She looked down at Anthea. "He took everything I gave him and made it dirty. I won't have anything to do with any of this."

"I'll come back." Anthea tried her best not to sound mulish. "Until you change your mind."

"My mind won't change."

"Being a good Christian is not an excuse to be cruel. I know my Bible, Mrs. Johnson, and Jesus did not like cruelty. Love G.o.d, and love thy neighbor. If your own grandson isn't your neighbor, then who is? You'd cross the street to help a stranger in pain, but not your own blood? Is that really what Jesus died for?"

"I'd like you to go now."

Aching with misery, Anthea stood up, leaving the photograph of Henry on the coffee table.

As she left, she noted the cross next to the door, like some kind of sigil to ward off evil. She fumbled in her purse for a tissue and tried to stifle her tears, but her heart was breaking, just the way it had every day of the last week. They all loved Henry so much, and love wasn't enough. It didn't warm this hateful woman's heart, and it wouldn't stop the tears.

"Thank you for the coffee," she managed before the door closed behind her. It was hard to see the steps through her tears, but she made it down them without falling, even though her knees threatened to buckle.

Shay met her halfway up the walk, her eyes shimmering with matching tears. "As bad as Harold said?"

Anthea could only nod. Shay's arms were around her and they had never been so welcome. "I don't know what we're going to do."

"Hire a private detective to find the cousins. It won't take very long to do it. Surely one of them has a decent heart."

Anthea reached the car. "Let's get out of here. I made such a mess of it."

"Miss Rossig...Rossignole."

Surprised, and her heart suddenly pounding, Anthea turned around.

Mrs. Johnson was making her way down the few steps, looking as if her hips hurt with the effort. Anthea walked toward her and took a proffered paper from her hand.

"That's Harold's eldest cousin. He may help. He went to seminary, though. I don't know if he will."

"Perhaps he'll be a truly G.o.dly man, then." It stuck in her throat, but she said, "Thank you."

"Would you-I would like to know what happens." Her eyes were focused on some point over Anthea's head.

She found a business card, turned it over and wrote her cell phone number and email, then quickly added Harold's as well. "You only have to call or write."

It was all she was going to give in return for the phone number. If Mrs. Johnson wanted to know her grandson's fate, she would have to earn that knowledge by making contact. Maybe she was the one being a little cruel, and not entirely Christian, but she was flawed, and had never claimed to be a good anything-except a good wife and a good mother. The rest could wait.

They had turned the corner at the top of the street before Anthea said, "I want a shower."

"I'll bet." Shay took her hand.

"Harold is amazing. He survived life with that woman."

"She was probably a good mother until he came out. And you know, call me an optimist, but I think she'll write."

"I really don't care," Anthea said. "I don't care about her soul or Christianity and the politics of reconciliation."

Shay squeezed her fingers. "There's only Henry. The doctors said his odds with chemo were really good. This may not matter in the end."

"But it's the only thing we can do." She smoothed the paper with the hastily written name and phone number. It was a local area code. "Another call to make."

"More chemo tomorrow."

She closed her eyes and focused on the warmth of Shay's palm against hers. No matter where this road ended, Shay was her one, solid ground.

Paperback Romance.

Published: 1991.

Characters: Carolyn Vincense, Romance novelist Alison McNamara, Carolyn's agent.

Setting: Hot spots of Europe and Sacramento, California.

The Third is for Turning On.

Payout.

(19 years).

"So how does it feel in the light of morning?" Alison spooned behind Carolyn, ma.s.saging her shoulders gently as the sun slowly illuminated their hotel room. It amazed her that it was so quiet when only a few floors away the cacophony of an enormous tourist mecca with thousands of conventioneers was so deafening it made her head ache every time they crossed it to get to the romance writer's conference.

"I'm still not sure." Carolyn rolled onto her stomach. "Your hands are wonderful, as always."

Alison shifted her position, continuing the soft touches with one lazy hand. "I know you're young for this sort of thing, but then you started out young as a published writer too."

"True. I just..." Carolyn stretched out an arm to touch the Lucite statue of an old-fashioned oil lamp that rested on the bedside table. "It's an award, and it's been a long time since I've seen one."

There was the tiniest edge of bitterness in Carolyn's voice, and it pained Alison. "You wouldn't do it any other way, would you?"

"Of course not." She snuggled around in Alison's arms. "I'm glad I came out. I'm glad I've been living free. I just feel a little bit young to get the Lamplight Award."

"You did light the way, and it was very cool that Amelia Wainwright was the one who presented it to you, and I swear, Barrett Lancey had tears in her butch little eyes. They wouldn't be who they are if Carly Vincent, hot new best seller, sweetheart of the twenty-four to thirty-two demographic, hadn't taken one for the Sappho team dang near twenty years ago. Other romance writers could have come out, no doubt, but you're the one that did it."

"I was waiting on the world to change and it did, I guess. I didn't lose all my readers."

"Just the narrow-minded ones, and you weren't writing for them anyway. I'm glad you don't regret it."

"I don't." The eyes that gazed up at Alison were still the clear blue she'd lost her heart to. "I might whine a little sometimes, but I don't regret it. I've loved the life that being out let me live. With you."

"G.o.d, you feel good this morning." Alison breathed in the cologne, the shampoo, the wonderful blend of scents that equaled Carolyn to her. "I loved dancing with you last night. I can't imagine living a life where I didn't get to dance with you in public."

