Rogue

Chapter 1

The small single-engine Cessna Caravan pitched and rolled alarmingly over the swamps west of Miami. The plane was just high enough for the landscape to have a postcard quality to it, but the wind rushing in through the open hatch distracted the young woman clutching the safety strap so that all she could see was the vast expanse of sky beneath them. The man standing behind her was telling her to jump.

“What if my parachute doesn't open?” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him with a look of terror. She was a tall, beautiful blonde with a gorgeous body and exquisite face. Her eyes were huge with fear.

“Trust me, Belinda, it will open,” Blake Williams promised her with a look of total confidence. Skydiving had been one of his many passions for years. And it was always a joy for him to share the wonders of it with someone else.

Belinda had agreed to it the week before, over drinks in a very prestigious private nightclub in South Beach. The following day, Blake had paid for eight hours of instruction for her and a test jump with the instructors. Belinda was ready for him now. It was only their third date, and Blake had made skydiving sound so enticing that after her second cosmopolitan, she had laughingly said yes to the invitation to skydive with him. She didn't realize what she was getting into, and she still looked nervous now, and wondered how she had let him talk her into it. The first time she'd jumped, with the two instructors he'd arranged, had scared her to death, but it was exciting too. And jumping with Blake would be the ultimate experience. She could hardly wait. He was so charming, so handsome, so outrageous, and so much fun that even though she barely knew him, she was ready to follow him and try almost anything in his company, even stepping out of a plane. But now she was terrified again, as he turned her face toward him and kissed her. The sheer thrill of being in his presence made the jump easier for her. Just as she had been taught in her lesson, she stepped out of the plane.

Blake followed her within seconds. She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed as they free-fell for a minute, and then she opened her eyes and saw him as he gestured to her to pull the ripcord on her parachute, just as the instructors had taught her to do. Suddenly they were drifting slowly to earth as he smiled at her and gave her a proud thumbs-up. She couldn't believe she'd done it twice in one week, but he was that kind of charismatic person. Blake could make people do almost anything.

Belinda was twenty-two years old, a supermodel in Paris, London, and New York. She had met Blake while visiting friends in Miami. He had flown in from his house in St. Bart's to meet up with a pal of his own, and had arrived in his new 737. He had chartered the smaller plane and a pilot for their jump.

Blake Williams appeared to be an expert at everything he did. He was an Olympic Class skier and had been since college, had learned to fly his own jet, with a copilot in attendance, given its size and complexity. And he had been skydiving for years. He had an extraordinary knowledge of art, and one of the most famous collections of contemporary and pre-Columbian art in the world. He was knowledgeable in wines, architecture, sailing, and women. He loved the finest things in life, and enjoyed sharing them with the women he went out with. He had an MBA from Harvard, an undergraduate degree from Princeton; he was forty-six years old, had retired at thirty-five, and his entire life was devoted to self-indulgence and pleasure, and sharing them with those around him. He was generous beyond belief, as Belinda's friends had told her. He was the kind of man every woman wanted to be with-rich, smart, good looking, and devoted to having fun. And in spite of his enormous success before he retired, he didn't have a mean bone in his body. He was the catch of the century, and although most of his relationships in the last five years had been brief and superficial, they never ended badly. Even when their fleeting affairs with him were over, women loved him. And as they floated slowly down to a well-chosen strip of unpopulated beach, Belinda looked at him with eyes filled with admiration. She couldn't believe she had jumped out of a plane with him, but it had been the most exciting thing she'd ever done. She didn't think she'd do it again, but as they held hands in midair with the blue sky all around them, she knew she would remember Blake and this moment for the rest of her life.

“It's fun, isn't it?” he shouted, and she nodded. She was still too overwhelmed to speak. Her jump with Blake had been much more exciting than the one with the two instructors days before. And she couldn't wait to tell everyone she knew what she'd done, especially with whom.

Blake Williams was everything people said he was. He had enough charm to run a country, and the money with which to do it. Despite her initial terror, Belinda was actually smiling when her feet touched the ground a few minutes later, and two waiting instructors unhooked her parachute, just as Blake landed a few feet behind her. As soon as they were free of their parachutes, he had her in his arms and kissed her again. His kisses were as intoxicating as everything else about him.

“You were fantastic!” he said, sweeping her off the ground, as she grinned and laughed in his arms. He was the most exciting man she'd ever met.

“No, you are! I never thought I'd do something like that, it was the craziest thing ever.” She'd only known him for a week.

Her friends had already told her not to plan on having a serious relationship with him. Blake Williams went out with beautiful women all over the world. Commitment was not for him, although it had been once upon a time. He had three kids, an ex-wife he said he was crazy about, a plane, a boat, half a dozen fabulous houses. He just wanted to have a good time, and made no pretense of wanting to settle down, since his divorce. For the time being anyway, all he wanted to do was play. His early killing in the high-tech dot-com world had been legendary, as had been the success of the companies he'd invested in since. Blake Williams had everything he wanted, all his dreams had already come true. And as they walked away from the beach where they'd landed, toward a waiting Jeep, Blake put an arm around Belinda, drew her closer to him, and gave her a long, searing kiss. It was a day and a moment that Belinda knew would be engraved in her mind forever. How many women could boast that they had jumped out of a plane with Blake Williams? Possibly more than she knew, although not every woman he went out with was as brave as Belinda.

