In truth, the only thing Rachel had to thank G.o.d for was her mother, her sole lasting companion in life. They had grown to be as sisters, and Rachel's secrets from Hannah had dwindled over the years. Hannah knew everything, including things she might have preferred not knowing. Yet, when all was said and done, Hannah didn't, and couldn't, judge her daughter.

Rachel's thoughts returned to the moment as she ran the bar of soap over her body, her eyes still closed. Her flesh was soft and supple, her mind stirred from the soap's sweet aroma. She imagined Joshua there with her, caressing her slippery skin with his hands. She had allowed herself such fantasies in the past, though not too often.

She slowly slid her hand up the inside of her thigh, dreaming it was his hand. She opened her mouth to gasp, as her other hand started caressing her chest. It all seemed so real, as real as it would ever be.

Her hands took over; her thoughts ran wild. The hunger and craving could no longer be contained. She began to pant, and tried to keep herself from groaning, fearing her mother or a neighbor might hear. She couldn't fight it; she needed to let go and scream. But then, suddenly, she stopped, her pleasure thwarted by a pervasive sense of dread.

She struggled to catch her breath as the pit of her stomach became flooded with a wave of anxiety unlike anything she'd ever known. She stared at her hands, then touched her left breast once again, as she had before. She rubbed and pressed, but this time not for pleasure. And then she felt it, a small but definite lump that she had never felt before.

She wondered how long it had been since the last time she touched herself this way. Maybe four months, maybe less. She couldn't recall. Her mind was dazed, consumed by fear.

Was this another punishment, she wondered, more payment for her iniquities? Or was it really nothing, a product of her imagination to a.s.suage the guilt of this most recent indulgence? She felt herself again, kneading her hands around the breast, hoping to discover that it had all been in her mind. Only, it wasn't.

The call came about two weeks later, from Doctor Marcia Schiffman. The news wasn't good. Biopsy results revealed a malignant ma.s.s. Schiffman insisted that Rachel and Hannah come in person to discuss the options.

Rachel's first reaction was disbelief. How could she have breast cancer at her age? But Schiffman explained that it wasn't so uncommon, especially among Jewish women of Eastern European origin. In truth, Rachel had already known this, and had heard of other such cases in the neighborhood. Only she didn't want to know it now.

Marcia Schiffman had long ago abandoned her Brooklyn practice for the glamour of Park Avenue and the prominence of the Mount Sinai Hospital. She had lost touch with Rachel over the years, but had made sure to send her an announcement when she first joined the new practice. Rachel had taken the card and placed it in a drawer, hoping never to need it. She had continued to see Doctor Silver, the ob-gyn who had handled her pregnancies, for her usual medical needs, which had been negligible since her final miscarriage. Yet, the moment she felt that lump, she knew that it was Marcia Schiffman, her old friend, whom she wanted.

Schiffman's practice was still internal medicine, and while she was no expert in the treatment of cancer, she was now well-connected in one of the world's finest hospitals, and would be able to guide and coordinate Rachel's care with specialists of her choosing. She was glad Rachel had come to her; she had always felt something special for Rachel. And that was what made her task all the more difficult the morning Rachel and Hannah awaited her in her office.

Schiffman stood outside her office door, Rachel's chart in hand, took a deep breath, and entered. "Sorry I kept you waiting," she said, barely looking at Rachel and Hannah as she walked behind her desk. "It's been a madhouse around here all day." She fidgeted for a moment, then settled in, looked up and tried to smile. "So, how are you?"

Rachel, a.s.suming Schiffman was addressing her, skipped the social amenities and said, "You tell me."

Schiffman began nervously thumbing through the chart. It bothered her to see her own hands shake, to display even the slightest amount of distress in front of a patient. She was an old pro, and had dealt with thousands of sick people over the years. Yet, she couldn't deny it, there was something very different about this one. "Well, as I said on the phone, the lump is malignant, and we're concerned that it seems to have grown rather quickly."

"Quickly? How do you know that?" Hannah asked.

Schiffman looked at Rachel. "Well, you told me that you didn't feel it there at least four months earlier, maybe less, right?"

Rachel nodded.

"And suddenly, it's there. That's pretty fast, as far as things go."

"So what can we do about it?" Rachel asked.

This was the part Schiffman had been dreading. "Well, our first concern in situations like this is the possibility of the cancer spreading. Whatever we do, we have to try to contain the malignancy. I've consulted with two specialists in the hospital on your case, and they are both in agreement that the safest and most thorough course of action would be a total mastectomy." Schiffman felt her lips quiver as she spoke those final two words.

Rachel was stunned. "How could this be happening?" she heard herself ask.

Tears began falling from Hannah's eyes.

Schiffman stayed silent, thinking about what she had just said. Delivering bad news was an inevitable part of her job, yet she had never been so affected by it before. Perhaps because she had remembered Rachel as a young girl filled with pa.s.sion and spirit, and had stood witness over the years as Rachel's hopes receded, one after another. The erosion of a life once so fraught with promise, and now this, the greatest blow of all-it was too much for anyone to bear.

Schiffman thought about her own life, the things she'd neglected while relentlessly pursuing her professional career. She had been divorced for years, and was certain that Rachel had noticed the missing ring, though they hadn't discussed it. She had no children, few friends, and hadn't gone out on a date for over five months. All the prestige and success in the world, yet no one with whom to share it. It was during moments such as this when she wondered if it had all been worth the price.

"Do you know what the prognosis is?" Rachel asked, using a clinical term she remembered from her days working in the hospital.

Schiffman was surprised by the question that most patients would have been afraid to ask. "It's hard to tell at this point. During the surgery, the surgeon will examine the lymph nodes and have a better idea as to what extent, if any, the cancer has metastasized. We're hoping that it hasn't, that it's self contained."

