of her black suit, and high heels, and Carmen went to check on dinner, while Annabelle continued to play mermaid, and a moment later they were both in the big tub, having a conversation about their respective days. Annabelle liked the fact that her mother was a lawyer, and her father was a “invention capitalist,” as she called it. She always explained that it was sort of like a banker, and he gave away people's money, which was not exactly the way her father described what he did, but it satisfied Annabelle. She knew her mother went to court and argued with the judge, but she didn't send people to jail, which was simpler.

“So how was your day?” Alex asked, luxuriating in the warm water and the bubbles, feeling like a mermaid herself after a day at the office.

“Pretty good.” Annabelle looked at her with obvious pleasure. Her mother had kissed her hello when she got in the tub, and Annabelle was happily sitting beside her.

“Did anything special happen at school?”

“Nope. We ate frogs though.”

“You ate frogs?” Alex looked intrigued, but was familiar with her daughter's shorthand and knew there was more to the story. “What kind of frogs?” Surely not real ones.

“Green frogs. With black eyes, and coconut hair on them.” The “coconut hair” was the tip-off, as Alex wondered how she had ever managed to live without her.

“You mean like cupcakes?”

“Yeah sort of, Bobby Bronstein brought them. It was his birthday.”

“That sounds pretty good.”

“His mother brought gummy worms and spiders too. They were pretty gross.” She was delighted at the scary report that had intrigued her mother.

“Sounds yummy.” Alex smiled down at her as Annabelle shrugged, unimpressed by the culinary delights she had encountered.

“It was okay. I like your cupcakes better. Especially the chocolate ones.”

“Maybe we'll make some this weekend.” … after Daddy and I make love and try to make you a baby brother or sister…. She reminded herself again about the blue kit.

“What are we doing this weekend?” a familiar voice asked as they both looked up to see Annabelle's Daddy, watching them from the doorway with obvious amusement. It was an appealing scene, and his eyes met his wife's with all the love he felt for both of them, and then he leaned down to kiss his wife and his daughter. Alex caught him by the tie and held him there for another kiss, and he didn't object as he kissed her.

“We were talking about making cupcakes, among other things,” Alex said seductively, as he raised an eyebrow, and then stepped back from the tub and took off his tie and opened his collar.

“Any other plans for this weekend?” he asked casually, he had also remembered the blue kit.

“I think so,” she smiled at him, and he returned the look in her eyes with pleasure. Almost fifty, he was still a strikingly handsome man, and looked ten years younger than he was, as did Alex. They were a good-looking pair, and it was obvious that Annabelle had done nothing to dim the passion between them.

“What are you two doing in the bathtub with all those bubbles?” he asked Annabelle, and she looked at him matter-of-factly.

“We're mermaids, Daddy.”

“Any interest in having a big whale join you?”

“You're coming in too, Daddy?” she giggled, and he took off his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt, as the three of them laughed, and a minute later, he had locked the door so Carmen wouldn't come back in, and he was in the tub with his two mermaids. He splashed and they played, and eventually Alex did wash Annabelle's hair. And then she got out of the tub and dried her off and wrapped her in a big pink towel, while Sam took a shower to wash all the soap off. He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a big white towel, which he wound around his waist as he surveyed his two ladies with pleasure.

“You two look like twins.” He smiled again at the bright red hair. Alex had complained lately about finding a few gray hairs, but you couldn't see them, and her hair was still as bright as her daughter's.

“What are we going to do for Halloween?” Annabelle asked as her mother dried her hair, and Sam opened the bathroom door and walked into their bedroom to put on jeans and a sweater and a pair of loafers. He loved coming home to them, playing with Annabelle, and spending time with Alex. He didn't even mind if she worked late at night, he just liked being with her, as he had for the last seventeen years. Very little had changed between them, except that he seemed to love her more each year, and Annabelle had only strengthened the bond between them. He was only sorry they hadn't figured out how great kids were a little sooner.

“What do you want to do for Halloween?” Alex asked her, as she fluffed up the bright red curls with gentle fingers.

“I want to be a canary,” Annabelle said firmly.

“A canary? Why a canary?” Alex was smiling at her.

“They're cute. Hilary has one. Or maybe I'll be Tinker Bell … or the Little Mermaid.”

“I'll go to F.A.O. Schwarz on my lunch hour next week and see what I can find. Okay?” And then she remembered the trial. She'd have to do it before Wednesday or wait till the trial was over. Or maybe Liz Hascomb could call them and see what they had in Annabelle's size. Alex always had to be artful about using her time to its best advantage.

“What are we doing for Halloween?” Sam had strolled back into the room in jeans and a dark green sweater.

“I thought we'd go trick-or-treating in the building, like last year,” Alex explained, and he nodded. She was wearing a pink terry-cloth bathrobe with a pink towel on her head, and she put Annabelle's nightie on, and turned her over to Sam, so she could go out to the kitchen and check on dinner.

There was a chicken in the oven, baked potatoes in the microwave, green beans sautéing in a pan, and Carmen was about ready to leave them. She stayed later when they went out, but if they were staying home, she often started dinner for them, and then left. Or Alex and Sam would cook dinner themselves when they both got back from the office.

“Thanks for everything.” Alex smiled at her, and Carmen smiled back. “I'm going to need lots of help next week, Carmen. I'm going to trial on Wednesday.”

“Sure. I help you, I can stay late. No problem.” She knew about their efforts toward having another baby too, and she was disappointed it had not yet happened. She loved babies, and kids. At fifty-seven, she had had six kids and two husbands, and at last count she had seventeen grandchildren. She had a fall life in Queens, but she loved working for the Parkers in Manhattan.

“See you tomorrow,” Alex called out when Carmen left. The table was set, the dinner smelled wonderful. Alex went to put on jeans and a shirt herself. And five minutes later, she called Annabelle and Sam to dinner. They ate at an old rustic table in the kitchen, the place mats were clean and pretty, and the candles were lit. Sometimes they ate in the dining room, but most of the time they ate in the kitchen, and most nights they ate with Annabelle, except when they came home late, or went out to dinner. But they both enjoyed their meals with her. She was good company and they thought their time together was important.

She chatted on busily through the evening, and Sam helped Alex clean up the dishes, while Annabelle played, and then he watched the last of the news, while Alex read Annabelle a bedtime story. She was in bed and asleep by eight o'clock, and the evening was theirs. Alex was about to sit down next to him on the leather couch in the study when she remembered the ovulation detection kit again and went to do it. It showed only that she had not yet had the hormone surge that preceded ovulation, and there was no way to predict when it would happen. Except that she knew that with the hormones she was on, it was likely to be fairly regular and happen, as she had predicted, on Saturday or Sunday, which was still two or three days away. They had been advised to be sure not to have been abstinent for more than five days before ovulation, but not to do it immediately before either, or it would lower Sam's sperm count. It took the spontaneity out of their sex life, but they enjoyed each other anyway, and Sam had been a terrifically good sport about their efforts in pursuit of a baby. He had also been told not to drink excessively right before she ovulated, and never to use a hot tub or a sauna. Heat killed sperm, and he teased her sometimes about wearing ice packs in his shorts, which he knew couples with fertility problems sometimes did. But they didn't have a “problem,” there was nothing wrong with them. Alex was forty-two years old, and it was taking time to get pregnant.

“So, are my services needed tonight?” he asked good-humoredly as she sat down next to him on the couch in the study.

“Not yet,” she said, feeling silly. It was hard not to with all the testing, figuring, discussing, hoping. But it still seemed worth it to both of them, so they hadn't thrown the towel in yet. Far from it. “I still think it'll be this weekend.”

“I can think of worse things to do on a Saturday afternoon,” he said happily as he put an arm around her. Carmen came in for half days on Saturdays so they could sleep in at least once a week, but she was a good sport about staying later too. She was really the ideal person for them, and they loved the fact that she adored their baby, and Annabelle loved her too. They relied on her completely.

Alex told Sam about her trial the following week, and the deposition she'd sat in on that day, without telling him anything confidential. And he told her about an extraordinary new client in Bahrain, and a prospective new partner his two other partners had introduced him to. He was English and had a tremendous reputation in the financial world for making Olympian deals, but Sam had met him several times, and still wasn't crazy about him, and wasn't sure they should let him into the partnership. He thought he was too showy.

“What's his appeal?” Alex asked, she was always intrigued by his business. And he bounced a lot of ideas off her to see what she thought of them. He respected her opinions and her sharp sense about some of the risks that were inherent in his business.

“He's got a hell of a lot of money, and some tremendous international contacts. I don't know … I just think he has a very real potential to become an asshole. He's so damn full of himself. He was married to Lady Something-or-other, she's the daughter of some very high-up British lord, but it's all so much talk and bullshit. I don't know. Larry and Tom think he's a walking gold mine.”

“Does he check out? Have you made inquiries?”

“Sure. And he checks out like a Swiss clock. He made his first fortune in Iran, he was very close to the Shah before he fell, obviously. And he married his second. And I guess he's been making money ever since. Lots of it. He's had some very exotic deals in Bahrain, he still has very strong ties in the Middle East, and he kind of alludes to the fact that he feels he could ‘get closer to the Sultan of Brunei.' Frankly, I don't believe it. But Tom and Larry do. That's about as far up there as you get in the stratosphere, before you just break up and explode with power and money.”

“Maybe you should take him on provisionally. Try working with him for six months, and see what you think about him then.”

“I suggested that to Larry and Tom, but they think it's insulting to someone of his stature. Simon isn't exactly someone you can put on probation, I suppose. But I don't know that I'm ready to make a full commitment to him.”

“Then follow your instincts. They've never served you wrong yet. I'm a great believer in that.”

“I'm a great believer in you,” he said softly as he leaned over to kiss her. He had been crazy about her for so long, and he was always torn between admiring her mind and being totally enamored with her body. It was an unbeatable combination. “What do you say we go to bed early tonight, and do some practicing for the weekend?”

“That has a lot of appeal,” she said, kissing his neck. They both knew they could still afford the luxury of making love now. There were still two or three more days ahead of them until she'd ovulate. Making love the next day would be too close and might diminish their chances of getting pregnant. It was complicated at best, but Alex was determined to overcome that, and their attempt to get pregnant wouldn't last forever. Eventually, she'd either get pregnant, or they'd stop trying and go back to making love anytime they wanted.

Sam turned off the lights in the study and the living room, and Alex followed him into the bedroom, and slowly took off her jeans, trying not to remember the briefcase she had set down in the corner. It sat glaring at her, and sensing her thoughts, Sam saw it too, and wondered if she should be working. He asked her gently as he unzipped his jeans and took his sweater off, and she shrugged. He was a lot more important to her at the moment.

They slipped into bed, between the Pratesi sheets she bought on Madison Avenue, and felt their cool smoothness on their skin, and as Sam wrapped his arms around her powerfully, she forgot anything but him as he made love to her. And even her longing for a baby was suddenly forgotten. All she could think of was him, as he held her in his arms and plunged slowly into her. They hung lost in space for an indeterminable time, aching with pleasure, and then returned slowly to earth, drifting back to reality again, as he purred softly in her arms, and drifted off to sleep contentedly as she held him.

“I love you,” she whispered into his hair, as he snored softly beside her. She lay there holding him for a long time, and then ever so gently, she shifted his weight, and settled him on the bed, as she went to find her briefcase. She knew she still had work to do, and she couldn't just lie in bed and not do it. She sat quietly in the room's big comfortable chair, poring over files, and making notes for the next two hours. Sam never stirred, and Annabelle woke up once, and Alex went to her and got her a drink of water. She lay next to her for a little while, and held her close to her, until she went back to sleep and Alex could go back to her own room, and continue working.

She worked until one o'clock, and then she stretched and yawned, and put the files back in her briefcase. She was used to doing this. She got a lot of her work done at night, when it didn't interfere with anyone, and she could concentrate in the silent apartment.

Sam only stirred for an instant as she climbed back into bed next to him. He had never known she was gone, and when she turned off the light, she lay next to him, thinking about him, and about Annabelle, and about her trial the following week, and the new client she'd seen that day, whom she'd decided to decline, and the English prospective partner Sam had talked to her about. There was so much to think about, and to do, sometimes she almost thought it was a shame they had to waste time sleeping. She needed every hour she could get to do all that she had to do. She couldn't afford to give up a moment. But finally, in spite of everything on her mind, she drifted off to sleep beside Sam, and she was still dead to the world when the alarm went off the next morning.

Chapter 3

Her day began, as it always did, with Sam waking her up, usually with a pat and a kiss, the radio was always on, and like most mornings, she was exhausted. Each day seemed to spill over into the following one, and she was usually tired from the endless demands on her, and the relentless stresses at the office.

She got up slowly, and went to wake Annabelle, who sometimes woke before they did, but this time she hadn't. She stretched sleepily when Alex kissed her awake, and Alex slipped into bed with her, and they giggled and talked until Annabelle was willing to get up. And then Alex took her to the bathroom and washed her face and brushed her hair, and her teeth, and then they went back to Annabelle's bedroom to pick up something for her to wear to nursery school. This morning's selection was a little outfit Sam had picked up on his last trip to Paris, it was denim with pink gingham trim, with pants, a little pink gingham shirt, and a matching jacket. It looked adorable on her with little pink high-top sneakers.

