I had a hot retort in my mouth, but Clyde put his head against the steering wheel. I couldn't see his eyes. And then there was a tapping on the window, and when I looked I saw Orlando standing outside, looking in at us.

It was awkward with Orlando, who hadn't expected to see Clyde, let alone interrupt us in the middle of an argument. No use trying to act normal when it was so obvious that both of us were upset and one of us was almost out of control. Clyde barely spoke after he rolled down the window. I got out of the car, and Orlando hugged me even though I could tell that he was holding back. He looked exhausted and stressed out. I told him Trina was in the hospital and brought him up to date as quickly as I could.

There were logistics to figure out. Orlando sat in his car while Clyde and I sat in his and decided that we'd both stay to learn if Trina's hold would be extended. If it was, we'd have her transferred back to the Weitz Center. If it wasn't, we'd drive her back to LA and either look for a residential treatment program in a remote spot, or call Brad and say I'd made a mistake leaving, or chain up Trina in my garage.

I got out of Clyde's car and conferred with Orlando in his; he said he'd spend the night and go back to LA in the morning. He called an 800 number for a hotel and found a place that wasn't too far from the hospital. After we checked in, Orlando and I went to get something to eat. Clyde stayed behind to take a nap. We agreed to meet half an hour before visiting hours at the hospital.

I felt more guilty than hungry as I sat across from Orlando. "I'm so sorry I called you. I didn't know Clyde was going to be here. I hate that you're missing opening night. God, Orlando. Are you going to get fired?"

"Nah. I told the director I had a family emergency. They would have postponed it, but tickets had already been sold. Anyway, it's not that big a deal. Don't even think about it. The play kind of sucks." He seemed forlorn.

"Orlando, are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"I'm sure the play doesn't suck."

"I'm fabulous, but the play sucks. Anyway, I'm here now. It's good to see you, baby."

We didn't talk much. A couple of times when I looked up from my food, Orlando was staring at me.

"I'm okay," I said the last time. When he kept staring, it occurred to me that I might look as bad as Bethany did. It wouldn't be the first time Orlando hadn't seen me at my best.

We took a walk after we finished eating. When we got back to the hotel, there were still a couple of hours before visiting hours started. "I want us to take a nap," Orlando said. So we got in the bed and slept until it was time for me to meet Clyde.

CLYDE WAS WAITING IN THE LOBBY WHEN I CAME DOWN. His rest had done him good. He seemed more relaxed. We stayed away from discussing anything personal while we drove to the hospital. It wasn't until Clyde turned into the entranceway of Somerset that I saw his face begin to take on a grim look, and all the lines of tension that the nap had eased seemed more pronounced.

Clyde went in first to see Trina, and I waited outside near the sign-in sheet. He came back after forty-five minutes and said Trina wanted to see me. She looked bedraggled, her hair uncombed, sleep settled into the corners of her eyes; she was huddled in a corner of one of the sofas in the television room. I wanted to hug her, but her eyes allowed me to come only so far.

"Trina, why don't you give Mommy a hug," Clyde said.

She shrank back.

"That's all right. I love you, baby."

She stared at me with sullen, suspicious eyes. What would it take for that look to recede, disappear?

I didn't stay long.

"She'll get better," I said as Clyde and I were walking down the hall.

Clyde didn't answer.

"The medication has to get in her system. It's a process."

He didn't look at me.

"You never answered my question," Clyde said as we were driving back.

"What question?"

"Why haven't you and Orlando gotten married? Brother drove all night to be with you. Seems like a nice guy."

"He is a nice guy."

Clyde smiled. "So you're not going to tell me?"

"I haven't figured it out myself. Why are you so into my Kool-Aid?"

Clyde opened his mouth, then closed it. "Just being nosy."

Orlando was in the shower when I got back to the room. There was a bottle of red wine on the dresser, and a bouquet of flowers, the kind vendors sell on street corners. And French fries, still hot. I popped one into my mouth and then another. He'd found Sacramento's jazz station; the strains of a soft saxophone were coming from the radio. I knocked on the bathroom door, then cracked it. "The flowers are beautiful. And the fries are great. Thank you."

"You're welcome. How's Trina doing?"

"You know. It's day two; she hates me. What can I tell you?"

I heard water running. Orlando came out with a towel wrapped around him. "Your bath is ready," he said, and kissed me.

There were bubbles in the tub and two lighted candles on the sink. I sank into the water, letting the warmth and the fragrance push back some of the worry and tension. I almost fell asleep, but then I heard soft tapping on the door. "Hey, baby, you're kind of quiet in there."

