"Is he urinating, wetting his diapers?"

"Sure, all the time. I keep him changed, though. Nice and fresh, all the time."

"Good for you, and it's good that he's not dehydrated. He's not teething, he has c.o.xackie virus."

"c.o.c.k-a-what?" The mother frowned, understandably.

"It's a virus that babies get in their mouth, and it's also called hand, foot, and mouth disease. It'll go away in ten days, but don't give him any more brandy. Popsicles are great to give him fluids, and he'll feel comfier on Tylenol. How old is he, eight months or so?"

"Yes, eight months."

"How much does he weigh?" Jill couldn't tell, he was so bundled up "Twenty pounds."

"Okay, then give him infant's Tylenol. Use the dropper inside, and give him one full dropper."

"I ran out," the young mother answered, averting her eyes.

"Let me treat you to a bottle, okay?" Jill slipped her hand in her purse, pulled out her wallet, then handed a ten to the clerk. "This is for her Tylenol."

"Okay." The clerk pointed left. "It's right there, top shelf."

"Thank you." The young mother smiled gratefully, at Jill. "Thank you so much, ma'am."

"You're welcome. He'll be fine. Hang in with him."

"Thanks again." The mother hugged the baby and hurried down the aisle.

Jill faced the clerk. "Now, I need to see the waiver book."

The clerk smiled slyly. "You a real doctor, lady?"

"Yes, now can I see the book?" Jill put down another twenty, and the clerk scooped it off the counter, then slid over the red plastic binder.

"You got it."

"Thanks." Jill flipped the pages, slowing when she got to the fifteenth, then scanned the printed names next to each customer, with their signatures. None were William, so she flipped one more page, and his name leapt out at her. William Skyler. Three script stickers were pasted in a row beneath the label, all filled at 12:03 A.M. The signature was so messy she couldn't even tell if it was forged. William's handwriting was more slanted, but he could be sloppy, too, in a rush.

"Okay?" the clerk asked.

"You have a surveillance camera back here, don't you? Most pharmacies do, and you have one at the front of the store. I saw it when I came in."

"Yes, what about it?"

"I need to see the tape. For fifty bucks."

"Sweet! Meet me in aisle eleven, near the soda. The office door is right here."

"Thanks." Jill turned right, headed back toward aisle eleven, and waited by the office door. Five minutes later, Jill had paid the clerk his fifty dollars and was standing with him in a cramped, filthy office stuffed with boxes. Video equipment sat stacked on an unpainted plywood shelf, under a small security monitor. The clerk aimed a remote control at the equipment, and the screen showed people zipping around in reverse. Their faces were small, but visible, and Jill was hoping that William had filled the scripts, so she could tell Abby and end this thing.

"Keep going?" the clerk asked, turning to her.

"Yes, all the way back to the twelfth."

"You're lucky, Doc. It only goes back a week, then it erases."

Jill watched the people walking backward, at speed. The numbers of a digital clock were spinning on the screen, too fast to read. The pace of the surveillance film slowed, and the clock wound back from 2:00 A.M. to 1:00 A.M. The onscreen clerk was an attractive woman. Jill asked, "Is the clerk a pharmacist?"

"No, that's Trisha. We don't have a pharmacist on that late at night. We stay open for pickups only. The CVS down the block is twenty-four-hour, but we're not. Okay, I'll stop the tape now." The clerk pressed a b.u.t.ton on the remote. "Is that the dude?"

The screen froze, and Jill squinted at the grainy image, unsure if it was William. His face was obscured by aviator sungla.s.ses, and a black ballcap hid his hair and forehead. He had on a nondescript windbreaker, and he was tall and broad-shouldered, like William and five million other men. Jill gestured at the screen. "I can't tell, but how can you dispense narcotics to someone you can't see? It looks like an obvious disguise."

"You don't know the wack jobs we get in here, Doc. They don't look half as good as him."

"Can you play the film slowly back and forth, one more time?"

"Sure." The clerk did, and the man in the black ballcap went to and from the counter, in slow motion. He didn't seem to talk to the clerk more than was necessary, and he kept his head down the entire time. It wasn't the way William behaved, and it was no wonder that Trisha hadn't remembered him when Abby had asked.

Jill had another thought. If William had wanted these drugs, he could have gotten them as samples, because he knew reps at all the drug companies. So maybe the man in the ballcap wasn't William at all. Maybe he drove a black SUV, license plate T something, and didn't know his headlight had burned out. She eyed the screen, thinking of yet a third possibility. That the man really was William, but for some reason, he was disguising himself.

"Uh-oh." The clerk pointed at the small window in the door. "Customer's out there. I gotta go."

"One more sec." Jill reached in her purse, took out her BlackBerry, and snapped a picture of the monitor's screen. "Thanks."

"No problem." The clerk grinned. "Come back anytime."

Chapter Fourteen.

Jill closed the front door, dropped her keys in the bowl, and lugged two food bags inside. Beef ran barking to greet her, sniffing the bags, but the house was otherwise quiet. Sam's maroon Lexus was in the driveway, so she knew he was home.

"Babe?" she called out, and Sam came in barefoot from the family room, rubbing his eyes with a tired smile. He looked comfy in his T-shirt and baggy jeans, and he tucked his book under his arm as he took the bags from her and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"How are you, honey?"

"Good."

"How's Abby?"

"Fine." Jill would have to figure out when to tell him about the pharmacy. "How about you?"

"Catching up on my reading. Lee's well and says h.e.l.lo, and I washed the comforter, so Megan's back in business." Sam headed into the kitchen with the bags, and Jill fell into step beside him, dropping her handbag on the chair.