“Boy, you look cute today, Princess,” her father said admiringly, as Alex dropped her off in the kitchen for breakfast. Sam was already sitting there, shaved, showered, and dressed in a dark gray suit and a white shirt and navy Hermes tie, reading the Wall Street Journal, his bible.

“Thank you, Daddy.” He gave her cereal and milk, and put some toast on for her, while Alex went to shower and dress. They had the routine fairly well organized and were both flexible. When Alex had an early meeting, Sam did it all, and vice versa. This morning, they both had time, and Alex had already volunteered to take Annabelle to school. It was only a few blocks away, and she wanted to make up for the frenzy of the following week when she knew she couldn't.

Alex joined them in the kitchen forty-five minutes later, just in time to grab a cup of coffee and a piece of leftover toast. By then Sam was explaining the principles of electricity to Annabelle and why it was dangerous for her to stick a wet fork in the toaster.

“Right, Mommy?” Sam looked to her for reinforcement and she nodded and concurred as she glanced at the New York Times and saw that Congress had slapped the President on the wrist, and one of her least favorite superior court judges had just retired.

“At least I won't have to worry about him next week,” she said cryptically, with toast in her mouth, and Sam laughed at her. She had never been at her most coherent in the morning, though she made an enormous effort for their daughter.

“What are you up to today?” Sam asked her casually. He had a couple of important meetings with clients, and a lunch at “21” with the Englishman, which might shed a little more light on the situation.

“Nothing much. Friday's my short day,” she reminded him, but he knew. “I'm meeting with one of the associates to prepare for my trial next week. And then I've got a routine checkup at Anderson's, and then I'll pick Annabelle up and we're off to Miss Tilly's.” Annabelle's favorite day of the week was when she went to ballet school at Miss Tilly's. It was adorable, and Alex loved taking her, which was one of the reasons why she left her office early on Fridays, to be with her.

“Why Anderson? Something happening I should know about?” He looked concerned, but she didn't. Anderson was her gynecologist, and he was shepherding her through their attempts to have another baby.

“No big deal. I'm due for a Pap smear, no biggie. And I wanted to discuss the Serophene with him. It's a little hard to preserve my sanity, and my career, and still take the doses he's recommending. I was wondering if I should take less, or more, or what, or give it a rest for a while. I don't know. I'll let you know what he says.”

“Be sure to do that.” He smiled at her, touched that she was willing to go to such lengths to have his baby. “And good luck with the trial prep.”

“Good luck with Simon. I hope he either trips himself up, or makes you feel more confident about him.”

“So do I,” Sam said with a sigh, “that would certainly make life simpler. I just don't know what to make of him, or whether to trust my gut, or his pedigree, or my partners' instincts. Maybe I'm losing it, and I'm just getting paranoid in my old age.” He was turning fifty that year, and very impressed by it, but Alex did not think he was paranoid by any means, and he had always had brilliant instincts.

“I told you. Trust your gut. It's never let you down yet.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” They both picked up their coats, and Alex helped Annabelle into hers, and the three of them turned off the lights, locked the door, and waited for the elevator to take them to their busy days. Sam kissed them both on the street and then hailed a cab, and Alex walked Annabelle to school on Lexington, as Annabelle chattered to her, and they laughed and joked all the way there. Annabelle scampered into school easily, and Alex hailed a cab and headed downtown a moment later.

Brock was already waiting in her office for her, with all the pertinent files spread out, and there were five messages waiting on her desk, all unrelated to the Schultz case. Two of them were from the previous day's prospective client, and she jotted a note to herself to call him before she left the office.

As usual, Brock was extremely organized, and his notes on the case were extremely helpful. She thanked him, and praised him for his hard work, as they finished their work around eleven-thirty. There were still half a dozen things she needed to do before she left, but her doctor's appointment was uptown at noon, and she only had time to make a few phone calls.

“Anything else I can do to help?” he asked in his usual casual style, and she glanced at the notes on her desk, feeling frantic. She could come back to work, of course, that afternoon, and let Carmen take Annabelle to ballet, but she knew Annabelle would be disappointed. But she always seemed to be late or rushed, or trying to do too many things. Her life always felt like a relay race, with no one to pass the baton to. She certainly couldn't pass it to Sam, he had his own life to lead, and his own business headaches to attend to. At least she had Brock to help at the office. And as she thought of it, she handed him two of her messages, and asked him to return the calls for her.

“That would really help.” She smiled gratefully at him.

“Happy to do it. Anything else?” He looked at her warmly. He liked working with her, he always had, their styles were amazingly similar. It was like dancing with the perfect partner.

“You could go to my doctor for me for a checkup.”

“Happy to do that too,” he grinned, and she laughed in exasperation.

“I wish you could.” It almost seemed like a waste of time now. She was fine, and she knew it. She had never felt better. And she could talk to him on the phone about the Serophene. And as she thought of that, she glanced at her watch and made a quick decision. She dialed his number from memory, and was going to postpone the appointment, but the line was busy, and she didn't want to be rude and just not show up. He was good at what he did, and he had been very attentive to her. He had delivered Annabelle, and had been part of the three-year pursuit of pregnancy since then. It didn't seem right to just stand him up. She tried again, found the line still busy, and stood up and grabbed her coat, in spite of her irritation.

“I guess I'd better go, he probably has his phone off the hook,” she joked, “so he doesn't lose business. Call me if you think of anything we missed on the Schultz case. I'll be home all weekend.”

“Don't worry about it. I'll call if I need to. Why don't you just forget about it. Everything is really ready for him. And we can review it all on Monday. Enjoy your weekend.”

“You sound like my husband. And what are you going to do?” she asked as she shrugged into her coat and picked up her briefcase.

“Work here all weekend of course. What do you think?” He laughed.

“Great. So don't make me any speeches. You enjoy your weekend too.” She wagged a finger at him, but she was glad that he was so conscientious, and he knew it. “Thanks for everything. I really appreciate it.”

“Just forget it. It's going to go perfectly on Wednesday.”

“Thanks, Brock.” She flew out the door then with a wave at Liz, and five minutes later she was in a cab on her way to Park and Seventy-second. She felt a little stupid going to him, she had nothing new to report, and her complaints about the effects of the Serophene weren't new to him either. But she needed a Pap smear anyway, and it always soothed her to discuss her reproductive problems with him. John Anderson was an old friend, and he listened to her worries and complaints with concern and interest. And he was deeply sympathetic to her fear that she wouldn't get pregnant again. He reminded her that there was nothing wrong with either of them, but there was no denying that she hadn't gotten pregnant in three years. There was no specific medical reason for it, but her job was stressful certainly, and she was just that much older. They discussed the Pergonal shots again, their advantages and risks, and the possibility of in vitro fertilization, though at forty-two she was not thought to be an excellent candidate for it. They discussed ZIFT, and GIFT, and the newer technologies like donor eggs, which did not appeal to her at all. And in the end, they decided to stay with the Serophene, and he talked to her about trying artificial insemination with Sam's sperm the following month, if he'd agree, to give the egg and the sperm a better chance to “meet up,” as he put it. He made it all seem very simple, and a lot less upsetting than it could be.

And then he did a routine exam, and the Pap smear, and after looking at her chart, asked her when she'd last had a mammogram, because he didn't see the results for any the previous year, and she admitted she hadn't had one.

“I haven't had one in two years.” But she'd never had a lump or problem, and there was no history of it in her family. It was one of those things she just didn't worry about, although she was religious about getting annual Pap smears. And there were a variety of theories about mammograms at her age anyway, about whether to have one every year, or every other.

“You really ought to get one every year,” he scolded. “After forty, that's important.” He was of the “every year” school of thinking. He palpated her breasts, and found nothing there. She was small-busted, and had nursed Annabelle, all of which were supposedly good news against breast cancer, and she'd already been told that the hormones she was taking did not increase the risk of cancer, which she had found reassuring. “When are you ovulating again?” he asked offhandedly, glancing at her chart.

“Tomorrow or the next day,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Then I think you ought to get a mammogram today. If you get pregnant tomorrow, it could be two years before you have one. You won't want to get one while you're pregnant, and they're inaccurate while you're nursing. I really want you to get one today, and then it's done with, and we don't have to think about it for another year. How about it?”

She glanced at her watch, feeling mildly exasperated. She wanted to pick Annabelle up at school, and take her home to lunch, and then to Miss Tilly's. “I really shouldn't. I've got things to do.”

“This is important, Alex. I think you should make time for it.” He sounded unusually firm, which worried her, and she looked at him with a sudden question.

“Do you feel something that warrants it?” He had palpated her breasts very carefully, but he always did that. And he shook his head no in answer to her question.

“Not at all. But I don't want you to have a problem later. You don't want to be careless about mammograms, Alex. They're just too important. Please. I think you should do it.” He was so insistent that she didn't have the heart to ignore him, and he was right, if she got pregnant that weekend, however unlikely it might seem, she wouldn't be able to get a mammogram for a year or two, so it was probably a good idea to do it.

“Where do I have to go?” He jotted down an address that was only five blocks away. She could easily walk it.

“The entire procedure will take five minutes.”

“Will they give me the results right there?”

“Probably not. They collect the films for the doctor to look at, when he comes in, and he might not be there. He'll call me next week, and give me the results. And of course I'll call you if there's a problem, but I'm very sure there won't be. This is just good medicine, Alex. It's wise to do this.”

“I know, John.” She appreciated how careful he was, it was just annoying to have to make time, but she knew it was worth it.

She called Carmen from his secretary's desk and asked her to pick up Annabelle at school. She said she'd be home for lunch, and she would take her to ballet. She just had an errand to do on the way home. And Carmen said it was no problem.

Alex left Dr. Anderson's office then and walked briskly down Park Avenue to Sixty-eighth Street between Lexington and Park, and into what looked like a very busy office. A dozen women were sitting in the waiting room, and several technicians appeared frequently in the doorway to call their names and keep them moving. Alex gave her name to the receptionist, and hoped it wouldn't take too long, as two more women arrived. They seemed to be doing a booming business, and she noticed that with the exception of only one fairly young girl, most of the women were her age or older.

She glanced absently at a magazine, looked at her watch several times, and ten minutes after she'd arrived, a woman in a white coat came to the doorway of the waiting room and called her name. There was something very loud and impersonal about the way she said it, but Alex followed her without a word. There was something strangely invasive about having people search you for disease, as though you were carrying a concealed weapon. There was an implication of guilt just by being here, and as Alex unbuttoned her blouse she realized that she felt both angry and frightened. It was terrifying. What if there was something there? What if they found something? But as her mind started to play tricks on her and convince her she was doomed, she forced herself to realize that this was just routine. It was no more ominous than her Pap smear. The only difference was that it was being performed by strangers instead of by people she knew, but other than that, there was no difference.

The woman in the white coat stood by while she undressed, and she offered her a gown, and told her to leave it open down the front, but other than that, there was no conversation. She pointed to a sink and some towels and told Alex to wipe off any deodorant or perfume, and then pointed to a machine standing in a corner. It looked like a large X-ray machine, and had a plastic tray and some shields somewhere in the middle. Having washed while the other woman watched, Alex walked to the machine, anxious to get it over with, and the technician rested Alex's breast on the plastic tray, and then proceeded to slowly lower the upper part of the machine down on her breast and squeeze it. The technician tightened the machine as much as possible, draped Alex's arm awkwardly, told her to hold her breath, and then took two pictures, and repeated the same procedure on the other side, and told her it was over. It was actually very simple and it was more uncomfortable than truly painful. It would have been nice to know the results then and there, but Alex felt confident that they would be fine when they called her doctor on Monday.

She left the office as quickly as she had come, grabbed a cab home, and was there in time to watch Annabelle finish her lunch and dress her for ballet. And for some odd reason, it felt better than ever to be there. One couldn't totally ignore the statistics that forced women to have mammograms each year. One in eight or one in nine women would be struck with breast cancer in their lifetime, depending on the source of the statistics. Even having been near them, having been tested for it, made one shudder a little, and be grateful for the simple blessings in one's life, like taking a child to a ballet class. And Alex couldn't help but think how lucky she was, as she stooped to kiss Annabelle's bright red curls as they left for Miss Tilly's.

“Why didn't you pick me up at school?” Annabelle asked plaintively. Alex picking her up at school on Fridays was a ritual she was used to and loved, and she resented any deviation from it.

“I had to go to the doctor for a checkup, and he took longer than I thought, sweetheart. I'm sorry.”

“Are you sick?” She looked suddenly worried and protective of her mother.

“Of course not.” Alex smiled. “But everybody has to get checkups, even mommies and daddies.”

“Did he give you a shot?” She looked intrigued, and Alex laughed as she shook her head.

“No,” but they squeezed my boob flat as a pancake … “I didn't need one.”

“Good.” Annabelle looked relieved as she skipped along beside her mother.

They proceeded to Miss Tilly's uneventfully after that, and after class they went out for ice cream, and then walked home slowly, talking about what they were going to do over the weekend. Annabelle wasn't too excited about going to the zoo. She wanted to go to the beach to swim, and Alex was explaining to her that it was too cold now to do that.

When they got home, Alex put on a video for her, and they lay down on Alex's bed and relaxed together. It seemed as though it had been a long day, preparing for the trial, and having the mammogram had left her feeling drained, and she was happy to stay home and relax with her daughter.

Carmen went home early on Friday afternoons, and Alex had dinner ready when Sam got home, later than usual, at seven. She had already fed Annabelle by then, and he opted to wait to eat until Annabelle went to bed, which sounded good to Alex too. And at eight-fifteen, they were sitting in the kitchen eating fish and baked potatoes and salad, and he was telling her about his lunch with the Englishman, who had impressed him a lot more this time.