The rain pelted against the windows of Maxine Williams's office on East 79th Street in New York. It was the highest recorded rainfall in New York in November for more than fifty years, and cold, windy, and bleak outside, but cozy in the office where Maxine spent ten or twelve hours a day. The walls were painted a pale buttery yellow, and she had quiet abstract paintings on the walls in muted tones. The room was cheerful and pleasant, and the big overstuffed easy chairs where she sat talking to her patients were comfortable and inviting, and upholstered in a neutral beige. The desk was modern, stark, and functional, and so impeccably organized it looked as though you could perform surgery on it. Everything about Maxine's office was tidy and meticulous, and she herself was perfectly groomed without a hair out of place. Maxine had her entire world in full control. And her equally efficient, reliable secretary, Felicia, had worked for her for almost nine years. Maxine hated mess, disorder of any kind, and change. Everything about her, and her life, was smooth, orderly, and seamless.

The diploma framed on her wall said that she had gone to Harvard Medical School and graduated magna cum laude. She was a psychiatrist, and one of the foremost experts in trauma in both children and adolescents. She had extensive experience with schizophrenic and bipolar adolescents, and one of her subspecialties was suicidal teenagers. She worked with them and their families, often with excellent results. She had written two highly respected books for laymen, about the effect of trauma on young children. She was frequently invited to other cities and countries to consult after natural disasters, or manmade tragedies. She had been part of the consulting team for the children in Columbine after the school shooting, had written several papers on the effects of 9/11, and had advised the New York public schools. At forty-two, she was an expert in her field, and appropriately admired and acknowledged by her peers. She turned down more speaking engagements than she accepted. Between her patients, the consulting she did with local, national, and international agencies, and her own family, her days and calendar were filled.

She was always incredibly diligent about spending time with her own children-Daphne was thirteen, Jack twelve, and Sam had just turned six. As a single mother, she faced the same dilemma as every working mother, trying to balance her family responsibilities and her work. And she got almost no help from her ex, who usually appeared like a rainbow, unannounced and breathtaking, only to disappear again. All the responsibilities relating to her children fell to her, and her alone.

She sat staring out the window, thinking about them, waiting for her next patient to arrive, when the intercom buzzed on her desk. Maxine expected Felicia to tell her that her patient, a fifteen-year-old boy, was coming through the door. Instead she said that Maxine's husband was on the phone. Maxine frowned at the word.

“My ex-husband,” she reminded her. Maxine and the kids had been on their own for five years, and as far as she was concerned, they were doing fine.

“Sorry, he always says he's your husband…I forget…” He was so likable and charming, and always asked about her boyfriend and her dog. He was one of those people you couldn't help but like.

“Don't worry, he forgets too,” Maxine commented drily, and smiled as she picked up the phone. She wondered where he was now. You never knew with Blake. It had been four months since he'd seen the kids. He had taken them to visit friends in Greece in July, and he always loaned Maxine and the children his boat every summer. The children loved their father, but they also knew that they could count on their mom, and that their dad came and went like the wind. Maxine was well aware that they seemed to have an unlimited capacity for forgiving him his quirks. And so had she, for ten years. But eventually his total self-indulgence and lack of responsibility had worn thin despite his charm. “Hi, Blake,” she said into the phone, and relaxed in her chair. The professional distance and demeanor she kept always vanished when she talked to him. In spite of the divorce, they were good friends, and had stayed very close. “Where are you now?”

“Washington, D.C. I just came up from Miami today. I was in St. Bart's for a couple of weeks.” A vision of their house there came instantly into her head. She hadn't seen it in five years. It was one of the many properties she had willingly relinquished to him in the divorce.

“Are you coming to New York to see the kids?” She didn't want to tell him that he should. He knew it as well as she did, but he always seemed to have something else to do. Most of the time anyway. Much as he loved them, and always had, they got short shrift, and they knew it too. And yet they all loved him, and in her own way, she did too. There seemed to be no one on the planet who didn't love him, or at least like him. Blake had no enemies, only friends.

“I wish I could come to see them,” he said apologetically. “I'm leaving for London tonight. I've got a meeting with an architect there tomorrow. I'm redoing the house.” And then he added, sounding like a mischievous child himself, “I just bought a fantastic place in Marrakech. I'm flying there next week. It's an absolutely gorgeous, crumbling palace.”

“Just what you need,” she said, shaking her head. He was impossible. He bought houses everywhere he went. He remodeled them with famous architects and designers, turned them into showplaces, and then bought something else. Blake loved the project even more than the end result.

