Mary shrugged her shoulders. She looked terrified a moment at the possibility that it had happened at the frat house. That it might not be Scott's, or even Mike's, but everyone's.

"You're getting way ahead of yourself," said Grady.

Mary sighed, nodded, fixed her eyes on the road, followed the turns, leaned into them. The campus reappeared and they pa.s.sed the colonial mansion that served as the administration building. Outside, a clique milled around a tree, cigarettes held high. A bearded boy-man was lecturing two others, using the burning stick as a wand. Mary caught his eye and the kid stopped his speech and smiled. The brick street, barely wide enough for two cars, carried them down into the south end of campus, toward the dorms, and she watched her peers milling about in the late-afternoon gloom, yelling and laughing.

Grady parked, tapped her leg, and she followed her upstairs, tracing a finger over the box. Inside was the plastic technology that would determine things from here on out.

Grady stopped her at the door. "When you're through with it, leave it on the toilet seat. And come back. I'll go back and get it." She pulled Mary close, kissed her cheek. "Have a little faith."

They stared at each other until Mary made her way down the hall.

Mary collapsed on her bed. Grady ran her palm over her spiky hair and stood. "Which stall?"

"Second from last," said Mary, rocking back and forth.

Grady left, and she couldn't stop fidgeting. In a bigger room she would have paced. Life's first real test, she thought, remembering her nervousness before high school exams. They tell you to be careful, they tell you to be good, they tell you everything will work out.

When Grady returned she threw herself on her bed, and Mary knew. "Oh no," she said, covering her eyes like a child before a distant storm.

"You need to see a doctor. These things aren't accurate."

"No way," she moaned, slapping her face.

Time pa.s.sed. Grady joined her, hugged her, lied to her, and an hour later, when it began to set in for real, Mary kissed Grady's cheek and got up. She picked up the phone and dialed. "Mom?"

"Honey?"

She began to speak, but stopped short when the tears returned, then stopped for good when she found that they wouldn't stop. She set the phone on the desk. Her mother called out across the distance.

Grady picked it up. "Is this Mary's mom?"

"Who is this?"

"My name's Grady. I'm her dorm mate."

"I'm Freddie McDylan. What's going on?"

"Your daughter's pregnant."

Chapter Fifteen: Where's Veronica?.

1.

Two weeks after Veronica left, Robert had yet to hear from her. He'd filed for divorce, and he knew she'd been served: she'd signed for the papers at the bank. But she hadn't called. It wasn't that he yearned for conversation, but he knew Jennifer needed an explanation. She still needed her mother.

Tonight, Robert couldn't sleep. He was hot, uncovered except by his shorts, and he stared at the ceiling, trying to put the dream into some kind of order. He couldn't figure out how long it had been going on, what exactly it all meant, but it had been more powerful, clearer, since Veronica had left. What he knew for sure was that waking up had become a drag-the dream thrilled him with exotic images, but more it filled him with a strange sense of meaning that he couldn't quite name.

Robert had frequently been bored with life. Not simply his own, but life in general. Clinically, this might be termed depression, but America's great excuse, the diagnosed life, seemed a cop-out. Still, American life seemed endlessly ba.n.a.l-how much should one strive to own, to eat, to drink, to earn, to f.u.c.k, in a single lifetime?

He went to check on Jenn. At first, he thought she was sleeping. She was still facing the wall when she called him. He jumped at her voice. "Thought you were sleeping, honey."

She rolled over and sat on the edge of her bed. She offered her hand and he took it. Her face was open as a harvest moon. "Scared?" he asked, though he knew the answer. Her round eyes reminded him of her mother's-so round, so open, almost awaiting revelation.

"Are you?"

"Yeah, honey. Sure, I'm scared. It's okay to be."

His daughter leaned up, grabbed onto the back of his neck, pressed their foreheads together. "I think everything will be okay. We gotta stick together."

"Do you miss her?"

Jenn nodded her head against his. She sniffled.

"I don't know everything's she's going through, but I know it has nothing to do with you." Robert paused, thinking it over. Then he said, "Have you ever had a problem only you knew about?"

Jenn hesitated. "I talk too much to the dolls." She leaned toward him. "They're not real, you know."

"Do they talk back?"

Jenn paused. "Sometimes they tell me to run away. Sometimes they tell me that you and Mommy don't love each other. I tell them you do, but you get mad sometimes."

He'd forgotten how real a child's imagination was. This wasn't a psychotic episode, or the onset of a disorder, but the child's ability to answer her own questions.