“You know, I'm actually feeling very positive about him. I think I was just worrying unduly. Larry and Tom are right. The guy is a whiz, and he could bring us some fantastic business from the Middle East. You can't ignore that, even if he is a little flashy.”

“And if he doesn't bring in business from the Middle East?” she asked cautiously.

“He will. You should hear his client list from Saudi alone.”

“And will they follow him here?” Alex was playing devil's advocate, but Sam didn't mind it. He felt comfortable now about the new man, and he had green-lighted the decision to take him in as a fourth partner. “Are you sure, Sam? You were so worried about him yesterday. Maybe you ought to trust that.”

“I think I was being hysterical. Honestly, Alex, I talked to the guy for three hours today …he's the real thing. I know it. We're going to make billions,” he said confidently.

“Don't be greedy,” she scolded with a grin. “Does this mean we can buy a chateau in the South of France?”

“No, but possibly a town house in New York, and an estate on Long Island.”

“We don't need that,” she said easily, and he smiled. He didn't need it either but he liked being the whiz kid of the financial world. It meant a lot to him. He liked the acclaim he had gotten from being brilliant with venture capital. His reputation and his success meant a lot to him, as well as his profits, which was why she thought he should be very careful about their new partner. But she trusted his judgment. And if the Englishman had convinced him, she was prepared to accept that.

“How did your meetings go this morning?” he asked her. “All set for your trial next week?” He took a strong interest in her work too. Until Annabelle had come along, it was what had energized their life together.

“As much as I'm going to be. I think we'll be okay. I hope so. My client really deserves to win this one.”

“He will, with you defending him,” Sam said confidently, and she leaned over and kissed him. He looked handsome in a red sweater and jeans. He always looked good to her, better and better lately.

“What did Anderson say, by the way?”

“Not much. We ran through all the possibilities again. Pergonal still scares me, Serophene still makes me nuts, and no one wants to do in vitro on a forty-two-year-old woman, although he said some will. We talked about donor eggs, which don't appeal to me at all, and he said we might want to try artificial insemination of your sperm next month. He says sometimes that makes all the difference. I didn't know how you'd feel about it,” she said it almost shyly, and he smiled.

“I can live with it if I have to. I can think of better ways to have fun than playing with myself and reading dirty magazines, but if that'll do the trick, let's try it.”

“You're amazing. I really love you.” She kissed him, and he kissed her hard. But the test still hadn't been blue that afternoon, so they couldn't go too far.

“What about this weekend?”

“He said go for it, whenever it turns blue. It hasn't yet, but I'm pretty sure it will tomorrow. It was almost there today. And he made me have a mammogram, just in case I get pregnant. Because he said that if I get pregnant, I wouldn't be having one for another year or two. It was a pain in the neck, and I had to have Carmen pick Annabelle up at school, but it was no big deal. It just seems so weird, and suddenly you realize that people do get bad results, and that scared the hell out of me.”

“But the results were fine, right?” He looked suddenly uncomfortable, and she smiled reassuringly.

“I'm sure they were. They don't tell you right there. They'll call him next week. They can only tell you if the radiologist is around, and he wasn't. But he had checked me for lumps and I didn't have any. It was just routine. High maintenance, as they call it.”

“Does it hurt?” He sounded curious, and somewhat horrified.

“Not really. They squash your boob in a machine, as flat as they can, and take pictures of it. There's something vaguely degrading about it, but I'm not sure why. You feel kind of vulnerable and stupid. I couldn't wait to leave. I'd never been so happy to see Annabelle in my life. I guess it's a reminder that things do go wrong, those things do happen to someone, and you're damn lucky when it's not you. The reminders of that are pretty scary.”

“Forget about it. Nothing like that is going to happen to you,” he said decisively, and helped her clear the table. They had a little wine, watched a movie on TV, and went to bed earlier than usual. They'd both had a hard week, and she wanted to get some rest before she became fertile over the weekend. And just as she had thought, she discovered that the kit had turned blue the next day. She knew before noon, and she whispered it to Sam over a late breakfast. Carmen took Annabelle to the park, and Sam and Alex went back to bed and made love. And she stayed in bed for over an hour after that, with her bottom propped up on pillows. She had read somewhere that that might help, and was willing to try almost anything. But she was still looking sleepy and satisfied, when Sam came back for a cuddle with her just before lunchtime.

“You going to stay in bed all day?” he teased her, nuzzling her neck with his lips, and sending another thrill through her.

“With that kind of incentive, I just might.”

“When do we get to play again?” He was as fervent about it as she was.

“Anytime tomorrow.”

“Can we try again this afternoon?” he asked huskily, and she laughed as he kissed her. “I think we need more practice.” But they both knew that they weren't “supposed” to do it again until the next day. “Anyway, just concentrate on making a baby,” Sam whispered to her, and then went off to shower and dress, while she dozed off again for a few minutes.

Ten minutes later, she joined him in the shower, and he was startled and aroused to feel her just behind him. It was agony forcing themselves not to make love again. The temptation was great, and they had always enjoyed each other's bodies. It was hard to restrain themselves now sometimes, just for the sake of maintaining his “sperm count.”

“Maybe we should forget all this and just become sex fiends again …” he breathed into her ear, as he held her close to him in the shower, feeling the warm water pelt down on them, as little rivers of it snuck into their mouths as he kissed her. “I love you so much …”

“Me too …” she said hungrily, as she felt him throbbing against her stomach. “Sam … I want you….”

“No … no … no …” he said, teasing her, in a hoarse voice, as he turned the cold water on full force on both of them, and she screamed in astonishment as it hit her, and then she laughed as they both leapt out of the shower.

They were wearing jeans and sitting sedately in the kitchen drinking coffee and reading the paper when Carmen and Annabelle came home. Carmen made them all lunch, and Sam and Alex took Annabelle to the park that afternoon, and they all went to dinner at J. G. Melon that night. It was fun doing that sometimes on the weekends. And on Sunday, they rode their bicycles in the park, and Sam put Annabelle in the little seat on the back of his, as they rode around the reservoir. It was a beautiful warm day, and on Sunday night they all agreed that it had been the perfect weekend.

As soon as they put Annabelle to bed, and they knew she was asleep, Sam locked the door to their bedroom, and slowly peeled away Alex's clothes until she stood before him like a long, elegant flower, one perfect, exquisite lily. He made love to her as he had before, with all the force of his need, and his lust, and his passion. She was a woman who brought many things out in him, all things that only made him love and want her more. Sometimes he felt as though he couldn't love her more, but there was always a surge, a moment, a floodgate that opened somewhere and drowned them both with his feelings.

“Wow …if I don't get pregnant after that, I give up …” she whispered weakly afterwards, as she lay with her head on his chest, and he gently stroked one of her breasts with enticing fingers.

“I love you, Alex …”he said softly, turning over to look at her. She was so beautiful. So perfect. She always had been.

“I love you too, Sam … I love you more …” she teased, and he smiled and shook his head.

“You couldn't.”

They kissed again, and lay entwined on their bed, not even sure anymore if it mattered if they made a baby.

Chapter 4

On Monday morning, Alex got up before Annabelle or Sam, and she was dressed when she woke them both up, and breakfast was already on the table, and in the oven. She helped Annabelle dress, as usual, but Sam had promised to take her to school. Alex wanted to get to the office early. She had a mountain of things to do, and final details to prepare for the trial on Wednesday. And she had also scheduled a meeting with Matthew Billings to discuss several cases. Brock Stevens was going to be working with her all day, along with both of their paralegals.

“I'll probably be home late,” she explained to Sam, and he understood, although Annabelle looked sad when her mother told her.

“Why?” she asked, with her huge green eyes turned up to her mother's. She hated it when Alex came home late, and Alex didn't seem to like it either.

“I have a trial to get ready for, sweetheart. You know, when I go to court and talk to the judge.”

“Can't you just call him on the phone?” Annabelle looked very unhappy, and Alex smiled at her, and gave her a kiss and a hug, and promised to come home as early as she could possibly manage.

”I'll call you when you come home from school. Have a good day, sweetheart, and have fun in school. Promise?” She touched her chin and turned the sweet little face up to her, and Annabelle nodded, her huge eyes looking into her mother's. “What about my Halloween costume?”

“I'll check it out today, I promise.” She felt so torn, so pulled sometimes, between her family life and her career. It made her wonder how she would manage two children instead of one, but other people seemed to do it.

She put on her coat and slipped out of the apartment quietly, it was only seven-thirty in the morning. And the cab ride down Park was speedy at that hour. She was in her office by a quarter to eight, and she felt a little tug at her heart as she thought of Annabelle and Sam having breakfast without her. But by eight o'clock, she was hard at work, and Brock Stevens had just brought her coffee. And by ten-thirty she was reassured, they really were fairly well prepared for Jack Schultz's defense on Wednesday.

“What about everything else?” she asked Brock distractedly, as she went down a list of other projects she needed him to work on. He had already taken care of most of them, but she had had a number of new ideas over the weekend. And she was just outlining them to him when Elizabeth Hascomb hesitantly opened the door to her office, and peeked in at them. But the moment Alex saw her, she shook her head and put up a hand to stop her. She didn't want any interruptions. Her phone was turned off and she had already told Liz not to come in or interrupt her.

Liz hesitated at the door, in spite of Alex's stern look, and Brock turned to see what was distracting Alex.

“Something wrong?” Maybe it was an emergency, but Alex looked very annoyed at the interruption.

“Liz, I asked you not to interrupt us.” Her tone was sharper than usual, but the pressure on her was enormous.

“I know …I …I'm terribly sorry but …” She spoke to Alex apologetically from the doorway.

“Did something happen to Annabelle or Sam?” For a moment, Alex looked terrified, but Liz was quick to shake her head and reassure her. “Then I don't want to hear it.” Alex turned away again, fully prepared to ignore her.

“Dr. Anderson called. Twice. He asked me to interrupt you.”

“Anderson? For heaven's sake …” Now Alex looked really annoyed. He had told her he would call her either way about the mammogram, and he was probably calling to reassure her. But asking to interrupt her was a real imposition. “He can wait. I'll call him when we break for lunch, if we do. Otherwise, I'll call him later.”

“He said he wanted to talk to you this morning. Before noon.” It was already eleven-thirty, and Liz was being a nuisance. But Dr. Anderson had insisted that it was very important, and well worth annoying Alex. So Liz had taken him at his word, and remained steadfast in her delivery of his message. But Alex looked anything but pleased. She felt sure that the call was just routine, and it wasn't worth throwing everyone into a tizzy for. For an instant, as she looked at Liz, she wondered if it could be bad news, but the idea of that was so inconceivable that she went back to being irritated instead of worried.

“I'll call him when I can. Thank you, Liz,” she said pointedly, and went back to the list she was explaining to Brock, but now he was looking distracted.

“Why don't you call him, Alex? It must be important for him to ask Liz to interrupt you.”

“Don't be silly. We have work to do.”

“I could use another cup of coffee anyway. Ill get you one too, while you call him. I'm sure it'll only take you a couple of minutes.” She was prepared to resist, but it was clear now that Liz had so unnerved everyone that none of them would get back to work until she called her doctor.

“Oh for heaven's sake. This is ridiculous. Okay …get me a fresh cup, please. I'll see everyone back here in five minutes.” It was eleven thirty-five, and eleven-forty by the time he and the paralegals cleared the room. They were wasting precious minutes. They had work to do. She watched them close the door behind them as they left, and she quickly called her doctor, anxious to get the conversation over quickly.

His receptionist answered the phone, and promised to put her right through to the doctor. The wait seemed interminable, as much because she had other things to do as because she was suddenly nervous. What if it was bad news? She felt foolish for even thinking it, but it was possible. Lightning had certainly struck others before her.

“Alex?” Dr. Anderson was on the line, and he sounded as busy as she did.

“Hi, John. What's so important?”

“I'd like you to stop by at lunchtime, if you could.” His voice gave away nothing.

“That's impossible. I'm going to trial in two days, and I have a stack of things to do. I've been in my office since seven forty-five this morning, and I probably won't leave here till ten o'clock tonight. Can we discuss it on the phone?”

“I'd rather not. I really think you should come in to see me.” Shit. What did this mean? She found that suddenly her hand was shaking.

“Is something wrong?” She couldn't bring herself to say the word, but she finally knew she had to. “Is it the mammogram?” She didn't have any lumps, so how could it be? But he hesitated for a long time before he answered.

“I'd like to discuss it with you.” It was obvious that he didn't want to do this over the phone, and she was suddenly afraid to force him.

“How much time do you need?” She was glancing at her watch, and trying to assess how much time she could afford. At lunchtime, even the traffic would be against her.

“Half an hour? I'd like to spend a little time talking to you. Could you come right now? I just saw my last patient of the morning. I've got a woman at the hospital, and I have a patient in early labor. This would probably be as good a time as any.”

“I'll be there in five or ten minutes,” she said tersely, standing as she prepared to hang up. Her heart was suddenly racing. This couldn't be good. But now she wanted to know, whatever it was. Maybe they had confused her results with someone else's.

“Thank you, Alex. I'll be as quick as I can.”

“I'll be right over.”