He had a house in London, one in St. Bart's, another in Aspen, the top half of a palazzo in Venice, a penthouse in New York, and now apparently a house in Marrakech. Maxine couldn't help wondering what he was going to do with that. But whatever he did, she knew it would be as amazing as everything else he touched. He had incredible taste, and bold ideas about design. All his homes were exquisite, and he owned one of the largest sailboats in the world, although he only used it a few weeks a year, and lent it to friends whenever he could. The rest of the time he was flying around the world, on safari in Africa, or making art forays in Asia. He'd been to Antarctica twice and came back with stunning photographs of icebergs and penguins. His world had long since outgrown hers. She was content with her predictable, well-regulated life in New York, between her office and the comfortable apartment where she lived with their three children, on Park Avenue and East 84th Street. She walked home from her office every night, even on a day like this. The short walk revived her after the hard things she listened to all day, and the troubled kids she treated. Other psychiatrists often referred their potential suicides to her. Dealing with difficult cases was her way of giving to the world, and she loved her work.

“So Max, how's by you? How are the kids?” Blake asked, sounding relaxed.

“They're fine. Jack's playing soccer again this year, he's gotten pretty good,” she said with pride. It was like telling Blake about someone else's children. He was more like their favorite uncle than their father. The trouble was, he had been that way as a husband too.

Irresistible in every way, and never there when there was something hard to do.

First, Blake was building his business, and after his windfall, he was just never around. He was always somewhere else having fun. He had wanted her to give up her practice, and Maxine just couldn't. She had worked too hard to get where she was. She couldn't imagine walking away from it, and didn't want to, no matter how rich her husband suddenly was. She couldn't even conceive of the kind of money he'd made. And eventually, although she loved him, she couldn't do it anymore. They were polar opposites in every way. Her meticulousness was in sharp contrast to the mess he made. Wherever he sat, there was an avalanche of magazines, books, papers, half-eaten food, spilled drinks, peanut shells, banana peels, half-drunk sodas, and bags of fast food he forgot to throw away. He was always dragging the blueprints for his latest house, his pockets were full of notes about phone calls he had to return and never did. And eventually, the notes got lost. People were always calling wondering where he was. He was brilliant in business, but otherwise his life was a mess. He was an adorable, charming, lovable flake. She got tired of being the only grown-up around, particularly once they had kids. As the result of a movie premiere he flew out to attend in L.A., he had missed Sam's birth. And when a babysitter let Sam roll off the changing table eight months later, and he broke a collarbone and an arm, and got a hell of a knock on the head, Blake was nowhere to be found. Without telling anyone, he had flown to Cabo San Lucas to look at a house for sale, built by a famous Mexican architect he admired. He had lost his cell phone on the way, and it took two days to locate him. In the end, Sam was okay, but Maxine had asked Blake for a divorce when he got back to New York.

It had just never worked once Blake made his money. Max needed a man who was more human scale, and who was going to stick around, for some of the time at least. Blake was never there. Maxine had decided she might as well be alone, rather than bitching at him all the time when he called, and spending hours trying to track him down when something went wrong for her or the kids. When she told him she wanted a divorce, he had been stunned. And they had both cried. He tried to talk her out of it, but she had made up her mind. They loved each other, but Maxine insisted that it didn't work for her. Not anymore. They no longer wanted the same things. All he wanted to do was play, and she loved being there for her children, and her work. They were just too different in too many ways. It was fun when they were young, but she grew up, he didn't.

“I'll go to one of Jack's games when I get back,” Blake promised, as Maxine watched the torrential rain beat against the windows of her office. And when would that be? she thought to herself, but she didn't say the words. He answered her unspoken question. He knew her well, better than anyone else on the planet. That had been the hardest part of giving him up. They were so comfortable together, and loved each other so much. In many ways, they still did. Blake was her family, and always would be, and the father of her kids. That was sacred to her. “I'm coming in for Thanksgiving, in a couple of weeks,” he said, and Maxine sighed.

“Should I tell the children or wait?” She didn't want to disappoint them yet again. He changed plans at the drop of a hat and left them in the lurch, just as he had done to her. He was distracted easily. It was the one thing she hated about him, particularly when it impacted their children. He didn't have to see the look in their eyes when she said Daddy wasn't coming after all.

Sam didn't remember their living together, but he loved his father anyway. He had been one year old when they divorced. He was used to life as it was, relying on his mom for everything. Jack and Daffy knew their father better, although even their memories of the old days had grown dim.

“You can tell them I'll be there, Max. I won't miss it,” he promised in a gentle voice. “What about you? Are you okay? Has Prince Charming showed up yet?” She smiled at the question he always asked. There were a lot of women in his life, none of them serious, and most of them very young. And there were no men in her life at all.

She didn't have the interest or the time.

“I haven't had a date in a year,” she said honestly. She was always honest with him. He was like a brother to her now. She had no secrets from Blake. And he had no secrets from anyone, since most of what he did wound up in the press. He was always in the gossip columns with models, actresses, rock stars, heiresses, and whoever else was at hand. He'd gone out with a famous princess for a short time, which only confirmed what Max had thought for years. He was way, way out of her league, and living on another planet from the world in which she lived. She was earth. He was fire.

“That's not going to get you anywhere,” he scolded her. “You work too hard. You always did.”

“I love what I do,” she said simply. That wasn't news to him. She always had. He could hardly get her to take a day off in their early days, and she wasn't much better now, although she spent her weekends with the children and had a call group cover for her. That was an improvement at least. They went to the house in Southampton that she and Blake had had when they were married. He had given it to her in the divorce. It was beautiful, but much too plebeian for him now. And it suited Maxine and the children to perfection. It was a big rambling old family house, right near the beach.

