She shrugged.

"And don't tell me you don't notice them back. You're out with boys as often as you're with girls."

"We're all friends. We have been for years." She waited, wondering if she'd been set up. If he had overheard her talking about Robbie and Bill and suspected that Ginny had invited the two to spend the weekend in the boat house, she'd be in big trouble. Robbie and Bill weren't schoolmates of theirs. They were freshmen at Boston University. Pam wasn't in love with Robbie, but he was fun.

But John made no mention of specifics. "I know how things work with groups like that. You pair up, then break off and pair up with someone else, and through the whole thing the girls are sitting in cla.s.s doodling 'Mrs. So-and-so' on their books. High school is just practice. The serious manhunting takes place in college."

"Times have changed," Pam informed him, straightening her spine. "Women aren't going to college to get married. They're training for careers. Look at Hillary. Like, she's a perfect example."

"What's with this like, for G.o.d's sake?" John barked. "If it's supposed to be cool, it's wasted on me. As far as I'm concerned, it's nothing but poor English."

Pam was more interested in making her point than in arguing idiomatic usage. "Isn't she a perfect example?"

"Hillary is an exception."

"Maybe among the women you know."

"And the ones you know are different?" He straightened, preparing for battle. "Come off it, Pam. Your friends come from families that are loaded. Do you honestly think they're planning to work their way through life? You can bet their fathers have said the same thing to them-more than once-that I just said to you."

But Pam doubted that Eugene would have said it. He wasn't like that. Lord, she missed him. She missed his robust laugh, missed the way she could tell him anything, missed the way he used to hug her for no reason at all except that he loved her.

She missed Patricia, too, but that grief wasn't as simple. It was mixed with loneliness, wishful thinking, and guilt. Patricia was still hospitalized. Her psychiatrist, Robert Grossman, whom Pam had begun calling for updates on her mother's condition, had suggested that Pam visit each month. If she missed a month or two, though, it never seemed to matter. Patricia was pleasant; she responded to things Pam said with simple replies, but she never asked questions, never expressed interest or concern. She never called Pam on the phone, never remembered a birthday, never took the initiative in any aspect of their relationship.

By keeping busy with her friends, Pam was able to forget how much that bothered her.

"Besides," John went on, "if you're planning on a career, the college you go to is even more important."

"Not if I'm going into the family business."

"Yes, if you're going into the family business. I can't put you into a top slot if you've barely squeaked by at a second-rate school." He seemed egged on by his sense of superiority. "You want people to respect you? You want them to think you've got something up here?" He tapped his head. "You need the credentials for that."

"I already know more about the mining end of the business than most of the men in your front office."

"Mining is only a small part of the business. Facets is where we're going."

"I'll find my place." She had been watching things closely and knew that taking over the presidency was a pipe dream. John was firmly entrenched in that spot, and he was a powerful force. But there would be another spot, one where she could build her own power. She intended to show him up. Somehow, sometime, somewhere, she would.

"Not if you don't settle down and study."

"How can I settle down and study if you don't leave me alone?" Having reached the limit of how much of John she could take at one time, she lost her cool. "I told you that I have a big midterm tomorrow. You told me that I should get better grades. How can I do that if you don't let me study?"

"How do I know that the minute I walk out of this room you won't pick up the phone?"

"Because I have to study! Go, John."

He stared at her for a long minute, during which she aged a dozen. She was sure he was going to tell her she couldn't go for the weekend-which wouldn't stop her, she'd find another way to get to Martha's Vineyard, but it would complicate things.

"I'll go," he said finally in the slow and deliberate tone that augured a threat. "But I'm telling you, be careful, Pam. I've been generous with you. I've given you a liberal expense account-"

"I haven't gone over-"

"-which gives you expensive clothes, expensive skis, dinners, and movies and shows with your friends. I send you to New York every few months. I let you travel to this summer place and that winter place. I gave you your own phone. I've given you a car and unlimited gas. And I've looked the other way each time you've gone to Maine."

Her heart skittered to an abrupt stop-start. "It's important that I go to Maine," she said quietly. "It's important that the men at the mines see one of us. You hate going. I don't."

"But you're still seeing Cutter Reid."

She felt another sharp skitter. "He works at the mine, so I see him."

"You see him other times, and I've told you not to."

"Timiny Cove's a small place. I can't help but see him."

"You go looking for him. Why do you bother?"