Alex sped past Liz, carrying her handbag and her coat, Brock and the others weren't even back yet. “Tell them to get something to eat, I'll be back in forty-five minutes.” She was halfway to the elevator by then, and Liz shouted after her down the hallway.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Order me a turkey sandwich.” And as Liz watched her disappear down the hall, she wondered if she might be pregnant. She knew they wanted more kids, and John Anderson was her obstetrician.

But Alex knew full well that it wasn't that, as she rode uptown in a cab, agonizing over why he had called her. It had to be the mammogram, and then suddenly she thought of it. It wasn't the mammogram, it was the Pap smear. Shit. She had cancer of the cervix. How would she get pregnant now? Although she had a number of friends who had had treatments using freezing techniques or laser beams applied to precancerous conditions, and had still managed to get pregnant. Maybe it wasn't as bad as she feared, all she wanted to know was that her life wasn't in danger and she could still get pregnant.

The cab reached his office in record time, and she hurried inside to the empty waiting room. They were expecting her and they waved her straight through to his office. He was wearing a suit, instead of his white coat, and he looked unexpectedly serious when he saw her.

“Hi, John, how are you?” She was a little out of breath from hurrying and from the anticipation of seeing him, and she sat down in a chair with her coat on.

“Thank you for coming. But I really thought you should. I wanted to talk to you myself, in person.”

“Was it the Pap smear?” she asked, feeling her heart speed up again. And the palms of her hands were damp as she clutched her handbag. But he was shaking his head.

“No, it isn't. It's the mammogram.” But it couldn't be. She had no lumps, no bumps, no problems. He reached down then and put a piece of film on the light box behind him. He pointed to a frontal view, and then put another film up with a side view. It all looked very mysterious to her, like a weather map of Atlanta. He turned then to look at her, with a look of painful importance. “There's a mass there,” he pointed to it, and only because he showed her where it was could she see it. “It's very large and quite deep. It could be a number of things, but the radiologist and I are very worried.”

“What do you mean, it could be a number of things?” She was suddenly totally confused by what he was saying. It was as though all of a sudden she couldn't hear him. Why was there a mass deep inside her breast? What was it and how did it get there?

“There are several possibilities, but a mass of this size, at this depth, in this particular area, is never a good thing, Alex. We think you have a tumor.”

“Oh Jesus.” No wonder he didn't want to tell her on the phone, and insisted that Liz interrupt her. “What does that mean? What happens now?” Her voice was thin and her face pale, and for a moment she thought she might faint, but she forced herself not to.

“You need a biopsy, as quickly as possible. Within the next week ideally.”

“I'm going into trial in two days. I can't until after the trial is over.” It was as though she hoped it would go away by then, but they both knew it wouldn't.

“You can't do that.”

“I can't let my client down. Are you telling me a few days will make that much difference?” She was horrified. What was he saying to her? That she was dying? The thought and the terror of it made her tremble.

“A few days won't necessarily make that much difference,” he admitted cautiously, “but you can't afford to drag your heels on this. You need to choose a surgeon and get the biopsy done as soon as possible, and then you'll have to see what he recommends, based on the pathologist's findings.” Oh God. It was all so complicated and frightening, and so ugly.

“Can't you do the biopsy?” She sounded suddenly desperate and very frightened. She felt as vulnerable as she had feared she would when she went to the mammography lab and began to panic. And now, the worst had happened, or almost. It was happening. It was rolling out in front of her like a terrifying movie.

“I don't do biopsies. You need a surgeon.” He picked up a piece of paper from his desk then, and she noticed that she had already been there for half an hour, but suddenly her whole life had changed, and she wasn't ready to leave yet. “I wrote down the names of a few very good people, a woman and two men. You should talk to them, and see who you like best. They're all excellent surgeons.” Surgeons!

“I don't have time for this.” She started to cry in spite of herself, it was all so horrifying, and she felt uncharacteristically overwhelmed and astonishingly helpless. She was torn between anger and terror. “I don't have time to go shopping for a doctor. I have a trial, I can't suddenly back out of it. I have responsibilities.” She sounded hysterical even to her own ears, but she couldn't help it. And then she looked up at him in genuine terror. “Do you think it's malignant?”

“Possibly.” He wanted to be honest with her. On the film, it didn't look good. “It could very well be. Or it could be fooling us into thinking it is. We won't know till you get the biopsy, but it's important that you do that quickly, so you can decide on a plan of action.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that if the biopsy is positive, you'll have to make some decisions about the course of treatment. Your surgeon will advise you, of course, but some of the decisions will have to be yours.”

“You mean like whether or not to take my breast off?” She looked appalled and her voice was shrill as she asked him.

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. We don't know anything yet, do we?” He was trying to be gentle with her, but it was making it worse. She wanted to face it now, she wanted him to swear to her it wouldn't be malignant. But he couldn't do that.

“We know I have a mass deep in my breast, and you're worried about it. That could mean I'll lose a breast, couldn't it?” She had him on the witness stand and she was relentless.

“Yes, it could,” he said quietly. He was deeply sorry for her. He had always liked her, and this was a terrible blow for any woman.

“And then what? That's it? The breast is off, no more problems?”

“Possibly, but not necessarily. It's not as simple as all that. I wish it were, but it isn't. It will depend on the type of tumor you have, the extent of its malignancy, if there is any, and the nature of the involvement. It will depend on whether or not your lymph nodes are involved, how many, and whether or not it has spread to other parts of your body. Alex, there are no simple answers. You may need extensive surgery, you may need a lumpectomy, you could need a course of chemotherapy, or radiation. I just don't know. I can't tell you anything until you have a biopsy. And I don't care how busy you are, make time to talk to these surgeons. You have to.”

“How soon?”

“Do your trial if you have to, if it's really only a week or two, but plan to have the biopsy in two weeks, no matter what. And we'll take it from there after you do that.”

“Who do you like best on this list?” She handed it back to him, and he glanced at it, and then handed it back to her quietly.

“They're all excellent, but I like Peter Herman. He's a very good man, and a nice one. He cares about more than just surgery and biopsies. He's a human being, for a surgeon.”

“Fine,” she nodded, still looking stunned. “I'll call him tomorrow.”

“Why not this afternoon?” He was pushing her, but he wanted to, he didn't want her to use her work as an excuse, or get caught up in denial.

“I'll call him later.” And then she had a sobering thought, as she glanced at him again. She felt as though she had a ten-thousand-pound weight on her shoulders. “What if I got pregnant this weekend? What if I'm pregnant and have a malignant tumor?”

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. You'll know if you're pregnant around the same time you have the biopsy.”

“What if I have cancer and I'm pregnant?” Her voice was nervous and strident. What if she had gotten pregnant and she had to sacrifice her baby?

“We'll have to establish priorities, you're the most important.”

“Oh God.” She dropped her face in her hands, and then looked up at him again a moment later. “Do you think the hormones I'm taking have anything to do with this?” The thought of it terrified her even more. What if she had killed herself trying to get pregnant?

“I honestly don't think so. Call Peter Herman. See him as soon as possible, talk to him, and let's do the biopsy as soon as you can, within reason.” It seemed a reasonable course of action. And now she had to go home and tell Sam there was a mass on her mammogram. She still couldn't believe it. But it was there. She could see it on the film, and in the expression in John Anderson's eyes. He looked devastated, as she stood up and looked at him. She had been with him for almost an hour.

“I'm so sorry, Alex. If there's anything I can do right now, don't hesitate to call me. Tell me which surgeon you settle on, and I'll take it from there.”

“I'll start with Peter Herman.”

He handed her the films from the mammogram, so she could show them to whichever surgeon she chose. Just the word “surgeon” seemed ominous, and as she walked out into the October air, she felt as though she'd just been hit with a two-by-four to her stomach. She couldn't believe what she'd heard, or what had happened.

She picked up her arm and hailed a cab, trying not to remember everything she'd ever heard about mastectomies and lumpectomies, and women who could no longer raise their arms, and other women who had died of cancer. Everything he had said to her was suddenly jumbled in her head, and as she rode back to the office, she didn't even cry. She just sat and stared straight ahead, unable to believe what he had told her.

And when she got back to her office, the whole team was sitting there, Liz and Brock, the law clerk, and the two paralegals. They were waiting for her, and Liz had ordered her turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread, but she just couldn't eat it. She stood and stared at them, and Brock noticed that her face was deadly white, but no one said anything. They went straight to work, and went right through to six o'clock. It was only after that, when they were summing up, after everyone had left, that Brock even dared to ask her.

“Are you all right?” he asked cautiously. She had looked terrible to him all day, and her face had been deathly pale ever since she came back from the doctor's. And more than once, he had noticed that her hands were shaking when she passed him papers.

“I'm fine. Why?” She tried to look nonchalant, but she failed dismally. He was smarter than that, but he didn't want to press her.

“You look tired. Maybe you're burning the candle at too many ends, Mrs. Parker. What did the doctor say?”

“Oh, nothing. It was a waste of time. He just needed to give me the results of some tests, and they never do it over the phone. It was ridiculous really. He could have mailed it to me, and saved us all time.” He didn't believe a word she said, but it seemed to be important to her to say it. He just hoped it was nothing serious. If it was, going to trial in two days certainly wasn't going to help her. He would do all he could for her, but she was still the attorney of record and had to take all the heat and the pressure, and do all the arguing and much of the preparation. He didn't dare ask her if she was up to doing the case, he knew that she would have taken the question as an insult.

“Are you going home?” He hoped for her sake that she was. He still had work to do for her, for the trial, but he could see a pile of files on her desk too and that didn't bode well for an early evening.

“I've still got a few things to do, for other clients.” She had managed to return all her phone calls late that afternoon, but she hadn't had time to call Peter Herman, or so she told herself when she thought of it. She was planning to call him the following morning.

“Can I do anything to help? You ought to go home and get some rest,” he urged, but she was determined to stay and finish.

He went back to his own office after that, and she called Annabelle at home, who was upset that Alex hadn't called her at lunchtime.

“You said you would,” she said, making Alex feel instantly guilty. She had completely forgotten after her unexpected trip to the doctor.

“I know, sweetheart. I meant to, but I got stuck in a meeting with a lot of people and I couldn't call.”

“That's okay, Mommy.” She went on to tell her then everything she'd done that afternoon with Carmen. And listening to her excited little tales made Alex feel almost jealous. She hated even more having to tell her she was going to work late. Suddenly, not being with her seemed all the more poignant.

“Can I wait up for you?” Annabelle said hopefully, as Alex sighed, praying that the shadows in her breast would not turn out to be cancer.

“I'll be too late. But I'll kiss you. I promise. And I'll wake you up tomorrow morning. This is just for this week and next, and then we'll be back to having lunch and dinner together.”

“Are you taking me to ballet this week?” Annabelle was really putting it to her, and Alex was wondering where Sam was.

“I can't. Remember? We talked about it. I'm going to be talking to the judge this week and next. I can't come to ballet.”

“Can't you ask the judge to let you come?”

“No, sweetheart. I wish I could. Where's Daddy? Is he home yet?”

“He's asleep.”

“At this hour?” It was seven o'clock. How could he be asleep?

“He was watching TV and he fell asleep. Carmen says she'll wait for you.”

“Let me talk to her. And Annabelle …” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears as she thought of her, that incredible little pixie face with the big green eyes and the freckles and the red hair. What if Alex died? What if Annabelle lost her mother? The thought of it choked her so badly she couldn't speak for a moment and then she whispered the words. “I love you, Annabelle …”

“I love you too, Mommy. See you later.”

“Sweet dreams.” And then Carmen came on the phone, and Alex told her that she could leave as soon as Annabelle was in bed. All she had to do was wake Sam and tell him she was going.

“I feel bad waking him, Mrs. Parker. I stay till you come home.”

“I won't be home for hours, Carmen. Honestly, just tell him when you want to go. He'll wake up.”

“Okay, okay. When you comin' home?”

“Probably not till around ten o'clock. I have a lot to do in the office.” But when she hung up, she just sat staring at the phone, thinking of all of them, feeling as though she had already lost them. It was as though a shadow had come between her and them today. They were alive, and she might be dying. It wasn't impossible. It was incredible. She still believed there had to be a mistake. She wasn't sick, she didn't have a lump. All she had was a gray shadow on an X ray. But a gray shadow that John Anderson had admitted could kill her, if it was malignant. It was unbelievable. Yesterday she had been trying to get pregnant, and today her own life was in danger. And the hormones she had taken the week before made it all the more difficult now to maintain her composure. They made everything seem more upsetting, and more alarming, and she tried to tell herself that the terror she was feeling wasn't real, it was just the hormones.

Brock checked back with her at nine o'clock, and he noticed that she still hadn't eaten the sandwich that had been on her desk since lunchtime. She had been drinking coffee all day, and now she was drinking a big glass of water.

“You're going to get sick if you don't eat,” he scolded her with a look of concern. She looked even worse than she had before. She was almost gray now.

“I wasn't hungry …actually, I just forgot to eat. I was too busy.”

“That's a lousy excuse. You're not going to do Jack Schultz any good if you get sick before his trial date, or in the middle of it.”

“Yeah, that's a thought,” she said vaguely, and then she looked up at him with worried eyes, “I guess you could take over for me, Brock, if you had to.”