“Can I have the kids for Thanksgiving dinner?” he asked her cautiously. He was always respectful of her plans, he never just showed up and disappeared with the kids. He knew how much effort she put into creating a solid life for them. And Maxine liked to plan ahead.

“That'll work. I'm taking them to my parents' for lunch.” Maxine's father was a physician too, an orthopedic surgeon, and as precise and meticulous as she was. She came by it honestly, and he was a wonderful example to her, and was very proud of her work. Maxine was an only child, and her mother had never worked. Her childhood had been very different from Blake's. His life had been a series of lucky breaks from the first.

Blake had been adopted at birth by an older couple. His biological mother, he had learned later after some research, had been a fifteenyear-old girl from Iowa. She was married to a policeman when he went to meet her, and had had four other children. She had been more than a little startled when she met Blake. They had nothing in common, and he felt sorry for her. She had led a hard life, with no money, and a husband who drank. She told him his biological father had been a handsome, charming, wild young man, who was seventeen when Blake was born. She said his father died in a car crash two months after graduation, but he hadn't intended to marry her anyway. Blake's very Catholic grandparents had forced his mother to put the baby up for adoption after she waited out her pregnancy in another town. His adoptive parents had been solid and kind. His father was a Wall Street tax lawyer in New York who had taught Blake the principles of sound investment. He made sure Blake went to Princeton and later Harvard for his MBA. His mother had done volunteer work, and taught him the importance of “giving back” to the world. He had learned both lessons well, and his foundation supported many charities. Blake wrote the checks, although he didn't know the names of most of them.

Both his parents had been solidly behind him but had died when he was first married to Maxine. Blake was sorry they had never known his children. They had been wonderful people, and had been loving, devoted parents. They hadn't lived to see his meteoric rise to success either. He sometimes wondered how they would have reacted to the way he was living his life now, and occasionally, late at night, he worried that they might not approve. He was well aware of how fortunate he had been, how he indulged himself, but he enjoyed himself so much with everything he did, it would have been difficult to roll the film backward now. He had established a way of life that gave him immense pleasure and enjoyment, and he wasn't doing anyone any harm. He wanted to see more of his children, but somehow there never seemed to be enough time. And he made up for it when he saw them. In his own way, he was their dream dad come to life. They got to do everything they wanted, and he was able to indulge their every whim and spoil them as no one else could. Maxine was the solidity and order they relied on, and he was the magic and the fun. In some ways, he had been that to Maxine too, when they were young. Everything changed when they grew up. Or rather, she did, and he didn't.

He asked Max then how her parents were. He had always been fond of her father. He was a hardworking, serious man with good values and solid morals, even if he lacked imagination. In some ways, he was a sterner, even more serious version of Maxine. And despite their very different styles and philosophies about life, he and Blake had gotten along. Her father had always teasingly called Blake a “rogue.” Blake loved it when he called him that. To him it sounded sexy and exciting. Max's father was disappointed in recent years that Blake didn't see more of the children, although he was well aware that his daughter more than made up for it wherever Blake fell short. And he was sorry she was shouldering everything alone.

“I'll see you Thanksgiving night then,” Blake said as he ended the call. “I'll call you that morning and let you know what time I'll be in. I'll get a caterer to come in and do dinner. You're welcome to join us,” he said generously, and hoped she would. He still enjoyed her company. Nothing had changed, he thought she was a fantastic woman. He just wished she'd relax and have more fun. He thought she had taken the Puritan work ethic to an extreme.

Her intercom buzzer rang as she was saying goodbye to Blake. Her four o'clock patient, the fifteen-year-old boy, had arrived. She hung up, and opened the door to her office, as her patient wandered in. He sat down in one of the two big easy chairs before he looked at her directly and said hello.

“Hi, Ted,” she said comfortably. “How's it going?” He shrugged, as she closed the door and their session began. He had tried to hang himself twice. She had hospitalized him for three months, and he was doing better after two weeks at home. He had begun showing signs of being bipolar when he was thirteen. She was seeing him three times a week, and once a week he went to a group for previously suicidal teens. He was doing well, and Maxine had a good relationship with him. Her patients liked her a lot. She had a great way with them. And she cared about them deeply. She was a good doctor and good person.

The session lasted fifty minutes, after which she had a ten-minute break, managed to return two phone calls, and started her last session of the day with a sixteen-year-old anorexic girl. As usual, it was a long, hard, interesting day, that required a lot of concentration. Afterward, she managed to return the rest of her calls, and by sixthirty she was walking home in the rain, thinking about Blake. She was glad that he'd be coming for Thanksgiving, and she knew their children would be thrilled. She wondered if that meant he wouldn't be coming to see them for Christmas. If anything, he'd probably want them to meet him in Aspen. He usually ended the year there. With all his interesting options and houses, it was hard to know where he'd be at any given time. And now, with Morocco added to the list, it would be even harder to track or pin him down. She didn't hold it against him, it was just the way he was, even if it was frustrating for her at times. There was no malice in him, but no sense of responsibility either. In many ways, Blake refused to grow up. It made him delightful to be with, as long as you never expected too much. Once in a while he'd surprise them, and do something really thoughtful and wonderful, and then he'd fly off again. She wondered if things would have been different, if he hadn't made the fortune he did at thirtytwo. It had changed his life and theirs forever. She almost wished he hadn't made all that money on his dot-com windfall. Their life had been sweet at times before that. But with the money, everything had changed.