"Thanks. Was it gross?"

"Nah. Did you know that Laundromats have video games these days? I watched a ten-year-old save the planet." Sam set the bags on the island. "Before I forget, Katie called you. She said she left a message on your phone, too."

"Oh, thanks." Jill hadn't heard her phone ring. Katie Feehan was her best friend, and she lived nearby, with her husband Paul and three boys. "Did she say it was important?"

"She needs your help with a recipe. Something for the kids."

"Uh-oh." Jill smiled. Katie was a better friend than a cook.

"Are there more bags in the car?"

"No, just a box, with a laptop and some papers."

"Whose laptop and papers?"

"William's. I'm going to help Abby do a household budget. She's going to live on her own."

Sam shrugged. "Good for her, but with what money?"

"More than we have. It looks like William finally hit the jackpot." Jill rummaged in the shopping bags, found the ice cream, and put it in the freezer. "And she agreed to see a therapist."

"Great." Sam broke into a relieved smile. "I'll call Sandy and we'll make that happen. Where's Megan?"

"Courtney's, doing her English project." Jill unpacked the bagged vegetables and stowed them in the fridge. "I think she's milking it, don't you?"

"I don't blame her if she needs some time with Courtney. She can't be delighted with Abby after last night."

"Because of the comforter? It wasn't Abby's fault. She got sick."

"Not only that, but the way she kind of barged in, and all of a sudden, she's taking up your time. Like tonight."

Jill looked at him, surprised. "That's harsh, don't you think? I was alone, so I went over. I wanted her to come and stay a few days, but Victoria bullied her out of it."

"What do you mean, a few days?"

"I mean hang here for a little, so I could help her with the budget, and she could spend time with Megan."

"She works, though."

"She quit."

Sam frowned. "I don't know if her coming here is a good idea. Do you?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Is it a fait accompli?" Sam's eyes flared briefly behind his gla.s.ses. "Do I have a say? Does Megan?"

Jill didn't get it. "Megan was really close to Abby and she'd be happy to have Abby stay."

"I'm not sure you're right about that."

"I know I am. Megan told me she thinks of Abby as family."

"Megan may not understand the implications of that for the future, and anyway, do I count? Abby's not in my family. I don't know her. Steven never even met her."

Jill felt a tug at her heart. She couldn't say he was wrong, and she couldn't agree with him, either. "Abby's a great kid, Sam. Give her a chance."

"May I be honest, or are you going to bite my head off?"

"Be honest," Jill answered, meaning it. She hadn't seen this coming.

"You're thinking of the Abby you raised, not the Abby I met. The Abby I met drove drunk, was rude, and took over Megan's room. Is that the same Abby you remember?"

Jill felt stung, for Abby. "You can't judge someone on the worst day of their life. Her father just died."

"Isn't it likelier that she's changed? She's grown up without you, or any mother, in her life, and it hasn't done her any good."

Jill felt a wave of guilt. "That's not her fault, and I really think you're being harsh. You talked to her for fifteen minutes."

"I can tell. You can't. You're not objective. You love her."

"So what are you saying?" Jill asked, puzzled. "You don't want her here this week?"

"I think you should slow this relationship down, between you and Abby. Even between Megan and Abby. You're responding to a need, automatically, which is what you do so well. It's as if Abby's an acute wound and you're rushing to stop the bleeding." Sam kept his tone reasonable, his gaze steady. "It's what makes you a great mother, and physician, too. But you have competing needs here, and you have to weigh them carefully."

Jill couldn't agree. "You're making too much of it. How does it hurt Megan if Abby spends time here?"

"Megan's gotten used to living without her, and it took a long time. I know, I remember that time. Do you?"

"Yes." Jill nodded. Megan had gotten a little lost after the divorce, weepier and more sensitive than usual, with the familial rug pulled out from under her. "But it wasn't only about Abby."

"Either way, you're inviting Abby back into Megan's life, but it won't be the same as before. Abby isn't the same girl, and neither is Megan. Megan's grown up a lot, and these girls won't fit so well together." Sam leaned on the gleaming counter, which reflected him in a murky outline. "In fact, if you ask me, Megan's gotten stronger, and Abby's only gotten weaker."

"I don't get it." Jill couldn't deny a growing irritation, like having something in her shoe. "Abby needs a hand now, so can't we give it to her? She's so vulnerable, and anything can happen. I'm scared for her, Sam. Can't we just see her through this patch?"

Sam blinked. "How long is the patch?"

"I don't know."

"Then how do you know it's a patch?" Sam raked his hand through his hair. "I don't know where this road ends, or if it ends. This is a kid who'll need help for the foreseeable future. She'll need therapy, love, a family, and a home. You name it, she needs it, she's a bolus of need." Sam c.o.c.ked his head, blinking thoughtfully behind his gla.s.ses. "How will you cut her off, babe? When? It'll only get harder, you know. You're taking on a problem you don't own, and where will we be, down the line? Megan goes off to college, and we're at home with Abby? I don't want the problems of a problem child, at this point in my life."

Jill recoiled. "Slow down. We're not there yet."

"But we have to think about it, now. You know me, I'm a researcher. I know that what I do now will pay off years from now. In fact, it won't pay off until years from now. Everything's long-term, Jill. Life is long-term."

Jill had heard him say this before, to Megan. "So what's your point?" she asked, impatient.

"My point is, let's not start this process without thinking. You have a triage mentality. You see a problem, you fix it. You go. You act."

"It's not because I'm a clinician, it's because I'm a mother. That's what all mothers do, Sam. We're practical."