“I wouldn't think of it. You're the attorney they want. You're what he's paid for.” It was exactly what she had said to her doctor that afternoon, when she said she couldn't do the biopsy until after the trial. People were depending on her …and then she thought of Annabelle and Sam and had to fight back tears again. Her engine was running low, and she was suddenly overwhelmed by everything that had happened. The mammogram films were in an envelope on her desk, but what she had seen there was emblazoned in her mind forever.

“Why don't you go home?” he asked gently. “I'll finish up. You've got everything a lot more in control than you think. Trust me.” He was gentle and kind, and half an hour later, she decided to go home. She was just too tired to make sense anymore, or do intelligent work. She felt as though she'd been run over by a semi. And for the first time in years, she didn't even take her briefcase. Brock noticed it, but he didn't remind her. And as he watched her go, he felt sorry for her. It was obvious that something was wrong. She had never looked worse, but he didn't know her well enough to ask her, or offer to help her.

She laid her head back against the seat of the cab, and she felt as though it were a bowling ball, and it was just too heavy to hold up anymore. She just couldn't do it. And when she got home, she paid the cab, and walked into the building, feeling like a thousand-year-old woman. She rode up in the elevator, wondering what she was going to say to Sam. This would be terrible news for him too, for all of them. A bad mammogram was nothing to take lightly, and statistics about breast cancer kept leaping into her head, and none of them were good news. She couldn't even begin to imagine how she would tell him.

He was watching TV in the living room when she walked in, and he looked up at her with a smile when he saw her. He was wearing jeans and his white shirt from work. His tie was still lying on the table.

“Hi, how was your day?” he asked cheerfully, reaching out to her, and she sat down heavily on the couch beside him. She suddenly had to fight back tears again, just seeing him had brought all the terror back to her. She just couldn't bear it. “Wow …looks like a rough day …” And then he remembered the hormones she'd been taking. “Oh poor baby, those damn pills making you emotional again? Maybe you shouldn't take them.” Between that and the trial, she really had a lot to cope with. He pulled her into his arms, and she clung to him as though she were drowning.

“You look worn out,” he said sympathetically when she looked up at him and dried her eyes. He was right. The pills were making this even harder than it should be. Or were they? “You must be going crazy before the trial.”

“I am. It was a hellish day,” she admitted, as she lay back on the couch next to him, exhausted.

“I hate to say it, but you look it. Did you eat?”

She shook her head. “I wasn't hungry.”

“Great. How do you think you're going to get pregnant if you starve yourself. Come on.” He pulled her to her feet, or tried to, “I'll make you an omelet.”

“I couldn't eat. Honest. I'm beat. Why don't we just go to bed?” That was all she wanted. She wanted to see Annabelle, and he next to him, for as long as she could. Forever.

“Something wrong?” He suddenly wondered why she looked the way she did. She looked worse than usual, even before a trial, and she didn't answer him as she tiptoed into Annabelle's bedroom. She stood there for a long time, watching her, and then knelt down next to her, and kissed her. And then she walked into their own room. He was watching her, concerned, and she started undressing, and left her clothes on the chair as she put on her nightgown. She didn't even have the energy to take a shower or brush her hair. She brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed and lay there with her eyes closed, knowing she had to tell him.

“Baby,” he tried again, as he lay down next to her, “what's wrong? Did something happen at the office?” She took her work very seriously, and if she'd done something that had injured a client she would have tormented herself just as she seemed to be doing now. But she was quick to shake her head and deny it.

“Anderson called me again today,” she said in a low voice, and he watched her.

“And?”

“I went to see him at lunchtime.”

“What about? You can't have figured out already that you're pregnant?” It had only been two days, and he smiled at her. She was so anxious to have a baby.

She hesitated for a long time, torturing both of them, but she hated to say the words, to tell him and make it real. She hated to do it to all of them. But she knew she had to.

“There was a shadow on my mammogram.” She said it like a death knell, but Sam seemed a lot less impressed than she was.

“So?”

“It could mean that I have a tumor.”

“ ‘Could.' That means they don't know squat. And Martians could land on Park Avenue at midnight. But will they? Not likely. Probably just as likely as your ‘shadow' being a tumor.” She liked the way he thought about it. It restored her faith in her own body, which, in the past twelve hours, seemed to have betrayed her. But maybe it hadn't. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe she was just overreacting. “They don't know anything. It's probably just what it appears to be, and nothing more than that. A shadow.”

“Anderson wants me to see a surgeon and have a biopsy. He gave me three names to call, but I don't have any time before the trial. I thought I'd call one tomorrow, and see if he could see me at lunchtime. Otherwise, I'll have to wait till after the trial,” she said, looking worried.

“Did he think that would make a big difference?”

“Not really,” she admitted, feeling better than she had all day, “but he said I should get to it soon.”

“Obviously, but there's no need to panic. Half the time these guys are protecting themselves, they don't want to get sued, so they tell you the absolute worst, just in case, so you can't ever say they didn't warn you. And then if it's good news, everyone's happy. They never take into account the damage they cause by scaring you to death. For chrissake, Alex, you're a lawyer, you should know that. Don't let these bozos scare you!” She looked up at him with a grin, suddenly feeling both relieved and foolish, and he was smiling at her. He wasn't panicking. He didn't think she was going to die. He wasn't clinging to her, or being melodramatic. He had put the matter completely into perspective. And she suddenly realized that he was right. Even John Anderson wouldn't want to leave himself open to a lawsuit.

“What do you think I should do?”

“Get through your trial, have the biopsy in your own sweet time, but stay calm, and don't let these clowns scare the pants off you. And I'll bet you the profit on my next deal that your shadow is just that …and nothing more. Look at you, you're the healthiest woman I know. Or at least you would be if you ate occasionally and got some sleep.” But just talking to him now she felt better, and so relieved. He was intelligent, he kept a cool head, and he was probably right. It was probably just a scare, and not a tumor.

She felt immeasurably better when they turned off the lights that night, and only slightly worried again when she woke up the next morning. For an instant, she remembered that something terrible had happened the day before and she had that feeling of foreboding you get when you're in the midst of disaster. But as soon as she woke up, she reminded herself of everything Sam had said and she felt better again. And she made a point of waking Annabelle up and having her sit in the kitchen with her while she made breakfast. She even had a list of possible costumes for her. Liz had researched it the day before. They had a pumpkin, a princess, a ballerina, and a nurse, all in Annabelle's size, who opted instantly for the princess. It was exactly what she had dreamed of. “Oh Mommy, I love you!” she said, throwing her arms around her mother's waist.

“Me too,” Alex said, giving her a one-handed squeeze with a smile, as she flipped pancakes for her. She suddenly felt like celebrating. It was as though she had already been relieved of a terrible burden. Annabelle was happy, and Sam had convinced her that the shadow the doctors had seen was surely a false alarm. She wanted with her entire being to believe him. And this time, when Alex left for work, she swore and crossed her heart that she would call Annabelle at lunchtime.

She left her with Sam again, and kissed him fervently before she left, thanking him for his reassurances of the night before.

“You should have called me at the office. I'd have told you then.”

“I know. I guess I overreacted. It was stupid.” But anyone would have.

She kissed them both good-bye, and hurried out to the office. Brock was already waiting for her again, along with the rest of the team. She met with Matthew Billings, and it was eleven-fifteen before she remembered to call the surgeon Dr. Anderson had recommended.

A nurse asked why she was calling him, and Alex explained that it was about a biopsy, as Brock came back into her office for a file, and she prayed that he would take it quickly. He did and then disappeared again, as she wished she had locked the door. But maybe, if Sam was right, it really wouldn't matter.

Eventually, Dr. Peter Herman came on the line, and he sounded serious to her, and not terribly friendly. She explained about the shadow on the film, and that Dr. Anderson was concerned and felt that she should see him.

“I've already spoken to him.' Peter Herman explained. “He called me this morning. You're going to need a biopsy, Mrs. Parker. As soon as possible, I believe Dr. Anderson explained that.”

“Yes, he did.” She tried to maintain the calm that Sam had given her the night before, but it was more difficult with a stranger. She felt threatened by him, and everything he represented. “But I'm a trial attorney, and I start a trial tomorrow. I really can't do anything for the next week or ten days. I was hoping to come and see you after that.”

“That would be a very foolish decision,” he said bluntly, denying everything Sam had said to her, or perhaps confirming it. Maybe he was just protecting himself from malpractice, she told herself. This way, he had warned her. “Why don't you come and see me today, and then we'll know where we stand. And if we need to, we can set the biopsy up for a week from next Monday. Would that suit you?”

“I …yes … it would …but …I'm very busy today. My trial starts tomorrow.” She had already told him that, but she was feeling desperate again, and very frightened.

“Two o'clock this afternoon?” He was relentless, and she found herself incapable of arguing with him. She nodded her head silently at first, and then agreed to come to his office at two p.m. Fortunately, his office wasn't far from hers. “Would you like to bring a friend?” The question surprised her.

“Why would I do that?” Was he planning to hurt her, or render her somehow unable to take care of herself? Why would she take a friend to meet a doctor?

“I find that women very often get confused when confronted with difficult situations and large amounts of information.”

“Are you serious?” If it weren't so shocking, she would have laughed. “I'm a trial lawyer. I deal with difficult situations every day, and probably more ‘information' than you deal with in a year.” She was not amused by his comment.

“The information you deal with normally is not about your own health. Even physicians find facing malignancies of their own difficult and upsetting.”

“We don't know that I have a malignancy yet, do we?”

“You're quite right, we don't. Will I see you at two o'clock?” She wanted to say no, but she knew that she shouldn't.

“I'll see you then,” she said, and hung up, furious with him. Part of her reaction was the hormones and part of it was that he was the potential bearer of bad news and she feared him deeply. And as soon as she hung up, she called one of her paralegals in, and gave her an unusual project. She gave her all three names Dr. Anderson had given her, and told her to find out about their reputations. “I want to know everything about them, any dirt, any good stuff, what do other doctors think. I'm not sure who you should call, but call everyone, Sloan-Kettering, Columbia Presbyterian, the medical schools where they teach. Call everyone you have to. And please don't tell anyone you're doing this for me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Parker,” the paralegal said meekly, but she was the most industrious worker assigned to Alex and she knew she would get her the information.

And two hours later, she already had the scoop on Peter Herman. Alex was about to leave when the girl came hurrying in and told Alex that he had a reputation of being cold to his patients, but he was the best there was surgically, and there was something to be said for that. One of the hospitals she'd called, and the most illustrious, said he was extremely conservative but one of the best breast surgeons in the country. And the early reports on the other two were that they were almost as good, but not quite, and even more unpleasant to their patients than Peter Herman. Both of them were supposedly prima donnas. And Herman supposedly liked dealing with doctors and not patients, which was probably why John Anderson liked him.

“At least he knows what he's doing, even if he's no Prince Charming,” Alex commented as she thanked her paralegal, and asked her to continue to follow up on the others. And as she took a cab to his office, she wondered what he would say to her about the gray mass on the mammogram. She had had a range of views now, Sam's optimistic one, and John Anderson's far more ominous one, which Sam said was probably nonsense. She liked Sam's view of it a lot better.

But unfortunately, Peter Herman did not share. Sam's assessment of the situation. He told her that the shadowy area they saw was clearly a tumor deep in her breast in an area, and of a shape that almost always indicated a malignancy. Naturally, they couldn't be sure until they did the biopsy, but in his experience what they were going to find would be a tumor, and not a good one. After that, it would depend on the stage it was in, the degree to which it had infiltrated, whether it was hormone receptor negative or positive, and if there was metastasis. He was cold and matter-of-fact, and he painted anything but a pretty picture.

“What will all of that mean?”

“I won't know till we get in there. At best, a lumpectomy. If not, you may want to follow a more extreme course, which would mean a modified radical mastectomy. It's the one sure way of being certain that you've eliminated the disease, depending on the stage of the tumor, of course, and the extent of the involvement.” He showed her a chart that meant absolutely nothing to her, which had letters and numbers on it and covered a variety of contingencies, all of them completely confusing.

“Is a mastectomy the only way to wipe out the disease?” she said in a strangled voice, realizing that he'd been right. She was completely confused, and felt utterly stupid. She was no longer the trial lawyer, she was merely the woman.

“Not necessarily,” he answered her, “we may want to add radiation or chemotherapy. Again, this will depend on other factors at the time, and the extent of the involvement.” Radiation or chemotherapy? And a modified radical mastectomy? Why didn't they just kill her? It wasn't that she was so enamored with her breasts, but the idea of being completely disfigured and desperately ill from chemo or radiation made her want to vomit just thinking about it. Where was Sam now with his cheerful prognosis, and warnings about surgeons fearing malpractice? She couldn't even remember it now. What Herman said was so much more real, and so utterly terrifying, she could hardly think straight.

“What exactly would the procedure be?”

“We'll schedule you for a biopsy. I would prefer to do it under general anesthesia since the mass is so deep in your breast. And after that, you'll have to make the decision.”

“I will?”

“Presumably. You're going to have to make some informed choices. There are a number of options in this area of medicine. You'll have to make some of the decisions, they don't all rest with me here.”

“Why not? You're the doctor.”

“Because there are choices to be made, involving more or less risk, and more or less discomfort. It's your body and your life, in the final analysis, and you must make the decisions too. But with early detections such as these, I almost always suggest a mastectomy. It's a great deal wiser and surer. You can always have reconstructive surgery within a few months to restore the appearance of the breast, if you wish to.”

He made it sound like having a fender put back on a car, and not a breast on her body. And she didn't know it, but his preference for mastectomies as the surer cure was what had earned him his conservative reputation.