Maxine met Blake while she was doing her residency at Stanford Hospital. He had been working in Silicon Valley, in the world of hightech investments. He had been making plans for his fledgling company then, she'd never fully understood it, but was fascinated by his incredible energy and passion for the ideas he was developing. They had met at a party she didn't want to go to, but a friend had dragged her along. She'd been working in the trauma unit for two days straight and was half asleep the night they met. Blake had woken her up with a bang. The next day he had taken her for a helicopter ride, and they had flown over the bay, and under the Golden Gate Bridge. Being with him had been thrilling, and their relationship had taken off like a forest fire in a strong wind after that. They were married in less than a year. She was twenty-seven when they got married, and it had been a whirlwind year. Ten months after their wedding, Blake sold his company for a fortune. The rest was history. He turned the money into even more, seemingly without effort. He was willing to risk it all and was truly a genius at what he did. Maxine had been dazzled by his foresight, skill, and brilliant mind.

By the time Daphne was born, two years after their wedding, Blake had made an unheard-of amount of money, and wanted Max to give up her career. Instead, she became chief resident in adolescent psychiatry, gave birth to Daphne, and found herself married to one of the richest men in the world. It was a lot to adjust to and digest. And as a result of either denial or overconfidence in the ability of nursing her baby to keep her from getting pregnant, she got pregnant with Jack six weeks after Daphne was born. By the time the second baby came, Blake had bought the house in London and the one in Aspen, had ordered the boat, and they moved back to New York. He retired soon after that. And even after Jack was born, Maxine didn't give up her career. Her maternity leave was shorter than one of Blake's trips, and he was all over the map by then. They hired a live-in nanny, and Maxine went back to work.

It was a handicap working while Blake wasn't, but the life he was leading frightened her. It was too freewheeling, opulent, and jet set for her. While Maxine opened her own practice, and signed up for an important research project on childhood trauma, Blake hired the most important decorator in London to do their house, and a different one to do Aspen, and bought the house in St. Bart's as a Christmas gift for her, and a plane for himself. For Maxine, it was happening much too fast, and after that, it never slowed down. They had houses, babies, and an unbelievable fortune, and Blake was on the covers of both Newsweek and Time. He went on making investments, which continued to double and triple his money, but he never went back to work in any formal sense. Whatever he did, he managed to accomplish on the computer and phone. And eventually, their marriage seemed to be happening on the phone as well. Blake was as loving as ever when they were together, but most of the time, he just wasn't around.

At one point, Maxine even thought about giving up work, and talked to her father about it. But in the end, her conclusion was that there wasn't much point. What would she do then? Fly around with him from one house to another, hotels in other cities where they didn't have houses, or on the fabulous vacations he took, on safari in Africa, climbing mountains in the Himalayas, financing archaeological digs, or racing boats? There was nothing Blake couldn't accomplish, and even less that he was afraid to attempt. He had to do, try, taste, and have it all. She couldn't imagine dragging two toddlers along to most of the places he went, so much of the time she stayed home with the kids in New York, and she could never quite bring herself to let go and give up her work. Every suicidal kid she saw, every traumatized child, convinced her that there was a need for what she did. She had won two prestigious awards for her research projects, and at times she felt almost schizophrenic, trying to meet up with her husband on his jet-set life in Venice, Sardinia, or St. Moritz, going to the nursery school to pick up their children in New York, or working on psychiatric research projects, and giving lectures. She was leading three lives all at once. Eventually, Blake stopped begging her to come with him, and resigned himself to traveling alone. He was no longer able to sit still, the world was at his feet, and never big enough for him. He became an absentee husband and father almost overnight, while Maxine tried to make a contribution to bettering the lives of suicidal and traumatized adolescents and young children, and their own. Her life and Blake's couldn't have been further apart. No matter how much they loved each other, eventually the only bridge they had left between them was their kids.

For the next five years, they led separate lives, meeting briefly all over the world, when and where it suited Blake, and then she got pregnant with Sam. He was an accident that happened when they met for a weekend in Hong Kong, right after Blake had been trekking with friends in Nepal. Maxine had just won a new research grant on anorexia in young girls. She discovered she was pregnant, and unlike the other pregnancies, this time she wasn't thrilled. It was one more thing for her to juggle, one more child for her to parent by herself, one more piece of the puzzle that was already too complicated and too big. But Blake was overjoyed. He said he wanted half a dozen kids, which made no sense to Maxine. He hardly saw the ones they had. Jack was six and Daphne seven when Sam was born. Having missed the birth, Blake flew in the day after, with a box from Harry Winston in his hand. He gave Maxine a thirty-carat emerald ring, which was spectacular, but not what she wanted from him. She would much rather have had time together. She missed their early days in California, when they were both working and happy, before he won the dot-com lottery that radically changed their lives.

