"You're doing a fine job." He went away before she could decide if he was making fun of her. He was across the room, politely ignoring her while she composed herself. When he came back, he had a cup in each hand, his chair running by itself.

He stopped it with an elbow on a b.u.t.ton. Handing her a cup, he waited. Tara balled up her Kleenex in one fist and wrapped her other hand around the mug.

"Thank you." She drank.

"Hot chocolate!"

"Everybody can do coffee," Ben said.

"Hope you noticed the miniature marshmallows. Only special visitors get those."

"How could I miss them? Nice touch. Pastel colors."

Tara laughed a little, still disadvantaged by the sniffles. Taking a deep breath, she fell back against the cushions and crossed her legs, knowing she was wound tighter than a spring.

"I guess this wasn't such a good idea."

"Depends on what the idea was, Tara." Ben said softly. He set aside his mug.

"Want to try and tell me?"

Tara shrugged, "Boy, I don't even know anymore.

Guess I wanted to be with a friend."

"You don't have any of those?"

"With someone I could trust."

"That's narrowing it."

"With someone I admire." She looked him in the eye. It wouldn't go any further than that.

"I'm glad I made the cut," Ben said.

"Are you being facetious?"

Ben shook his head, his lips tipped and the smile wasn't quite sad, but almost, as if he expected her to know him better.

"No, I'm not. I know it's hard for you to be less than strong with someone. Some things don't change in twenty years. I count myself lucky to be the person you came to with your trouble. There's been an empty spot, Tara."

"I missed you, too," she said. She put her mug aside too, knowing there would never be a better time to climb over the wall between them.

"Things got crazy when we were kids. I always felt bad about that. I had to go with Dad to Washington .. ."

"I had to learn how to use a wheelchair," he said. No accusation, simply a statement.

Tara's jaw stiffened, their eyes were tight on one another.

"All right. No excuses," she said, surprised to find anger, not regret or sadness, buried deep inside.

"I made the choice. I deserted you."

"That's not what I wanted to hear. I led you into that and I'm sorry."

Ben looked out the window behind the desk.

"You were sixteen, I was seventeen, and that car took away the next ten years for me. Sounds like it took all twenty out of you and you didn't know it *til now." He looked back at her and smiled for real this time.

"We could really get into this, couldn't we? You want to talk about it now or want to do what we'd planned on doing in the first place?"

"Hunting for your wallet?"

"Dinner."

"I don't know," Tara said, suddenly wearied.

"Ben, I'm sorry, too." For the years, the accident, the abandonment, the love they had lost and missed.

"We're even," he said, and she knew it was true.

No judgments, no recriminations. They could, indeed, pick up where they'd left off. Unfortunately, where they'd left off had been a bit more innocent than the here and now. Tara still had Bill Hamilton to think about, Donna to worry over.

"Let's start again. I'm so happy to see you."

"Me, too, Ben. I'm happy to see you so well settled."

She took account of her surroundings.

"Finally. It took a while. I'd love for you to think I was this pulled together all these years but I wasn't. I was mad, Tara. I was hurt. I was lonely and I was a horror to be around. Then one day, it kind of happened. New friends, resources, people who show you how to do the same old thing just a little differently. I've hiked in Colorado. I've played basketball in New York. I've sailed in the Atlantic. There's a guy in California who was paralyzed when he was a kid. Incredible person. He's a kung fu master. When I saw him, I knew that's what I wanted. It's a powerful sport. So controlled.

You need to make judicious decisions. A centimeter can mean the difference between life and death, literally. It's not about anger and I think that's what I like about it. If you can control your body that precisely, you can control everything else in your life."

"Including your emotions?"

Ben tipped his head, "That doesn't sound like a do-you-still-love me question."

"It isn't," Tara admitted.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Do you mind? It's big stuff, Ben. Not exactly small talk for two old friends."

Tara looked at him and realized how inordinately beautiful he had become. Old friends indeed.

She had missed seeing him change but oh, how wonderful the change was. His features were chiseled, hardened in a way that wasn't threatening, only a testament to determination. His eyes were crinkled with wrinkles that fanned out from the corners as if he'd spent the last years trying to see into the future. His lips, from what she could see under the full mustache, were still as they'd always been, the lower one fuller than the upper but not so full as to be pretty. They were lips that were wide and, in repose, could be stern.

But when he smiled or laughed, Ben was Ben all over again. Tara forgot the wheelchair. But the forgetfulness lasted only moments, and the remembrance had less to do with Ben's painful memories than hers.

"I'm glad you still wear your hair long," he said, as if reading her mind.

"And I'm glad you've come to me, no matter what the problem."

"I have nowhere else to turn," she said.