Orlando had already poured the wine by the time I got out. He handed me a glass and held his up. "To better times," he said.

Clink! Clink!

We got into the bed, then sat up with our heads against the back-board.

"How are the boys?" I asked.

Orlando smiled. "Jabari had his football banquet last week. He was MVP."

"All right!" I said. Our palms met in midair.

"So he takes off for training in a couple of weeks."

"That soon?"

"Michigan starts a little earlier than most. You should have heard his acceptance speech. Brought tears to my eyes. Talk about eloquent."

"Wonder where that came from?"

Orlando grinned.

"How's PJ?" I asked.

"Well," Orlando said, "that's a whole other story." He looked at me and put down his glass. "Uh," he said, then stopped, pressed his lips together, and started again. "PJ told me he's gay."

His voice cracked when he said the word. I looked at him, saw his lower lip begin to quiver. He began sobbing. I put my arms around him. I hadn't expected tears. Not from my rock.

"It's going to be all right."

"Oh, God." His head was against my chest, and his voice was muffled. "They're going to call him a faggot." He began sobbing harder. "And there's AIDS. Jesus. Why didn't I know? What the hell was wrong with me, not seeing this?"

"He didn't want you to see it," I said. "What did you tell him?"

He lifted his head and looked at me. "I told him I loved him, that he was my son. What do you think I told him?"

"Did he tell Lucy?"

"We both did."

"How did she take it?"

"You know how emotional Lucy is. But she did say that she loved him." He looked at me. "Did you know?"

I nodded. "I haven't known all that much longer than you. It was easier for him to tell me. I'm not his parent."

"You act like his mother."

I didn't say anything.

"He's the age your son would have been."

I didn't answer.

Orlando put his hands on my shoulders. "Help me get through this."

"You will," I said.

"You don't know how this feels to a man. It's like somebody's tearing my guts out. Who can explain how things turn out?"

"Not me."

"You're a good mother, Keri."

"I was always so proud of Trina. I could point to her and say, 'See, I got something right.' "

"You did a lot of things right. Trina's a wonderful girl when she's not sick. It's not her fault, and it's not yours."

"I know. And you didn't do anything wrong with PJ."

"I know."

His hands stayed on my shoulders for a long time, and then I put mine on his. I looked past him to the dresser with the flowers and more candles twinkling. Then we were pushing each other down, touching kindly, sharing sweetness and heat.

I WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING TO THE RINGING OF THE telephone. It was Dr. Natal calling to inform me that she had just left Trina's hearing; the hold had been extended for two weeks. She'd already called the Weitz Center and arranged the transfer. I told her Clyde and I would be there shortly to check Trina out.

When I hung up, Orlando was getting dressed and looking at me. "So I take it that you and Clyde are riding back to LA together."

Something in his voice made me pay more attention.

"I guess. Maybe we'll follow the ambulance. I don't know."

"Right. Well, look, I'm going to head out."

"Aren't you going to eat something?"

"Nah."

"Come on. Don't start a seven-hour drive on an empty stomach."

"I'm not hungry now. I'll stop off somewhere later. You need to get going."

I got up, walked to him, and put my arms around his waist. "I'll call you when I get back. Break a leg."

"What?"

"The show. You're going on tonight, aren't you?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah. Thanks, baby."

He gave me a kiss. I thought of it as I was dressing; it was quick and dry, like the kiss a grown man gives his favorite aunt.

Clyde was waiting for me in the lobby.

"Orlando didn't want to eat breakfast?" Clyde asked.

"He wasn't hungry. He's already gone."

Clyde and I argued at breakfast and on the way over to the hospital. He didn't want to have Trina transported by ambulance. He thought we could handle her ourselves. "You were willing to put Trina in a car with strangers, going to God knows where, but you don't think we can handle her?"

"She ran away twice on this trip already. Do you really think-?"

He held up his hand. "You drive. I'll sit in back with her. She won't run away from me."

Somehow, I knew that was true.

Trina looked better when I saw her. She was washed, her hair still damp from a shampoo. She didn't look as though she was ready to attack me, which didn't mean that she was ready to have a friendly conversation. Mostly she talked with Clyde. He was the one who told her that we were leaving, that she was going back to the Weitz Center, and that we were taking her there. She narrowed her eyes and glared at me for moment. I was sending her back to her old plantation with the taste of liberty still in her mouth. But when Clyde told her that it was for the best, she sighed and seemed to settle down. She was quiet as we signed her out and seemed subdued as we walked to the parking lot toward Clyde's car.

"All right," I said, when I was seated behind the wheel. "No stops."

30.