And when Sam rolled off the changing table eight months later, broke his arm, and hit his head, she couldn't even find his father for two days. When she finally caught up with him, after Cabo, he was on his way to Venice, looking at palazzos, trying to buy one as a surprise. By then, she was tired of surprises, houses, decorators, and more homes than they could ever visit. Blake always had new people to meet, new places to go to, new businesses he wanted to acquire or invest in, new houses he had to build or have, new adventures to embark on. Their lives had become completely disconnected by then, so much so that when Blake flew back after she told him about Sam's accident, she burst into tears when she saw him and said she wanted a divorce. It was all too much. She had sobbed in his arms and said she just couldn't do it anymore.

“Why don't you quit?” he had suggested calmly. “You work too hard. Just concentrate on me and the kids. Why don't we get more help, and you can fly around with me.” He hadn't taken her request for a divorce seriously at first. They loved each other. Why would they want a divorce?

“If I did that,” she said miserably, burrowed into his chest, “I'd never see my kids, just like you don't anymore. When was the last time you were home for more than two weeks?” He thought about it and looked blank. She had a point, although he was embarrassed to admit it.

“Gosh, Max, I don't know. I never think about it like that.”

“I know you don't.” She cried harder and blew her nose. “I don't even know where you are anymore. I couldn't find you for days when Sam got hurt. What if he died? Or I did? You wouldn't even know.”

“I'm sorry, baby, I'll try to stay in better touch. I just figure you have everything in control.” He was happy to leave her in charge while he played.

“I do. But I'm tired of doing it alone. Instead of telling me to quit, why don't you stop traveling so much and stay home?” She had little hope of it, but she tried.

“We have so many great houses, and there's so much I want to do.” He had just provided the backing for a London play, written by a young playwright he had been sponsoring for two years. He loved being a patron of the arts, far more than he liked staying home. He loved his wife and adored his children, but he was bored just hanging around New York. Maxine had made it through eight years of the changes in their circumstances, but she couldn't do it anymore. She wanted stability, sameness, and the kind of settled life that Blake now abhorred. He loved pushing the outer limits of the envelope until there was no envelope at all. He defined the term “free spirit” in ways Maxine could never have predicted. And since he was never around anyway, out of touch most of the time, she figured she might as well do it alone. It had gotten harder and harder to kid herself that she had a husband, and that she could count on him at all. She had finally realized that she couldn't. Blake loved her, but ninety-five percent of the time he was gone. He had his own life, interests, and pursuits, which hardly included her at all anymore.

So with tears and regrets, but the utmost civility, she and Blake had divorced five years before. He gave her the apartment in New York and the house in Southampton, would have given her more houses if she'd wanted, but she didn't, and he had offered her a settlement that would have stunned anyone. He felt guilty about what an absentee husband and father he had been in recent years, but he had to confess that it suited him very well. He hated to admit it but he felt as though he were in a straitjacket in a matchbox, confined to the life Maxine lived in New York.

She refused the settlement, and took only child support for their children. Maxine made more than enough in her practice to support herself, she wanted nothing from him. And as far as she was concerned, it was Blake's windfall, not hers. None of his friends could believe that in her position she had been so fair. They didn't have a prenuptial agreement to protect his assets, since he'd had none when they met. She didn't want to take anything from him, she loved him, wanted the best for him, and wished him well. All of that had combined to make him love her even more in the end, and they had remained close friends. Maxine always said he was like her wild wayward brother, and after her initial shock over the girls he went out with, most of them half his age, or hers, she had gotten philosophical about it. Her only concern was that they be nice to her kids.

Maxine herself had had no serious relationships since him. Most of the physicians and psychiatrists she met were married, and her social life was limited to her kids. For the past five years, she had had her hands full with her family and her work. Occasionally she dated men she met, but she hadn't had sparks with anyone since Blake. He was a tough act to follow. He was irresponsible, unreliable, disorganized, an inadequate father despite all his good intentions, and a lousy husband in the end, but there wasn't a man on the planet, in her opinion, who was kinder, more decent, more good-hearted, or more fun. She often wished that she had the courage to be as wild and free as he. But she needed structure, a firm foundation, an orderly life, and she didn't have the same inclination as Blake, or the guts, to follow her wildest dreams. Sometimes she envied him that.

There was nothing in business or life that was too high-risk for Blake, which was why he had been such a huge success. You had to have balls for that, and Blake Williams had them in spades. Maxine felt like a mouse compared to him. Although she was a remarkably accomplished woman herself, she was far more human scale. It was just too bad their marriage hadn't worked out. And Maxine was infinitely glad they had their kids. They were the joy and hub of her life, and all she needed for now. At forty-two, she wasn't desperate to find another man. She had rewarding work, patients she cared about deeply, and terrific kids. It was enough for now, more than enough sometimes.