Someone was snitching. She wanted to know who, but she didn't get so muddled in the question as to fall into his trap and admit to seeing Cutter. "The miners are important. They're human beings who put in good, long days for us. They're the backbone of this company."

"Not anymore. Tourmaline is the most reasonably priced of the gems we work with. If we closed the mines, we could buy it at the exchange like we buy the rest."

No matter how quickly Pam wanted John out of her room, how reluctant she was to prolong the conversation, she couldn't let his statement stand. "You're a.s.suming the business could survive on Facets alone. But even I know that we gross eight million a year from the mines, apart from the stones our designers use. That's a nice cushion. Without it, our stockholders might get nervous."

He was quiet for a minute. Although nothing showed on his face, Pam fancied he was stunned that she could speak so knowledgeably about the business. Rather than bask in her moment of strength, though, she too remained silent. One of the things she'd learned in dealing with John was that gloating only brought retribution, and retribution hurt. She didn't want to be hurt. Nor did she want Cutter hurt.

She had two more years before she reached majority. Two more years.

Ten more hours before she took the American History exam.

Fourteen more hours before she left Boston for the Vineyard.

And, G.o.d willing, no more than five minutes before John left her the h.e.l.l alone.

"I think," he said at last, "that the mines are the least of your worries. Get those grades up, or you won't be going to Maine or anywhere else for a while. Do I make myself clear?"

He was more than annoyed. His eyes sparkled with resentment despite his otherwise iron control. She'd bested him, and he knew it. It was all she could do not to grin.

"Yes, John," she said docilely.

Her grades remained mediocre. When a note of concern came from her math teacher, John relieved her of her car keys and forbade her to go out that weekend. She simply waited until he'd left, then walked down to Charles Street and was picked up by friends. When he decided, two weekends later, that he didn't like the term paper she'd written for English, he took the cars keys again, along with the ticket she had for a Sat.u.r.day night concert in Cambridge. She wasn't fazed. She hopped on the T and went to a party at Boston University with Robbie.

John was not thrilled with her final report card in June. "This is pathetic," he said, tossing the incriminating sheet of paper onto the library desk.

Pam had been preparing herself for his anger since she'd learned of the grades several days before. "It was a hard course load. I shouldn't have taken biology. It took so much of my time that it messed me up for everything else."

"What messed you up had nothing to do with school. It has to do with that bunch you hang out with. You're always out. Are the others doing as poorly as you are?"

"My grades aren't that bad. Really. You knew I was having trouble in math, but that won't be a problem next year because I'll be taking geometry, which is a lot easier than algebra."

"You got a C-minus in history."

"That's because the entire grade depends on three tests, and I don't do well on Mr. Harris's tests. I listen to what he says and try to psych him out, but I guess wrong every time."

John wasn't buying the argument. "If you studied everything he a.s.signed, you'd be ready for the test regardless of what he asked."

"I do study everything."

"Don't you want to do well?"

"Yes."

"So why aren't you? If you set your mind to something, you can do it. It's not so long since I went through school that I don't remember what it's like. If you work hard, you do well."

He didn't blink. Nor did he seem to be breathing, which was something that always amazed Pam. It was as though he was in such total control of his body that every function was pared down to its most spare and efficient. He was a cold-driving machine.

"The problem," he went on in distaste, "is that the only thing you're working hard on is your social life. I think you ought to take biology over at summer school."

Pam's stomach knotted. "I can't go to summer school, John. I'm signed up to go out West. The trip starts in two weeks."

"They'll fill in with someone else."

"But I've been looking forward to this trip! I've been counting the days till I leave!"

"If you'd spent less time counting and more time studying, you'd have been better off."

"Please, John." She'd go mad if she had to hang around Boston all summer, which was her only other choice, since John had told her she couldn't spend twelve weeks in Maine. "I'll do anything. I'll work with a tutor when I get back from the trip, I'll go for extra help next fall, I'll come home every afternoon after school to study. I'll do better, I promise. I mean, like, junior year is the one that really counts, anyway, and if I do okay on my SATs, the colleges won't hold one mark against me."

"One mark?"

She wasn't about to bicker. "A few."

"I'll have to think about it."

"Please?" she begged, not caring that she did. She was tired of b.u.t.ting heads with him, tired of losing and being punished and slipping out on the sly. She welcomed the promise of seven weeks away from home.

"I said I'll think about it." He handed her the report card. "Take it. It embarra.s.ses me."

She took the report card and left, knowing from experience that further argument would not help her cause. John was behaving true to form. He would keep her dangling while he made up his mind in his own sweet time, and only when he knew she was suffering.