"Me too." Carolyn burrowed into Alison's shoulder.

"It was a fun evening, even if Farrah Fotheringay was. .h.i.tting on you." Romance writers were such interesting creatures. As an agent, Alison had never ceased to be intrigued by their eccentricities. Not that she thought it was eccentric to be attracted to her Carolyn.

"Was not. She's straight. She probably just wants a new agent."

"No, she was after the hottest woman in the room."

Carolyn twisted a lock of Alison's hair around her finger. "I love the way your hair is changing color, silver and platinum threads all woven in."

Alison smoothed her love's short curls and turned the adorable face up so she could see it. All these years and it was still like waking up to sunshine. Sleepy eyes blinked at her. "I love you."

"You're just saying that." Carolyn stretched.

"Why would I just make it up after all this time?"

"Because you want to have your way with me."

Alison cupped one alluring breast under the covers. It firmed at her touch. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It was late last night, and I recall being promised something if I wore those thigh-high stockings that get you all hot and bothered. But alas, all I remember were some vague mumbles about wine and the hour." Carolyn's light tone was at odds with the small arch of her back in response to the tip of Alison's finger lightly stroking under her nipple.

"Then I need to make it up to you, don't I?"

"I would think so."

"Okay." Alison threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. "How about a nice breakfast?"

"Get back in this bed this instant." Carolyn gave her a wry look.

"Oh, so you want breakfast in bed."

Carolyn dissolved into laughter. "Honey, I want to be breakfast in bed."

"My thought exactly."

She began with slow kisses along Carolyn's calves, eliciting a soft, encouraging sigh. She would never get enough of the taste of Carolyn's skin, and lazily worked her way up the welcoming, curvaceous body. It made sense to get out of her nightshirt then, and use her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to ma.s.sage Carolyn's thighs.

A long, rising moan rewarded her efforts and Alison stretched out so their bodies could meet in the full delight of skin-on-skin.

"Ally," Carolyn breathed. "You've got some kind of magic hands."

"Tell that to my teammates. I drop any more fly b.a.l.l.s and-"

Carolyn pressed her fingertips to Alison's mouth. "Why on earth are you talking about softball at this moment?"

"Cause mostly...I'm an idiot?"

The little laugh they shared was intimate and ended with the kind of kiss that reminded Alison of the backseat of Carolyn's old Mustang convertible. Now was not the time to admit she was having a fast food craving. Other cravings took precedence.

"Close your eyes," Alison whispered. "Think about Melissa and the concert tonight and the backstage pa.s.ses your fabulous agent got you."

Carolyn laughed again. "I thought they were a birthday gift from my girlfriend."

Alison kissed away the laughter-she loved doing that. She loved making her Carrie laugh and then moan ever so slightly. Every time they shared this dance it had all the fever and fireworks of their first time, combined with layers of familiarity. There was still plenty of mystery, but no terror of doing something wrong or too hard or too soft. Make her laugh, and kiss the smiles.

She could do this all morning.

She did do it all morning, as it turned out. No doubt Carolyn would have the right metaphor for the way her body was melting over the bed, spreading like warm honey, only not so sticky and leaving a less romantic soul to wonder who was going to clean all that up.

"More, Ally, please..."

Those were Alison's favorite words.

Her second favorite set of words were said shortly thereafter.

"Your turn." Carolyn gave her a searing look, no longer melted honey or melted anything, she was firm and soft all at once, just a little commanding and more than a little eager.

Alison moaned when Carolyn's tongue found her most tingling places, then she couldn't help but laugh.

Carolyn immediately stopped what she was doing. "Am I distracting you?"

"Sorry, honey. I was just-I realized how good it was to moan really loudly and not have one of the puppies come to investigate what we're doing."

Carolyn grinned and kissed Alison's inner thigh. "Okay, yes, that is nice. But no more laughing." Her tongue pressed into the soft place where thigh met really sensitive areas.

"h.e.l.l, no, oh..."

She scrabbled among the rumpled sheets for Carolyn's hand as her legs fell open and she lost herself in the exquisite attentions of that wonderful, thorough mouth. She felt the love all through her bones, and she did want to smile at her happiness. Another laugh threatened- maybe it was watching her beloved Carrie, who had suffered in cla.s.sy silence all these years after the onslaught of hate mail and plummeting sales, publicly recognized by her peers as the brave woman she was. It had been a risk, and there had been a price, but now- Carolyn's sensitive fingers moved inside her and the laughter transformed to pa.s.sion. Her memories of last night, dancing, her daily ecstasy of waking up with Carolyn, they went away and the only focus she had was for the pressure building behind her eyes, along her shoulders, down her arms to where her hand clasped Carolyn's. She rose, Carolyn held on, their bodies frozen until a white, hazy afterglow gently surrounded her.

"Did I go to sleep?"

Carolyn leaned against the bathroom door, drying her hair. "Yes. And you missed the chance to shower with me."

"d.a.m.n." Alison stretched, not wanting to get out of the bed.

"Honey, there are two floors of casinos, five swimming pools, three hundred fountains, and an art gallery waiting for us, now that the convention is over."

"Um-hmm." Carolyn's mouth had felt wonderful, she mused.

The bed jolted from Carolyn's swift kick. "So get up!"

Alison reluctantly swung her legs over the side of the bed. "If only your fans knew what Carly Vincent is really like." Her gaze fell on the award and she touched it with one fingertip.