The doorman tipped his hat as Maxine walked into the building on Park Avenue, five blocks from her office. It was an old building with large rooms, built before World War II, and had a dignified air. She was soaking wet from the rain. The wind had whipped her umbrella inside out and torn it ten steps out of her office, and she had thrown it away. Her raincoat was soaked through, and her long blond hair, pulled back in a neat ponytail when she worked, was plastered to her head. She hadn't worn makeup that day so her face looked fresh and young and clean. She was tall and thin, appeared younger than her age, and Blake had often pointed out that she had spectacular legs, although she rarely showed them off with short skirts. She usually wore slacks to work and jeans on the weekends. She wasn't the kind of woman who took advantage of sex to sell herself. She was discreet and demure, and Blake had often teasingly said she reminded him of Lois Lane. He would take off her reading glasses that she wore for the computer, and loosen her luxuriant long wheat-colored hair, and she looked instantly sexy in spite of herself. Maxine was a beautiful woman, and she and Blake had had three very handsome kids. Blake's hair was as dark as hers was fair, and his eyes the same color blue as hers, and although she was tall, at six feet four he stood a full head taller than she. They had been a striking pair. Daphne and Jack both had Blake's almost jet-black hair and their parents' bright blue eyes, Sam's hair was blond like his mother's, and he had his grandfather's green eyes. He was a beautiful child, and still young enough to be cuddly with his mom.

Maxine rode up in the elevator, dripping pools of water at her feet. She let herself into the apartment, one of only two apartments on the floor. The other tenants had retired and moved to Florida years before, and were never there, so Maxine and the children didn't have to worry too much about noise, which was a good thing, with three children under one roof, and two of them boys.

She could hear loud music playing as she took her coat off in the front hall and draped it over the umbrella stand. She took her shoes off there too, her feet were soaked, and she laughed when she saw her reflection in the mirror. She looked like a drowned rat, with pink cheeks from the cold.

“What did you do? Swim home?” Zelda, their nanny, inquired as she saw her in the hall. She had a stack of clean laundry in her arms. She had been with them since Jack was born and was a godsend for them all. “Why didn't you take a cab?”

“I needed the air,” Maxine said, smiling at her. Zelda was plump and round faced, wore her hair in a thick braid, and was the same age as Maxine. She had never married, and had been a nanny since she was eighteen. Maxine followed her into the kitchen, where Sam was working on a drawing at the kitchen table, already in clean pajamas after a bath. Zelda quickly handed her employer a cup of tea. It was always comforting coming home to her, and knowing that everything was in control. Like Max, she was obsessively neat, and spent her life cleaning up after the kids, cooking for them, and chauffeuring them everywhere when their mother was at work. Maxine took over on the weekends. Officially, Zelda was off then, and she loved going to the theater whenever she could, but she usually stayed in her room behind the kitchen relaxing and reading. Her full loyalty was to the children and their mother. She had been their nanny for twelve years and was part of the family. She didn't think much of Blake, whom she considered handsome and spoiled, and a lousy father to the kids. She had always felt they deserved better than they got from him, and Maxine couldn't tell her she was wrong. She loved him. Zelda didn't.

The kitchen was decorated in bleached woods, with beige granite counters and a light hardwood floor. It was a cozy room they all congregated in, and there was a couch and a TV, where Zelda watched her soaps and talk shows. She quoted from them liberally, whenever the opportunity arose.

“Hi, Mom,” Sam said, hard at work with a purple crayon, looking up as his mother walked in.

“Hi, sweetheart. How was your day?” She kissed the top of his head and ruffled his hair.

“Good. Stevie threw up in school,” he said matter-of-factly, switching the purple crayon for green. He was drawing a house, a cowboy, and a rainbow. Maxine didn't read anything into it, he was a normal, happy kid. He missed his father less than the others, since he had never lived with him. His two older siblings were slightly more aware of their loss.

“That's too bad,” Maxine commented on the unfortunate Stevie. She hoped it was something he ate, not a new flu going around school. “You feel okay?”

“Yup.” Sam nodded, as Zelda looked into the oven and checked on dinner, and Daphne walked into the room. At thirteen, her body was developing new curves, and she had just started eighth grade. All three of them went to Dalton, and Maxine loved the school.

“Can I borrow your black sweater?” Daphne asked, helping herself to a slice of an apple Sam had been eating.

“Which one?” Maxine eyed her with caution.

“The one with the white fur on it? Emma's giving a party tonight,” Daphne said nonchalantly, trying to look like she didn't care, but it was obvious to her mother that she did. It was Friday, and lately there were parties almost every weekend.

“That's a pretty jazzy sweater for a party at Emma's. What kind of party? Boys?”

“Mmm… yeah… maybe…,” Daphne said, and Maxine smiled. “Maybe,” my eye, she thought. She knew perfectly well that Daphne would know all the details. And in Maxine's new Valentino sweater, she was trying to impress someone, for sure an eighth-grade boy.

“Don't you think that sweater's too old for you? What about something else?” She hadn't even worn it yet herself. She was making suggestions, when Jack walked in, still wearing cleats. Zelda screamed the minute she saw them and pointed to his feet.

“Get those things off my floor! Take them off right now!” she ordered, as he sat down on the floor, and took them off with a grin. Zelda kept them all in good order, there was no worry about that.

“You didn't play today, did you?” Maxine inquired, as she stooped to kiss her son. He was either playing sports or glued to his computer. He was the family computer expert, and always helped Maxine and his sister with theirs. No problem daunted him, and he could solve them all with ease.