Indeed, she was suffering. She was furious at him and at herself. With the school year over, her friends had dispersed, so she had no ready diversions. She tried to be available and acquiescent whenever John was at home, but he gave no clue as to which way he was leaning. He was perfectly content to let her swing.

Needing a respite-and unable to help herself, although she doubted it would help her cause-she took off early one afternoon and drove to Timiny Cove. She went to the mountain first to say h.e.l.lo to Simon and the men. When she was certain Cutter had seen her, she left for the stream in the woods.

He joined her there soon after the workday ended. At the sight of his tall frame emerging from the trees, she felt the familiar brightening inside. Grinning, she rose from the rock on which she'd been sitting and ran to meet him.

He swept her up and swung her around. When her feet touched ground again, he held her back. "Jeez, do you look grown-up. I wasn't sure who it was when I first saw you. This is a change from jeans."

She was wearing a short white skirt, a lavender jersey, and flats, which was what she'd put on that morning when she hadn't expected to go farther than Beacon Hill. The impulse to leave Boston had been so sudden that she hadn't thought to change. Given the admiration in Cutter's eyes, she was glad she hadn't.

He twined a long strand of her hair around his finger and gave a light tug. "You're looking pretty, Pam."

John had said the same words to her not so long ago, and in the echo of the words he had looked at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She suddenly wondered if Cutter had noticed she was getting bigger there. Maybe he'd even felt her b.r.e.a.s.t.s when he hugged her.

Her cheeks grew warm. "Thank you." Her eyes couldn't quite hold his. They angled off, then returned. "You're looking pretty good yourself." It occurred to her that what with his height and his laborer's build and his long, light brown hair that never seemed dirty but was always mussed, he was more handsome than anyone she knew at home. "How've you been?"

"Not bad. Arguin' with Simon. Stickin' up for a thirty-minute lunch hour. Steerin' clear of John. How 'bout you?"

"Pretty much the same as you. Not bad."

But he was studying her closely. "You look tired," he decided, and she knew then why she'd felt such a dire need to see him. He cared in a way that no one else did. He was a haven she could run to when she was lonely and discouraged. He knew her, understood her. He gave her his full attention.

In no time they were sitting side by side on the rocks and she was spilling the whole story about her grades and John and the trip that was up in the air. She also told him that John knew they were seeing each other.

"He must have someone up here, Cutter. You joked about it once, but I think it's true. He knows I spend more time with you than I do with the others."

Cutter's features had hardened the way they always did when John's name came up. "Is he taking it out on you?"

"Not yet. But he's holding it over my head."

"Typical."

"Who do you think is watching us?"

He stared at a spot across the stream for so long that Pam looked that way, wondering if someone was there. The trees were in full bloom, fresh and lush in a June sort of way, so that though sundown was a ways off yet, the shadows were deep. She couldn't see a thing.

"I'm not sure," he said at last and looked back at her. "You came anyway."

"Of course."

He gave her the smallest smile, a tiny twitch of the lips that told of his pleasure. "Does he know you're here now?"

"He'll know when he gets home from work and finds my note. I was going to tell him I'd gone to a friend's house, but I figured someone would see me up here anyway. If John catches me in a lie at this point, I can forget that trip."

"When's the trip?"

"Next Thursday."

"And you really want to go?"

"I really want to spend the summer up here, but John won't hear of that." Tucking her hands between her knees, she gritted her teeth and threw back her head. "I'm so tired of this, Cutter. He's impossible. He decides what's important, forgets about what isn't, and takes everything that is as seriously as if it's the end of the world. He's such a prig!"

Cutter flattened a hand on the rock behind her hips. "I won't argue with you there." He looked down at her more gently. "How long can you stay here?"

"Not long. I said I'd be back later tonight."

"You can't just turn around and drive another three hours alone."

"Want to come along for the ride?" she teased, then her grin vanished, her eyes grew wide, and she grabbed his arm. "Do, Cutter. Come back with me. You could stay across the Common at the Parker House. I'd love to show you the city. You've never been there, and I know everything there is to see. It's five days before I'm going away-if John lets me go; and if he doesn't, that gives us even more time. It would be such fun. I mean, like there's nothing else I'd want to do more than that. I wouldn't even mind not going on the trip if you came to Boston."

She felt the flex of a steely muscle in his arm even before she heard the hardness in his voice. "Wouldn't John just love that."