"Where is she, Daddy?"

"She's taking a break from me."

"What about me?"

"Not you. Me."

Jenn leaned in, kissed his cheek, and her soft, wet face brushed against his.

Robert held on. And wept.

The next morning he saw Jenn to her bus. Because of his eyes, he took a taxi to work. He paid his fare and got out, faced the English building.

The man in the Rob Zombie T-shirt was standing on the steps. This time, Robert was close enough to see his eyes-they were black and dead set on him. He froze, looked around for witnesses, but students ebbed and flowed around him without seeming to notice anything amiss.

The man took his hand from his pocket. He held a small, gleaming object, and he slowly raised it until it was above his head. He was still. His beard streamed in the wind. The blade was motionless.

Robert froze. He'd seen this man somewhere else, he knew it, not just here at the school, but somewhere else. He c.o.c.ked his head like a curious mutt, watching the blade glide across the air like something wet. For a moment, he imagined the man was in his dreams, and he supposed he might have been, but that wasn't where he remembered the face, the beard, the stillness br.i.m.m.i.n.g with violence and l.u.s.t. No, he'd seen this man somewhere else, sometime else, he just couldn't place it.

Robert glanced around, hoping to find someone else watching the man, too. To his left, a group of kids sat around a stone table beside the campus bookstore. In the courtyard behind the English Department students milled about. n.o.body seemed to notice the knife-wielding b.u.m on the steps. He turned back.

The man was gone.

Robert whirled, searching the campus again and again, but he had either missed the escape or the man had disappeared.

In his office, he called campus security and reported it, but the guard hadn't heard anything. The conversation left him feeling dazed. His mother's condition had caused hallucinations, but her tumor had been in the brain. His was everywhere but. Still, could his sickness leave him with similar symptoms?

Minutes later, someone knocked on his door. "Mister Lieber?"

"Come in."

A thin man in a suit entered, extended his hand. "We've met, but a long time ago. I work with Veronica. Worked, actually."

"George? How you been?"

George, his smile as thin as he was, said, "Not so hot."

"Sorry to hear it." You'd think differently if I told you how I was.

George sat down, ran a hand over his tie. His hands were womanly, the fingernails ornate. "This is about your wife and my daughter, Mister Lieber."

Robert shifted uncomfortably. "How's that? I mean, how is it about both of them?"

"My daughter hasn't been able to . . . adjust to college life. She's coming home."

Robert nodded, waiting.

"Anyway, I'd like her to continue school here. Can you ensure she'll be able to take on a full load even though the semester's underway?"

"Sure, but you're getting the inside scoop when you don't need it. Enrolling late is no problem when the semester's young."

"What I'm saying is this," said George, hunched over his knees. "My daughter's gotten into some trouble. When she begins here, I'd like you to keep an eye on her."

"Oh," said Robert. "Sure."

George fell back into the chair. "Now, about Veronica. There's a problem."

"There're so many."

"Do you know where she is?"

"I haven't seen her in two weeks. But you knew that."

George nodded. "I've had to call the police. She disappeared yesterday with a large sum of money."

Robert closed his eyes tiredly. "Of course she did," he said, rubbing his forehead.

"What do you mean?"

"Money. It's her issue."

"May I ask why you parted?"

"Let's just say her fidelity in all things."

George paused. "Last week I loaned her money. Your home was up for foreclosure."

"What a bombsh.e.l.l."

"She'll be arrested when they find her, Mister Lieber. I'm sorry." George McDylan rose. "I'm really sorry."

"Me too, George," Robert said, looking up. "Me too."

Chapter Sixteen: The Weirdest Feeling.

1.

Mary and Grady packed. They took periodic breaks to bat around plans for the baby, for school, for themselves, as if these things were separate issues. Grady could not contain her ebullience over leaving a state that was, in her mind, just one big small town. Mary tried to keep up for a while, then gave up and just listened.

Initially, Freddie had borne up poorly under the news. Once Grady had given the phone to Mary, her mother had called her a naive b.i.t.c.h and hung up, but she'd phoned back minutes later, in tears, hyperventilating and ashamed, and she'd asked Mary to please, please come home. Mary told her she'd think it over, then had called back around midnight. This time she spoke to both parents, told them she'd return on one condition-Grady was coming with her. To Mary's surprise they readily agreed.

"This is going to be fun, Mary."

"Yeah?" She was folding shirts, laying them neatly in the suitcase.

"It's gonna be great."

She tried to smile, but failed. Pack your bags, girls. We're going on a guilt trip.