“They canceled because of the rain.”

“I figured they would.” Since she had all of them present, she told them about Blake's Thanksgiving plans. “He wants you all for dinner

Thanksgiving night. I think he'll be here for the weekend. You can stay there if you want,” she said casually. Blake had done fabulous rooms for them in his fiftieth-floor penthouse, full of terrific contemporary art, and state-of-the-art video and stereo equipment. They had an incredible view of the city from their rooms, a theater where they could watch movies, and a game room with a pool table and every electronic game made. They loved staying with him.

“Are you coming too?” Sam asked, looking up at her from his drawing. He liked it better when she was there. In many ways, his father was a stranger to him, and he was happier with his mother near at hand. He seldom spent the night, although Jack and Daphne did.

“I might come for dinner, if you want me to. We're going to Grandma and Grampa's for lunch, so I'll be turkeyed out. You'll have a good time with your dad.”

“Is he bringing a friend?” Sam asked, and Maxine realized she had no idea. Blake often had women with him when he saw the kids. They were always young, and sometimes the children had fun with them, although most of the time, she knew, they found his carousel of women an intrusion, particularly Daphne, who liked being the primary female in her father's life. She thought he was really cool. And she was finding her mother a lot less so these days, which was appropriate for her age. Maxine saw teenage girls who hated their mothers all the time. It passed with time, and she wasn't worried about it yet.

“I don't know if he's bringing someone or not,” Maxine said, as Zelda made a snorting sound of disapproval from the stove.

“The last one was a real dud,” Daphne commented, and then left the kitchen to check out her mother's closet. Their bedrooms were all in close proximity to one another down a long hall, and Maxine liked it that way. She was happy being near them, and Sam often slipped into her bed at night, claiming he had bad dreams. Most of the time, he just enjoyed cuddling up to her, whatever the excuse.

Aside from that, they had a proper living room, a dining room just big enough for them, and a small den where Maxine often worked, writing articles or preparing lectures, or research papers. Their apartment was nothing compared to the opulent luxury of Blake's, which was like a space ship perched on top of the world. Maxine's apartment was cozy and warm, and felt like a real home.

When she went to her bedroom to dry her hair, she found Daphne energetically going through her closet. She had emerged with a white cashmere sweater and a pair of towering high heels, black leather Manolo Blahniks, with pointed toes and stiletto heels, which her mother seldom wore. Maxine was tall enough as it was, and she had only been able to wear heels that high when she was married to Blake.

“Those are too high for you,” Maxine cautioned her. “I nearly killed myself the last time I wore them. What about some others?”

“Mommmmm…,” Daphne groaned, “I'll be fine in these.” To Maxine, they looked too sophisticated for a thirteen-year-old, but Daphne looked more like fifteen or sixteen, so she could get away with it. She was a beautiful girl, with her mother's features and creamy skin, and her father's jet-black hair.

“Must be quite a night at Emma's tonight.” Maxine grinned. “Hot boys, huh?” Daphne rolled her eyes and walked out of the room, which was further confirmation of what her mother had said. Maxine was a little nervous about what life would be like once boys entered the scene. So far the kids had been easy, but she knew better than anyone that that couldn't last forever. And if it got tough, she'd have to handle it alone. She always had.

Maxine took a hot shower and put on a terrycloth robe. Half an hour later she and her children were at the kitchen table, while Zelda served them a dinner of roast chicken, baked potatoes, and salad. She cooked good, solid wholesome meals, and they all agreed she made the best brownies, snickerdoodles, and pancakes in the world. Maxine often thought sadly that Zelda would have made a great mom, but there was no man in her life, and hadn't been in years. At forty-two, more than likely, that chance had passed her by. She had Maxine's kids to love instead.

At dinner, Jack announced that he was going to a movie with a friend. There was a new horror movie he wanted to see, which promised to be particularly gory. He needed his mother to drop him off and pick him up. Sam was going to a friend's for a sleepover the next day, and planned to watch a DVD that night, in her room, with popcorn, in her bed. Maxine was going to take Daphne to Emma's house on the way to Jack's movie. The following day she had errands to run, and the weekend would take shape, as it always did, haphazardly, according to the kids' plans and needs.

She was thumbing through People magazine later that night, while waiting for a call from Daphne to pick her up, and came across a picture of Blake at a party the Rolling Stones had given in London. He had a well-known rock star on his arm, a staggeringly beautiful girl who practically had no clothes on, as Blake stood next to her and beamed. Maxine stared at his photograph for a minute, trying to decide if it bothered her, and confirmed to herself that it didn't, as Sam snored softly next to her, his head on her pillow, the empty popcorn bowl beside him, and his love-worn teddy bear in his arms.

As she looked at the photograph in the magazine, she tried to remember what it had been like being married to him. There had been the wonderful days in the beginning, and the lonely, angry, frustrating days in the end. None of it mattered anymore. She decided that seeing him with starlets and models and rock stars and princesses didn't bother her at all. He was a face from her distant past, and in the end, no matter how lovable he was, her father had been right. He wasn't a husband, he was a rogue. And kissing Sam softly on his silky cheek, she thought again that she liked her life just the way it was.