“Would you do the biopsy and the mastectomy on the same day?”

“Normally not. But if you prefer it that way, we can. You seem to be a very busy woman, and it would save you time, if you're prepared to entrust me with that decision. We can work that out beforehand, in the event of certain findings. We would have to plan that carefully.” Of course, she thought of Sam, to avoid a lawsuit. And then she thought of something else.

“What if I turn out to be pregnant in the next few weeks?”

“Is that possible?” He seemed surprised, and she felt faintly insulted. Did he think she was too old to have babies, just tumors?

“I've been taking Serophene and trying to get pregnant.”

“Then I would think you'd want to abort, if you were, and proceed with treatment. You can't afford to let something like this go for eight or nine months. Your husband and family need you, Mrs. Parker, more than they need another baby.” It was all so coldblooded and so simple, like the razor-sharp edge of a scalpel. She still couldn't believe what she was hearing. “I'd like to suggest that we schedule your biopsy for a week from next Monday and you come in to see me before that to discuss the options.”

“There don't seem to be very many of those, or am I missing something?”

“I'm afraid not, at this point anyway. First we have to see what you've got there. And then we can decide what to do about it. But you should know that my preference is almost always mastectomy in the case of early cancers. I want to save your life, Mrs. Parker, more than your breast. It's a question of priorities. And if you have a malignancy that deep in your breast, you may be a lot safer, and better off, without the breast now. Later, it may be too late. It's a conservative stance, but it's one that has proven to be reliable over the years. Some of the newer, riskier views can be disastrous. Doing a mastectomy early on could well be a great deal safer. And if indicated after the surgery, I'd want to start an aggressive course of chemotherapy four weeks after the surgery. This may sound frightening to you now, but six or seven months from now, you'll be free of the disease, hopefully forever. Of course, I can't recommend that to you now. We'll have to see what the biopsy tells us.”

“Would I still be able to …” She could hardly bring herself to say it, but she knew she had to. She wanted to know, since he had been so free about suggesting an abortion if she were pregnant, “…would I be able to conceive afterwards?”

He hesitated, but not for long. He had been asked this question before, though usually by younger women. At forty-two, most women were more interested in saving their own lives than in having babies. “It's possible. There's about a fifty percent sterility rate after chemotherapy. But it's a risk we'd have to take, of course. It could do you grave harm not to have it.” Grave harm? What did that mean? That it would kill her not to have chemo? It was a nightmare. “You'll have time to think about all this, during your trial. And I'd like you to make an appointment whenever possible. I'll try to accommodate your schedule as best I can. I understand from John Anderson that you're a very busy attorney.” He almost cracked a smile, but not quite, and Alex wondered if this was the “human” side John Anderson had referred to. If so, it was very small in comparison to the cold-blooded technician and scientist he was the rest of the time, when he was not being “human.”

He scared her to death with his icy factual explanations, but she also knew of his excellent reputation. What she needed was an excellent surgeon, if it turned out that she had a tumor and it was malignant. And she could have Sam to boost her spirits.

“Is there anything else I should explain to you?” he asked, and surprised her with the question. But all she could do was shake her head. It was worse than what she'd heard the day before, and he had completely overwhelmed her. She could already imagine herself without her left breast, and undergoing chemotherapy. Did that mean she would also lose her hair? She couldn't bring herself to ask him. But she had known women who had been through it, and worn wigs, or had the shortest of short haircuts. She knew what everyone did, that if you had chemotherapy, you lost your hair. It was just one more affront to a rapidly growing list of terrors.

She left his office in a daze, and when she got back to her own office, she wasn't even sure what the doctor looked like. She knew she had spent an hour with him, but suddenly his face was blank, along with almost everything he had said except the words tumor and malignancy, mastectomy and chemotherapy. The rest was an indistinguishable blur of sounds and noises.

“Are you okay?” Brock walked into her office almost as soon as she got back, and he was shocked at how she looked again, and very worried. “You're not getting sick, are you?” She already was sick, probably, according to her doctors. It seemed incredible. She felt perfect, nothing hurt, she wasn't ill, and they were telling her she probably had cancer. Cancer. She still couldn't bring herself to believe it. Nor could Sam.

She told him that night, when she got home, everything Dr. Herman had said, and Sam just brushed all of it off again, with the same calm, easy insistence.

“I'm telling you, Alex, these guys are protecting themselves against malpractice.”

“But what if they're not? What if they're right? This guy is the biggest breast surgeon in his field, why would he lie to me just to cover his own ass?”

“Maybe he has a big mortgage on his house, maybe he needs to take so many boobs off every year to cover it. What do I know? You've gone to a surgeon, he's not going to tell you to go home and take an aspirin. Hell, no, he's going to tell you that you need to take your boob off. And if nothing else, he's going to scare the hell out of you, to cover himself, just in case you do have something there, which I don't believe for a minute.”

“Are you telling me he's lying to me? That he'd do a mastectomy even if I didn't have cancer?” Cancer. They were saying it now like “Kleenex,” or “microwave,” or “nosebleed.” It was a dreaded word that had become part of her daily vocabulary, and she hated hearing it, especially when she said it. “Do you think this guy is a complete charlatan?” She didn't know what to think now, and Sam's attitude was making her crazy.

“Probably not. He's probably basically responsible, or Anderson wouldn't be recommending him to you, but you can't trust anyone, not doctors anyway.”

“That's what they say about lawyers,” she said glumly.

“Baby, stop worrying. It's probably nothing. He'll make a little cut in your breast and find out there's whipped cream in there, sew it up, and tell you to forget it. Don't put yourself through this in the meantime.” He was so purposely blithe about it that in some ways it made her even more nervous.

“But what if he was right? He said that masses like this, this deep in the breast, are more often malignancies. What if it is?” She kept trying to make him see what was happening, but he just wouldn't.

“It won't be a malignancy,” Sam insisted doggedly. “Trust me.” He absolutely refused to hear what she was saying. He seemed to be shielding himself from the realities with optimism and good humor. His insistence that nothing would happen to her made her feel suddenly lonely, and although she desperately wanted to, she didn't entirely believe him. All he had done was shake her faith in both Dr. Anderson and Dr. Herman. So much so that on the second day of the trial, she used a brief recess to call one of the other doctors Anderson had recommended.

She was younger and had published fewer articles, but she was just as respected, and reputed to be just as conservative as Dr. Peter Herman. Her name was Frederica Wallerstrom, and she agreed to meet Alex before court the next day, at seven-thirty in the morning. And when Alex met with her, she wanted Dr. Wallerstrom to be the solution to all her problems. She wanted her to be nurturing and warm, tell her that her fears were in vain, and that more than likely the tumor would be benign, and none of the horrors she had heard would apply to her. But Wallerstrom looked extremely stern, said nothing at all as she examined first Alex, and then the films, and when she spoke, her eyes were cold and her face entirely without emotion.

“I'd say Dr. Herman was being quite accurate in his assessment. You can never tell of course, at this stage. But my guess would be that it's probably malignant.” She didn't mince her words, and she seemed unconcerned with Alex's reaction. As she listened to the woman with the cropped gray hair and powerful hands like a man's, Alex felt her own palms grow damp and her legs start to tremble. “We could be wrong of course, but you develop a sense of these things,” she said coolly.

“And what would you recommend if it is malignant, Dr. Wallerstrom?” Alex asked, trying to remind herself that she was the consumer here, that she was auditioning this woman, and she still had options and choices. But she felt like a child, helpless and without knowledge or control, as the other woman eyed her with dispassion.

“There are the advocates of lumpectomies, of course, in almost all circumstances, but personally, I think the risks they take too often prove them wrong, and a decision like that can be disastrous later on. A mastectomy is the surest way of assuring that you have eliminated the disease, coupled with chemotherapy in most instances, of course. I'm a conservative,” she said firmly, discarding the other school without hesitation, no matter how respected or valid their theories. “I'm a proponent of mastectomies. You can do other things. You can opt for a lumpectomy and radiation, but you're a busy woman, and how realistic is that? You won't have the time, and you may regret it later. Sparing the breast now could prove to be an enormous mistake later. You can risk it of course. It's your choice. But personally, I completely concur with Dr. Herman.” Not only did she agree with him, but she seemed to have nothing to add, no warmth, no kindness, no compassion for Alex as a woman. If anything, she was even colder than Dr. Herman. And although Alex had wanted to like her, because she was a woman, if nothing else, she liked her even less, and could hardly wait to rush out of her office and take a breath of air. She felt as though she were suffocating from everything Dr. Wallerstrom had told her.

Alex arrived at the courthouse at a quarter after eight, and she was shocked to realize how little time the doctor had actually spent with her on such a serious matter, or maybe it was only serious to Alex. To everyone else, it seemed like a very ordinary occurrence. An easy choice. Get rid of the breast, and the problem. It was all so simple, as long as they were the doctors, and not the patient. To them, it was a matter of theories and statistics. To Alex, it was her life, her breast, and her future. And none of the choices were easy.

She was disappointed to realize that having gotten a second opinion, she was no more certain of what would happen to her, no more reassured about the outcome or the options. She had somehow hoped that Dr. Wallerstrom would allay all her fears, and tell her that everyone else was overreacting and being foolish. Instead, she had only heightened Alex's fears, and made her feel even more frightened and lonely. The biopsy would still have to be done, the situation and the tumor analyzed, and the ultimate decision would have to be hers, and her surgeon's. There was still the chance, of course, that the tumor would be benign, but after everything they had said to her in the past few days, it seemed less and less likely.

Even Sam's cheerful refusal to believe the worst seemed patently absurd now. And with his adamant refusal to discuss the possibilities with her, the pressures of the trial, and the fertility medication she knew she was still reacting to, she felt as though she was barely clinging to sanity during the entire week. She felt as though she were walking underwater.

The only thing that kept her from losing her mind completely was incredibly solid support from Brock as they worked their way through the trial, and it seemed like a miracle when the jury absolved Jack Schultz of absolutely everything the plaintiff wanted. They denied the plaintiff everything, and Jack must have thanked her a thousand times. The trial only took six days, as it turned out, and they were finished at four o'clock on Wednesday. Winning had been the only good thing that had happened.

She sat in the courtroom, feeling drained, but looking pleased, and she thanked Brock for all his help. It had been the hardest ten days of her life, harder than anyone knew, and they had done some extraordinary teamwork.

“I couldn't have done it without you,” she said graciously, and really meant it. The last few days had worn her down more than even he suspected.

“You were the one who did it.” He looked at her admiringly. “You're a pleasure to watch in the courtroom. It's like great ballet, or fine surgery. You don't miss a stitch, or a step, or an incision, or a suture.”

“Thank you,” she was packing up their files, with his help, and his words had reminded her that she had to call Peter Herman. She dreaded seeing him again, and the biopsy was only five days away now. She knew nothing more than she had before, except that her visit to Dr. Wallerstrom had confirmed Peter Herman's assessment. And Sam had literally refused to discuss any of it with her again. He said it was a big fuss about something that would never happen. She hoped he was right, but for the moment, he seemed to be the only one who thought so.

She tried to feel victorious about the trial, and Jack Schultz sent her a magnum of champagne, which she took home with her, but she wasn't in the mood to celebrate. She was nervous and depressed, and very frightened about Monday.

The day after the trial ended, she went back to see Peter Herman, and this time he didn't pull any punches. He told her in no uncertain terms that if a tumor that big and that deep turned out to be malignant, she would have to have a modified radical mastectomy, and extensive chemotherapy, and it was best to face it. He explained that she had two choices. She could have the biopsy, under general of course, and then discuss the options with him again afterwards. Or she could sign a permission slip before the biopsy, which would allow him to do whatever he felt was necessary, after he'd done the biopsy. It would mean being put under general anesthesia once instead of twice, and trusting him completely. It was unusual, he explained, to do the procedures in one step rather than two, but he also correctly sensed that Alex wanted to get it over with in a single operation. The only complication would be if she was pregnant. And he said that, whether she was or not, he'd understand perfectly if she preferred doing the procedures in two stages.

But, as with the lumpectomy versus the mastec-tomy_i; she had to be the one to make the decision. She had to choose if she wanted to do the biopsy by itself, or in tandem with the actual operation. To Alex, as she discussed it with him, it seemed simpler to deal with it all at once, rather than prolong the agony, and go back to the hospital again for a mastectomy, if the tumor was malignant. She trusted Dr. Herman to make the right decision once he biopsied the tumor. And she had already made the most difficult choice of all since seeing Dr. Wallerstrom. Although the prospect of doing only a lumpectomy was very tempting to save her breast, even the vaguest hint of greater safety by eliminating the entire breast won her over. Both views were heatedly debated by equally respected surgeons, and yet it was clear to her which Peter Herman preferred, and much as she ached at the prospect, she decided to follow his thinking. She had already agreed to the modified radical mastectomy he had described to her, if the tumor proved to be malignant. And to chemotherapy, if he felt it was needed. But they would make that decision later.

But the real agony for her was what she would do if she was pregnant. She knew what she owed Sam and Annabelle, but she also knew how difficult, if not impossible, it would be to give up an unborn baby. Dr. Herman explained very clearly as she stared at him that in the first trimester of pregnancy, mastectomies were always performed rather than lumpectomies, because of the inadvisability of doing radiation. Having a lumpectomy automatically meant the necessity for radiation. But in the case of a mastectomy, if chemotherapy was advised, it would almost certainly cause a spontaneous abortion. It would do the same in the second trimester as well, so if chemotherapy was necessary, it would more than likely kill her baby. It was only in the third trimester that they felt they could afford to wait, and treat the cancer after the baby was delivered.