"I want you to know that. It doesn't mean I don't value your opinion.

I just don't want you to think that's the only reason I came."

"It's nice of you to be concerned." Kindly, Ben didn't make her pay for her sins of omission during the past years. He settled himself in his chair and waited.

Tara put her hands together as if she were praying.

"I've got a client. He's been violent in the past. I believe he's dangerous now. He's taken up with a good friend of mine."

She talked, poking into every worrisome cranny she could think of, until the whole story was told.

When she was done, Ben considered her closely.

"Sounds like a problem."

"I don't know where the lines are drawn anymore.

I honestly don't know if this man is mentally ill or just mean. That's what makes it so frightening.

If Woodrow chooses to do nothing about this and wait until my client tips his hand, this guy could be with my friend for a very long time."

"I can understand a psychiatrist not wanting to get involved. Private practice is something you have to protect like a lover. With Social Security evaluations I don't rely on the consumer base for my clients. I can evaluate him if you can get me to him."

"A formal interview?"

"If we have to do it some other way, we can. I don't think that's unethical. Just remember, I'm not a psychiatrist. I can't prescribe medication.

Woodrow might reject my evaluation if what you say about his agenda is true."

Tara took a deep breath, pushed aside her purse, and slipped out of her coat. She rolled it up, held it tight, and wound her legs underneath her.

"I feel helpless, Ben, and that's the worst of it.

When I took that oath to defend anyone accused, I know I never considered all the permutations. A criminal was almost glamorized in my mind back then. In all these years I've been able to practice it impa.s.sively. Sort of split myself in two. I was so darn proud of that."

"You should be. You've always been able to do that. Even when we were kids. You were the most disciplined person I knew." Ben touched the top of her hand.

"That wasn't bad, mind you. Everyone was amazed when you were handed a problem or a project. Your eyes would glaze over and you wouldn't surface until the objective was accomplished.

That's what makes you a good lawyer.

That's why this is so difficult. You can't suppress that urge to do right when your emotions are involved."

"Funny, that's what Donna said too. Only she wasn't quite so polite. She said I'd never experienced true pa.s.sion because I always had my eye on the goal."

"Maybe you've just been waiting for the right moment to turn off the straight and narrow road.

Maybe pa.s.sion's still ahead."

"Possibly," she said.

"I hope it is."

"Guess only time will tell."

"Yes." Embarra.s.sed, Tara unwound her legs and put them on the floor.

"I'm beginning to think I'm a hysterical female. The only vibes I'm getting are scary ones, and I'm getting them over little things. Things other people interpret as normal."

"At the risk of being trite, do you think all these little things could be a cry for help and you're the only one he's crying to? Maybe he's feeling like he wants to strike out again and this is his way of telling you" "He should have called a crisis line."

"Tara." Ben looked heavenward.

"This is satisfying to him. I don't need to see him to know that.

It's a lot more interesting than simply waiting for you to do your thing. There's drama in his head and he's acting it out. Didn't he tell you he felt nothing? Well, this way he feels all the time. He's making up ways to get your attention."

"Why me and not Donna?"

"He may actually love Donna, and want to spare her pain. A sick mind doesn't negate real emotions.

Who knows what you represent to him? Who knows anything until he gives you a chance to see beneath it all?"

Tara caught the fever. Ben was interested. Ben would help.

"You know what really bothers me? This isn't a legal issue at all. If he were accused, I could stand up for him in court. If he wanted to confess, I could be by his side with counsel. But all he's done is tell me this horrible thing and give me permission to dangle a carrot in front of Woodrow and George. I hate that I took the bait. I hate that I didn't think it through better."

Ben countered, "There was nothing to think through at the time. You had a problem. You had a friend in need. You had a solution and you had no reason to think that it was anything but an expedient and judicious one. Lighten up, Tara."

"Good advice, but wrong. He's in my guest house. He ..." Tara stood up quickly, the memory of Bill touching her a confession on the dp of her tongue. Ben was the last person she wanted to share that memory with.

"He's Donna's lover.

Anyone else, and I wouldn't count this as a problem.

I would just let it go until circ.u.mstances changed and I could actually make a difference. He would be on the other side of the wall that separates my work life from my real one. I'm not quite sure what my next move should be. All I know is I can't release his name to the authorities or talk about his crime to my best friend."

Tara verbally threw up her hands. Ben's brow was knit. He sat quietly, then reached for the phone.

"I think we need to put our heads together on this one. Just a minute."

Tara could only guess what was going through his mind as he punched in a number, held up a finger, and listened to the ring. Tara moved closer, curious as to who he might call to help solve dlis dilemma. He smiled at her and ordered a pizza, a salad, and a six-pack of soft drinks.