"And what are the chances of that?"

Hannah was growing uneasy with Rachel's questions, but tried not to show it. To her mind, some things were better off not known.

"It's possible," Schiffman answered. "More than that, I can't say."

Rachel lowered her head.

"I'm sorry," Schiffman offered, visibly fighting off tears.

Rachel raised her head, looked at Schiffman, and said, "Don't worry, I'll be all right." It was as if she were talking to herself and allowing the others to listen in. She took Hannah's hand. "Don't worry, Mama, everything's going to be okay."

CHAPTER 56.

Joshua was packing his briefcase, preparing to leave the office for the day, when the front door buzzer rang. Mrs. Sawyer had left and locked up hours ago, and Connie was out to dinner with Marcus. He went to see who it was, and found Rachel waiting in the cold. Behind her, in the street, sat a taxi, its engine still running, the driver waiting, apparently unperturbed. Joshua admired the subtle ways in which men reacted to Rachel. Cab drivers were never so obliging with him.

Joshua opened the latch, ushered her in, and she signaled to the driver, who then departed. Her face was blanched, which Joshua attributed to the cold, but as he removed her coat, it became clear that her shivering was from more than just the weather.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"No, not really," she answered, a tremor in her voice.

"What, what is it?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, were you on your way somewhere?"

"No, just home. Tell me, what's the matter?"

"Can we sit?"

He brought her into his private office, and they sat next to one another on the burgundy leather couch she had helped him pick out just a month earlier. "Still feels good," she said, as she planted herself.

"I hope so," he responded, recalling the eleven hundred dollar price tag.

He peered at her, waiting. She took his hand, stared into his eyes, and said, "I have some pretty bad news." She was fighting tears.

He squeezed her hand. "What is it?"

She waited a beat, then came the words: "I have cancer."

"Cancer!"

She nodded.

"How do you know?"

"I had a biopsy two weeks ago, and saw Dr. Schiffman this afternoon for the results." Her eyes began to water.

"Biopsy? Of what?"

Again, she faltered. "Breast."

He looked at her, dumbfounded. She began to cry. He reached out and took her in his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

"They're not sure."

"Not sure?"

She picked up her head, took a deep breath, and said, "Not until they perform the mastectomy."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. It had to be a dream, a nightmare. "Mastectomy?"

She nodded, as if she couldn't bear to verbalize the word again.

"There aren't any other options?"

"Schiffman's at Mount Sinai now. She's consulted with the best."

She started to weep again. He wanted to break down and cry with her, but he had to keep it together; he had to stay positive. He put his hands on her shoulders, and said, "Rachel, listen to me! We're going to get through this. I will be at your side. You have the best doctors. We're going to fight this and win."

Through her tears, she said, "Win? Oh, Joshua, when have we ever won?"

"We will win, we will," he responded, trying to rea.s.sure her as much as himself.

She melted in his arms, crying uncontrollably as he held her with desperation.

CHAPTER 57.

Rachel Weissman arrived home shortly after three a.m., finding her mother awake and sitting anxiously in the living room. "Where in G.o.d's name have you been?" Hannah asked angrily. "I've been up all night worrying. I called the police and the Shomrim." Shomrim was Hebrew for "guardians," the name the Hasidim had adopted for their citizens' patrol.

"Why did you call the Shomrim?" Rachel asked, displaying some anger of her own.

"Because the police can't do anything unless a person's missing for twenty-four hours. By then, you could have been..." Hannah stopped herself, and added, "G.o.d forbid."

"I'm fine Mama."

"Yes, I can see that, but where were you?"

Rachel looked at her mother wordlessly.

"You were with him," Hannah stated.

"Yes, Mama."

Hannah didn't know how to react. Fourteen hours ago she had sat with Rachel, listening to Doctor Schiffman deliver the worst news possible, and now this. She should have known that Rachel would go to Joshua, and probably did know, though she hadn't wanted to believe it. There were so many things she didn't want to believe.

Whatever her feelings, she couldn't find it within herself to chastise her daughter. G.o.d had abandoned Rachel long ago, and maybe it was time for Rachel to grasp what happiness she could. "Come, let's get some sleep," she said, as she turned away and walked toward her bedroom.

"Mama," Rachel said.

Hannah turned around.

"I'm sorry."

Hannah stepped forward and took her daughter in her arms. "You have nothing to be sorry about," she said, her voice trembling from the words she dared to speak. "I'm just glad you're safe."

Just then, a knock at the door.

Hannah walked over to the door. "Who's there?"

A voice on the other side answered, "Yossie Bloom, from the Shomrim."

Hannah looked at Rachel and unlatched the door.

"Good evening, rather good morning Rebbetzin Weissman," Yossie said. "I'm here about your daughter..."

Hannah opened the door further and Yossie saw Rachel standing behind her mother. "Oh," Yossie said, "I was going to tell you that we were still looking for her, but I see everything is okay. Good, I'll inform the others."

"Thank you," Hannah said.

"It's nothing," Yossie responded. "That's what we're here for. It's a good thing when there's a false alarm. Good night." He smiled at Rachel.

"Good night, and thank you again," Hannah said as she closed the door. Then, to Rachel: "There, see, that wasn't so bad."

Rachel pretended to agree with her mother, but knew otherwise, for it wouldn't be long before the news disseminated throughout the entire community that she had been out somewhere until three in the morning. Whatever. She had dealt with the gossip mongers before, and frankly, she didn't care all that much anymore. She had bigger things to worry about.

Yossie came out of Rachel's building and got into the car. "She's home," he said.

"She's home?" Paul responded.

"Probably just got home, otherwise the mother would have called us."

"Where was she?"