He said very honestly that he thought there was almost no chance at all that her mass would prove to be benign. He had just seen tumors like it too often. What he was hoping for her was that it would not have infiltrated, or metastasized, and that there would be minimal node involvement. And he also hoped, of course, that it would be nothing more than a Stage I tumor. She felt herself blanking out on him again, and forced herself to listen and understand what he was saying. She wished Sam were there with her but he was too busy denying that there was even going to be a problem, she hadn't even thought to ask him.

“What about the pregnancy?” Dr. Herman asked her before she left. “How real a possibility is that?” It could affect some of their decisions.

“I don't know,” she said sadly, “for the moment.” She wouldn't know for sure until that weekend.

“Would you like to have some counseling, before the biopsy?” he asked, showing his “human” side again, which was very small, and very seldom seen, but at least he was trying. “Particularly, if you might want to make this a one-time procedure in the event of a malignancy, you might like to speak to a therapist, or some other women who've been through it. Normally, we recommend peer groups, but that usually isn't until later. They're extraordinarily helpful.”

She looked at him ruefully and shook her head. “I don't have time. Particularly if I'm liable to be out of the office for several weeks.” She had to cover all possibilities, and she had already asked Matt Billings to cover for her, and she had given a lot of her work to Brock. She knew he would take good care of it. But she hadn't told either of them where she was going. She had intimated only that she had a medical problem that needed to be worked out, and it could take anywhere from two days to two weeks, but they were prepared to accept that and help her out as much as possible. Brock said he hoped it was nothing serious, and Matthew didn't even think of it, and wondered if she was going to have a nose job, or her eyes done. His wife had done it the year before and he didn't think Alex needed anything of the sort, but he also believed that all women were a little crazy about their looks, and Alex looked so healthy, it never dawned on him that she might have a serious problem.

“How soon do you really think I'll be able to go back to work?” she asked the doctor honestly.

“Possibly in two or three weeks, depending on how you do. And then of course it'll depend on how you do with the chemo. We'd be starting that approximately four weeks after surgery. Some women do very well, others have more problems.” To him it was already a foregone conclusion. She had cancer, the breast was coming off, and she was going to have chemo. Maybe Sam was right and it was just a factory that lopped off boobs to pay the rent, but it was hard to believe that. From what Peter Herman said, it was a lot easier to believe she had a serious problem.

He wanted her to go to the hospital that weekend for blood tests and a chest X ray, and they had discussed the impossibility of her giving her own blood on such short notice. But he had told her that even radical mastectomies rarely required transfusions, and if need be, after the surgery, he would call her office to organize donor-specific blood, and other than that, there was nothing left to say, until Monday. He told her that he wanted to hear from her over the weekend if she discovered she wasn't pregnant, and she agreed to call him. And eventually, she left his office feeling wooden.

She went back to her office for the rest of the afternoon, and home to Annabelle and Sam for dinner that night, and only Carmen noticed how quiet and withdrawn she was. Alex didn't say anything to Sam about her visit to Dr. Herman, until later that night, but when she did, he was already half asleep, and he didn't even answer her, as she explained what the doctor had said to her. And when she looked over at Sam again, he was snoring softly.

She cleared her desk on Friday morning before noon, and Brock came by to pick up some files, and wish her luck the following week.

“I hope whatever it is works out, the way you want it.” He suspected what it might be, he had heard the word “biopsy” in one of her conversations. It was a word that struck fear in his heart, but he hoped that hers wouldn't be serious, and that she'd be back in the office quickly. She said a hasty good-bye to him, and then gave Liz her final instructions. She said she'd be calling in for messages, and she could send work to the house in a few days, if Alex wasn't back yet.

“Take care of yourself,” Liz said quietly, and then hugged her as Alex fought back tears, and then turned away so Liz wouldn't see them.

“You take care too, Liz. I'll see you soon,” she said, exuding a confidence she didn't feel, and then she cried all the way uptown in a cab, to pick up Annabelle at school. It was Friday and they had ballet to go to.

She took Annabelle out to lunch at Serendipity, and then they went straight to Miss Tilly's. Annabelle had never been happier. She was pleased that Alex was around again, and not “busy with the judge” anymore. Annabelle told her in no uncertain terms, over a hot fudge sundae, that she really didn't like that.

“I'll try not to do it more often than I have to.” Alex hadn't said anything to her about her trip to the hospital on Monday, and on Saturday she tried to talk to Sam about what they should say to her about it. She thought a business trip was the best idea, explaining that she was going to the hospital would be much too threatening.

“Don't even think of it,” Sam said, looking annoyed at her, “you'll be back by that afternoon, for heaven's sake.” As he said it, he looked edgy and sounded angry.

“I might not be,” she said quietly, upset that he was continuing to refuse to face the problem. He was clinging to denial. “I could end up there for a week if they do a mastectomy,” she said, trying to force herself, as well as Sam, to accept it, but he refused to hear it.

“Will you stop it? You're driving me crazy. What is this? Do you want sympathy, or what?” She had never seen him quite so frantic. It was as though she had touched a nerve, and she wondered suddenly if his anxiety had anything to do with his own memories about his mother. But whatever his reasons for avoiding her, he was making Alex even more nervous.

“Actually,” she finally turned on him, angry for the first time since it had all happened, “I want some support from you. This crazy routine of refusing to believe anything is happening isn't making it easier for me. Has it ever occurred to you that I need your help with this? This isn't easy for me. I might lose a breast in two days, and you're insisting it couldn't happen.” Tears filled her eyes as she said it.

“Nothing's going to happen,” he said gruffly, and then turned away to hide his own tears. But he never spoke of it to her again, and by Sunday she understood that he wasn't going to. He couldn't. It scared him too much, it was all too reminiscent of his own mother. But whatever the reason, it left Alex with no support at all. She had plenty of acquaintances, and some friends she knew well, but she seldom saw them, except the ones she worked with. She never had time to see friends, she was always working. Sam was her best friend, and right now he just couldn't face the threat of what could be happening to her, or make himself help her. And she was embarrassed to call anyone else. “Hi …this is Alex Parker, and I'm having a breast biopsy tomorrow, want to come by? …actually, I might even be having a mastectomy, if it turns out to be a malignancy, but Sam says we're really just doing it to buy the doctor a Mercedes …anything for a good cause.” It was too hard for her to call anyone, harder still to admit that Sam was letting her down. But he was. Terribly. And that night she explained to Annabelle that in the morning she had to go away for a few days on business. Annabelle looked disappointed but she said she understood, and Alex promised to call her, and told her that Daddy would take good care of her, and she had to fight back tears as she said it. Annabelle hugged her tight and told her how much she would miss her, which made it even harder for Alex.

“Will you be back in time for Miss Tilly's on Friday?” she asked with huge green eyes, as Alex fought to maintain her composure.

“I'll try, sweetheart, I promise,” she said hoarsely, clinging to her little girl and praying nothing terrible would happen. Maybe Dr. Herman was wrong, and she'd be lucky. Being with Annabelle made her feel so vulnerable and so frightened. “Will you be a good girl and have a nice time with Daddy and Carmen? I'm really going to miss you.” More than she'd ever know, Alex thought, choking on tears, but she was doing this to save her life, both the biopsy and whatever came later. She wanted to be there for Annabelle for a long time. Forever.

“Why are you going, Mommy?” Annabelle asked sadly. It was as though she sensed that there was more than Alex was saying.

“Because I have to. For work.” But even to her own ears, she didn't sound convincing.

“You work too much,” Annabelle said softly. “I'll take care of you when I'm big, Mommy. I promise.” She was so sweet, and Alex didn't want to leave her. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving her the next morning and she clung to her for a long time before finally turning off the light, and going to make dinner for herself and Sam.

But she was so nervous, she was nauseous. All she could think of was what she was about to go through. And Sam stayed well away from the subject all through dinner. He went to read some reports afterwards and Alex went back to check on Annabelle. She lay next to the sleeping child for a little while, she just wanted to feel her curls against her cheek, and feel her breathing softly before she left her. And then she stood watching her from the doorway. She looked like a little angel, asleep in her bed, and Alex walked back into her own bedroom, praying for a miracle at the hospital the next morning. All she wanted was her life, even if it cost her a breast to keep it.

Sam was asleep in front of the TV when she slipped into their bed. He had had a hard week too, with a large group of Arab investors visiting from Saudi. But he had scarcely said a word, and certainly not a kind or encouraging one, to Alex about the morning. It was impossible not to be angry at him. She lay next to him for an hour, wanting to talk to him, but when he finally stirred, he just pulled off his jeans and his T-shirt, and slipped into bed, without really waking.

“Sam? …” she said softly, wanting to wake him, to talk to him, to be near him, even to make love to him, but he was a million miles away now, and oblivious to her problem.

“Hmmm …?”

“Are you sleeping?” It was obvious that he was, but she didn't want him to. But he was beyond rousing. “I love you,” she said, as she lay looking at him. But he didn't hear her. He didn't hear anything. He was far away, in his own world. Too much so to help his wife, or to accept what was happening to her. He was just too afraid to deal with it, and she knew that. But she had never felt as lonely in her life. In his own way, he had deserted her completely.

And when she went to the bathroom before she went to sleep, she discovered what she had prayed wouldn't happen. She had gotten her period, in spite of their attempts two weeks before, and the hormones she had taken. There would be only a biopsy, and possibly surgery. There would be no baby.

Chapter 5

Alex woke at six the next day, and prowled around the house for a little while, wishing it were a different morning. She started a pot of coffee for Sam, set out the breakfast things, and looked at Annabelle, sleeping soundly. Sam was still asleep too, and it was so odd looking at both of them, knowing she'd be gone soon, for a few hours, or a few days, to win or lose a battle that could take her away from them forever. It was unthinkable, as she stood staring into Annabelle's room. How could she ever leave her little girl? What would happen to them? She couldn't begin to fathom what was about to happen to her that morning.

She was careful not to eat or drink anything, although she longed for a cup of coffee, and as she brushed her teeth, she suddenly found she had to fight back tears. There was an overwhelming urge to run away, to hide from all of it, but there was no hiding now from the treachery of her own body. Instead, she stood up and looked at herself, with tears running down her cheeks, her toothbrush in her hand, as she stared into the mirror. She set the toothbrush down and dropped the straps on her nightgown. The silky gown fell easily to the floor without a sound, and she stood looking at herself, the small firm breasts that she had always taken for granted. The left was a fraction larger than the right, and she remembered suddenly with a smile that Annabelle had always preferred it to the other when she nursed her. She couldn't help but appreciate the symmetry of her breasts, and the long, graceful lines of her body. She had long legs, a small waist, she had always had a good figure and never thought much about it. And what would happen now? Who would she be, if she lost the breast today? Would she be someone else? Would she be so hideously deformed that Sam would no longer want her? She had wanted to talk about it with him, to hear him say that he didn't care if she had one breast or two. She needed to hear the words, but he hadn't been able to face even the idea of it, and he had told her all week that nothing was wrong with her and she was being morbid.

And now, she stood looking at herself, and she cried as she realized what might happen to her. She couldn't even imagine it. A breast was a small price to pay for a life, if it came to that, but she didn't want to lose it either. She didn't want to be deformed, or look like a man, or have reconstructive surgery. She didn't want any of it. And most of all, she didn't want to lose her breast, or have cancer.

“Hi,” Sam said sleepily, as he walked past her to the shower. She hadn't seen him come in, and he didn't seem to notice that she was crying. She turned away from him self-consciously, as though there were already something ugly about her, and covered herself with a towel. “You're up early.” What a surprise. Fancy that! The way he said it made her want to hit him. All the understanding he had ever had for her seemed to have vanished in less than two weeks of total denial.

“I'm having surgery today,” she reminded him in a constricted voice, as he turned on the shower.

“You're having a biopsy. Let's not get too dramatic.”

“When are you going to wake up?” she snapped at him. “When are you going to face this thing? After I lose the breast, or not even then? Is this so goddamn threatening that you can't reach out to me for a single moment?” He needed to hear it from her, needed to know how badly he was letting her down, but he couldn't face that either. He stepped into the shower without looking at her, and said something she couldn't hear as she stared at him in renewed amazement. She took two long steps over to him, and yanked back the shower curtain, until they were both soaking wet and she looked at him in complete fury. “What did you just say to me?”

“I said you're being melodramatic.” He looked both embarrassed and annoyed at her, as she stood there looking very wet and very beautiful and his body acknowledged her with an erection. But they hadn't made love once since she'd had the results of the mammogram. They had done nothing at all since “blue day.” First, she'd had the trial, and now she was dealing with the trauma of possibly having cancer. And he had made no overtures to her either. He was trying to avoid her.

“I think you're being a sonofabitch, Sam Parker. I don't give a damn if you're having trouble coping with this, so am I. And it's happening to me, not you. You could at least be there for me. Is that so much to ask? Is that so difficult for you, Mr. Important, Mr. Venture Capitalist, Mr. So Fucking Scared He Can't Face What's Happening?” She was so furious she wanted to hit him, but he pulled the shower curtain away from her, and turned to continue his shower.

“Why don't you go easy on both of us, Al? It'll all be over by this afternoon, and you'll feel a lot better.” They both knew that the Serophene she'd taken four weeks before didn't help her ability to cope, or her disposition, but this was also not about hormones. This was about real life, and a threat to her very survival and existence. It was a threat to everything she was, her health, her life, her looks, her femininity, even her ability to have children. What else was there? Many things perhaps, but she had not yet come to see them. Neither had Sam. He had his head in the sand and was seeing nothing.

Carmen arrived just as Annabelle woke up, and Alex went to talk to them while Annabelle got dressed, and Carmen noticed that she was extremely nervous. Alex hadn't said anything different to her than she had to Annabelle, only that she had to go away on business for a few days, and needed Carmen to stay at the apartment.

“Is everything okay, Mrs. Parker?” Carmen said suspiciously, she had never seen Alex look quite that way, and for a minute, Alex was tempted to tell her. But it made it too real to confide in her. It was easier just to pretend that she was going away on business.

“Everything's fine, Carmen, thanks.” But Carmen was suspicious again when Alex came back dressed in jeans and a white sweater. She never wore clothes like that when she went away, she didn't even have stockings on, just bare feet in loafers, and she was wearing no makeup. Carmen frowned as she looked at her, and then glanced at Sam, who was drinking coffee, eating eggs, and reading the morning paper. He was dressed normally, in a business suit, and when he put the paper down to talk to them, he seemed unusually cheerful. He didn't say anything to his wife, but he was particularly funny with Annabelle and Carmen. And she didn't know what was happening, but something in her gut told her she didn't like it. But Annabelle was aware of nothing.

At seven-fifteen, Alex reminded him that they had to leave, and he picked up his briefcase and Alex's bag, and promised Annabelle he'd be home for dinner. He kissed her, rumpled her curls, and then he went to ring for the elevator, while Alex stood there and held her baby.

“I'm going to miss you a lot,” Alex said huskily, feeling herself shake as she held her. She didn't want to give away too much, but she wanted more than anything to hold her for as long as she could. But the elevator had already come and Sam was calling her. “I love you, baby, I'll see you soon … I love you …” she called over her shoulder, as tears streamed from her eyes, and she ran for the elevator as Carmen watched her. Annabelle was already watching cartoons on TV by then, but Carmen was haunted by the look on her employer's face, as she put Sam's dishes into the sink, and then she remembered that Alex hadn't eaten anything, she hadn't even had a glass of juice or a cup of coffee. Something was very wrong. She just knew it.

By then, Alex and Sam were in a cab, on the way to the hospital, and he was making easy conversation, while she wished he wouldn't. It was almost worse than talking about what was happening, and all she could think of was Annabelle's sweet little face when she left her, or the way she had felt in her arms when she'd kissed her good-bye. It was almost beyond bearing.

“We have another group of Arabs corning in today, and some people from the Netherlands. I must say, Simon knows some extraordinary people. I was really wrong about him.” He chatted on as they headed east to New York Hospital, where they were going to meet Dr. Peter Herman.

“I'm glad to hear it,” Alex snapped at him, indifferent to Simon's virtues, or their potential clients. “Are you going to stick around for this, or are you going to the office?” Nothing would have surprised her, but he also knew she wanted him to be there.

“I told you I'd stay, and I will. I had Janet call the doctor and he said what with the anesthetic, the procedure will take about half an hour, forty-five minutes if they get delayed. You'll be down shortly after that, and you can sleep it off until the afternoon. I thought I'd hang around till ten-thirty or eleven, you'll be awake by then, or you'll have woken up and gone back to sleep in your room. And then I'll come back this afternoon and get you.”

There was a long silence as she nodded and stared out the window. “I wish I shared your optimism.” She had already told him that she had opted for a “one-stop” procedure. She was going to sign a permission form that would allow the doctor to do whatever he had to once he got there. So that if the biopsy brought bad news, he would perform all the needed surgery that day. She didn't want to come back again after an agonizing wait, knowing that she had to lose the breast anyway. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen today, biopsy, mastectomy, or lumpectomy if the problem was minimal enough to warrant taking out only the lump. But she already knew Dr. Herman's thoughts on that subject. She wouldn't know what he'd done to her until she woke up. But at least she only had to face the terror once. Sam still thought she was crazy.

“You really trust this guy that much?” he asked again, as they crossed York Avenue and the hospital loomed ahead like a dinosaur ready to devour her.

“His reputation's excellent. I checked him out thoroughly. And I got a second opinion.” She had never even told him. “The second doctor completely agreed with what he'd said, Sam. It's pretty clear, but not very pretty.”

“I still wouldn't give him too much leeway. Take it one step at a time.” But she didn't agree with him, and when she'd called John Anderson to discuss it with him, he had thought she was doing the right thing. He told her to trust Peter Herman completely.

The cab stopped in front of the hospital, and Sam paid for it and grabbed her small tote bag. She had brought only a few things, in the hope that Sam would be right, and it wouldn't be a long stay. And he could bring her the rest of what she'd need if she had to stay longer. But packing her tote had reminded her of when she'd gone to the hospital to have Annabelle. It was a happier time, and it seemed only moments ago, although she was almost four years old now.

They followed the arrows to the registration desk, but Alex had preregistered, when she'd gone in for her blood work and chest X ray the day she saw Dr. Herman. They gave her a slip to take upstairs, and gave her a room number on the sixth floor, and a little plastic tub that held a toothbrush and a cup, soap, and toothpaste, and just holding it depressed her. She felt suddenly like an inmate in a prison.

They went silently upstairs, amid the hubbub of the hospital, and Sam looked uncomfortable and pale, and Alex looked terrified as they got off the elevator, and walked past two people with IVs, asleep on gurneys. The nurses at the nurses' station told her where to go, and they walked into a small ugly room, painted in pale blue, with a poster on the wall, and a hospital bed that seemed to eat up the entire room. Nothing about it was pretty, but at least she was alone and didn't have to talk to anyone, except Sam, who was making idle chitchat about the view, and how incredibly expensive hospitals were getting, and how socialized medicine wasn't working at all for Canada or the U.K. She wanted to scream at him, but she knew he was making a frantic effort to cope, even if he wasn't helping. He was too unnerved himself just from being there even to try to help her.

A nurse hurried in to make sure she'd had nothing by mouth since midnight the night before, and an orderly shoved an IV pole into the room, and tossed a gown on the bed for her, and said he'd be back in a minute, and suddenly as she stood there, Alex started to cry helplessly. This was awful. And Sam took her in his arms and held her there, wanting to tell her he was sorry.

“It'll all be over soon. Just try to forget about it. Think about Annabelle, about going to the beach next summer … or Halloween …and before you know it, it'll be over.” She laughed at what he said, but even the thought of Halloween with Annabelle wasn't enough to block out the terror she was feeling.

“I'm so scared,” she whispered as he held her.

“I know …but you're going to be okay … I promise.” But he couldn't promise that, no one could. It was up to God. And she wasn't sure what He had planned for her. But for the moment she was scared stiff, and she looked it.

“It's so weird …we're both so powerful in our own ways. We're strong people, with good jobs, we move a lot of people around, make a lot of decisions that affect money and people and corporations …and then you get hit with something like this, and you're powerless. You're suddenly at the mercy of everyone, people you don't even know, and fate, and your own body.” She felt like a child, totally helpless to stop the nightmare in which she was living.

The nurse appeared at the door again, told her to undress and put on the gown, and someone would come in to start her IV in a minute. There was no time, no sympathy, no interest.

“Is that supposed to be good news?” Sam teased. “Like they're coming back with a four-course breakfast?”

“Nothing about this is good news,” Alex said, drying her eyes again, wishing she weren't there, or that she'd decided to ignore the shadow on her mammogram, but she knew she couldn't. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe it all was a lot of nonsense to keep the medical profession in business. She hoped so.

The nurse came back into the room then, while Alex changed, and she had her lie down so she could start the IV. It was just saline solution so she wouldn't be dehydrated. “And then we've got a line in, in case we need to give you anything else. You're going to be having a general today,” she said, like a stewardess announcing that they were going to be flying over St. Louis.

“I know,” Alex said, trying to sound like she was in control again, like she was part of it, and had made the decision, but this woman didn't care. That wasn't the issue for her, who had decided what or why. This was a body factory, a warehouse for bodies in disrepair, and she had to get them moving as fast as they could, to make room for the next ones.

The IV burned as it went into Alex's arm, but the nurse said that it would stop in a few minutes. She took Alex's blood pressure, listened to her heart, made a notation on a chart, and flipped a switch that turned a light on in the hallway. “They'll know you're ready to go now. I'll call upstairs. They should be taking you to the O.R. in a few minutes.” It was already eight-thirty, and her biopsy was scheduled for nine. She had been there since seven-thirty.

“Any calls you want me to make while I'm waiting for you here?” Sam asked casually as she lay there, watching her IV and looking unhappy, as a nurse came in with a clipboard.

“No, thanks. I think I've got everything pretty much taken care of at the office,” she said as she glanced at the paper the nurse handed her to look at and sign. Alex had spent the whole week before, preparing to be away for the next two weeks, just in case, and there was nothing left to do now. The paper the nurse had handed her was the consent form she had already discussed with Dr. Herman. She only read a few lines, which explained that anything up to and including a radical mastectomy might be performed, though he had already told her that he rarely did anything more than modified radicals anymore, which meant that he took, along with the breast, the tissue high up in the arm, the minor pectoral muscles, and not the majors. The major ones made reconstructive surgery impossible. With only the minor pectorals gone, you could still do reconstructive work, and add implants, and there was no greater danger to the patient in leaving the major pectorals intact. She couldn't bear reading any farther. She signed and looked up at Sam with tears in her eyes, trying not to think of what was going to happen to her, as she handed the nurse back her clipboard.

“Then don't forget to call Annabelle at lunchtime, in case I'm still asleep,” … or still in surgery, please God, no … she said, wiping her tears from her cheeks with trembling fingers, as he took one of her hands in his own.

“I'll call her. I'm having lunch at La Grenouille with Simon's Arabs and his assistant from London. He's got some woman with an Oxford econ degree coming in. He says our Harvard B School guys don't hold a candle to the kids from Oxford.” He smiled at the snobbism, trying to distract her, just as two orderlies appeared in the doorway, like black angels with a gurney between them. They wore green pajamas and blue gowns, with shower caps on their heads, and what looked like shower caps on their shoes, and it was obvious that they had come for Alex.

“Alexandra Parker?”

She wanted to say no, but she knew that wouldn't help as she nodded. She was too choked to speak, and she started to cry again once she lay on the gurney and looked up at Sam. Why had this ever happened?

“Hang in there, kiddo. I'll be right here. And tonight we'll do something to celebrate. Take it easy.” He leaned down to kiss her and she spoke in a strangled whisper through her tears.

“I just want to go home with you and Annabelle, and watch TV.”

“That's a deal. Now go get this thing over with, so we can forget all about it.” He tweaked her boob then, and she laughed. She wanted desperately for this to be over. And maybe he was right not to get excited about it, but for her, it was impossible not to. And she tried not to remember that he had never told her he would love her, even with her breast off.

They rolled her inexorably down the hall, and into a large elevator where people stepped aside and stared at her, wondering what was wrong with her, and why she was there, and pretended not to look at her. Her bright red hair lay across the pillow, and two men glanced at her, thinking that she was very pretty.

They reached the surgical floor then, and there was an overwhelming smell of antiseptics, and electric doors snapped open and closed, until suddenly she found herself in a small room that was filled with chrome and machinery and bright lights, and she recognized Peter Herman.

“Good morning, Mrs. Parker.” He didn't ask her how she was, he knew, as he touched her hand and tried to reassure her.

“We'll have you asleep very shortly, Mrs. Parker,” he said gently, which surprised her. He seemed right in his element here, and he seemed kinder to her than he had before. Or was it only that he had won, and he was doing what he wanted? Was Sam right? Was she wrong? Were they all crazy? Were they lying to her? Would she die? Where was Sam? …and Annabelle …her head was reeling as they stuck another needle in her other arm, and she thought she tasted garlic and then peanuts, and someone told her to count backwards from one hundred. She only reached ninety-nine, and then everything went black around her.

Chapter 6

Sam paced around the small claustrophobic blue room for almost an hour, until nine-thirty. He called his secretary, returned some calls, confirmed his lunch date with Simon. They had meetings with their attorneys that afternoon too. Simon was joining their partnership, bringing with him all his important connections, and very little money. His would be a limited partnership, and he would have a smaller percentage in the firm than Sam, Tom, or Larry. But he seemed satisfied with that for now. He said he could always buy in for more later, once he'd proven himself, and the business had grown as a result of his connections.

Sam walked down the hall after that, and bought a cup of vile coffee from a machine, which he only took two sips of. It made him ill just being here, with the smells, and the people hobbling down the halls, in wheelchairs, or on gurneys. He still had a dread of hospitals even if the last time he had been there was when Annabelle was born, but Alex needed him then. This time he felt both useless and helpless. She was somewhere else, asleep, unaware of who was there with her, and who wasn't. He could have been anywhere. And by ten-thirty, he wished he had been. She should have been back to the room by then, or someone should have called to say when she'd come down. He didn't want to leave without seeing her, or at least talking to her doctor. But he wanted to be at his office by eleven. And he was serving no purpose at all sitting there, and he knew it. He felt like the forgotten man in the tiny blue room.