"You heard me. Bill Hamilton is a nut, Donna, and you should just turn around, go home, and let us take care of him." In the stunned silence that followed, Ben stared at Tara. Donna's mouth fell open, and Tara glared at them both while she talked to Ben.

"Well, she should. It's for her own good, and I'm not going to pretend it isn't. Ben, didn't you just say we should call Woodrow?"

"I'm sure I don't agree that you should make any decisions regarding my fiance," Donna broke in icily.

"You may be his lawyer, Tara, but I'm going to be his wife. I doubt there's anything you know about him that I don't."

"I'd take that bet in a heartbeat, Donna." Tara patted the couch.

"Why don't you just sit down and let me tell you a few things. We'll compare notes."

"Tara," Ben warned.

"Don't worry. Don't worry. I'm not going to tell her the juicy stuff.

I already told you I won't breach my promise." Tara waved him away.

Her voice was mean, driven by fear and frustration.

"But I've got enough to make her think, which is something she hasn't been doing for months."

"How dare you," Donna shrieked.

"How dare you say something like that. I've just about had it with you, Tara. Ben, did you hear?"

"Donna." Ben came between the two women.

"Please. You've got to listen. Come with me."

Ben took her hand and urged her away from Tara, but Donna's eyes stayed on Tara. Both were spoiling for a fight, the ties of their friendship tenuous. He gave Donna's little hand another tug.

Reluctantly she followed him, the heels of her shoes making hollow little noises on the wooden floor. The tapping stopped. Tara heard voices, but couldn't make out the words. There seemed to be stretches of silence. Were they looking at the sleeping Bill, Donna's eyes softening, moistening in her love for that maniac? Or had Ben told her everything, making Donna stare in horror? Would Donna come flying back to her best friend, just like a page out of Frannie's Family, her first big book?

Then the sounds again. Donna's heels. Ben's wheels spinning on the hard wood. Tara imagined remorse. She wouldn't have to say another word.

Donna had seen it all. Tara was still in control of herself and the world arouhd her.

Her feet were tingling. She unwound herself and threw back her hair, wiped her eyes, and rubbed her cheeks. She wanted to feel good when she hugged Donna. She wanted to be lucid when Donna hugged her back. Tara stood up, steeling herself for the sight of Donna's devastated face.

But Donna was smiling in embarra.s.sment.

"I don't know what to say," Donna cooed with a furry shrug. Her fingertips went to her cheeks.

"Tara, this is inexcusable. I'm so sorry." Donna's tiny hands clasped and unclasped, then wrung themselves gently around one another. Her eyes darted to Tara's, stealing a backward glance to Ben as if she hoped he was a supporter. She giggled.

"I don't know what got into him. I guess he doesn't hold his liquor too well, does he?"

"He wasn't drinking, Donna. Not this morning and not last night." Tara stayed calm in the face of such denial. She felt wooden, rooted and unable to move even if she had known where to go.

"You weren't there long enough to know what we had to eat, sweetie." Donna was quick, her comment acid. She diluted it with inane conversation.

"But I can't blame you. I'd want to spend every waking minute alone with a man like Ben too. So, I'll just wake Bill, and we'll be on our way.

He just needs some rest. I'll have a new mattress out here tomorrow. I promise." She worked on her coat, inordinately intense about the closure.

"What is that? A double? You really should have at least a queen for guests, sweetie. Or singles. Two singles are much better in case someone has a spat with their significant other*" "Shut up, Donna."

Tara was exhausted. All the years of listening to her friend's chatter had finally caught up with her and left her weary and impatient. Donna's head shot up, her pale, unpainted lips parted, not in antic.i.p.ation of speech, but in surprise. In the next moment, her eyes hooded, her lips closed, and her face set. They were friends no more.

"Ben?" she said, brittlely bright.

"Would you help me wake Bill?"

Tara arranged herself grandly. This was her home and her life and that man sleeping in a ravished bed had terrified her. Donna owed her something, if only to acknowledge that she mattered.

"Don't, Ben. Don't help her do something this stupid."

"Tara, I really thought we were over this."

Donna dug in, looking more formidable for her lack of props. Without makeup her age showed and with it all the pain and disappointment she had ever experienced in her sad life.

"You were very kind to come to our party last night. I appreciated that. I also noticed you didn't congratulate us on our engagement. I knew then that nothing would be the same between us as long as I was with Bill. I accepted that, Tara. We're old enough to grow apart a little bit now. I also understand that you have dealings with Bill that are professional. I know he's been in trouble, he told me that. I accept that too."

"Did he tell you why he hired me?"

"No," Donna said instantly, "I didn't ask. He told me he would let me know when he felt the time was right. I do understand he may have to pay for whatever it is he's done. I accept that too."

"Since you're so understanding, Donna, why don't you go into the bedroom, wake Bill up, and ask him to tell you specifically what it is he's come to me for. I think it's time you knew. I think you should have time to prepare yourself. Just in case he has to pay for it." Tara tried to curb her sarcasm, softening her argument so Donna might listen.

"It could be dangerous for you if you don't."

Donna threw up her hands.

"I'm sick of all these half-a.s.sed accusations, Tara. You sound like a bad movie. So let's just get down to it. Why don't we take care of this between you and me. You tell me what's going on, then I won't have to bother Bill and get him all upset again."

"I'm his attorney. I can't tell you without his permission."

"Then stop trying to make trouble. Stop trying to make me guess. Stop trying to scare me!"

Donna dug in her pockets for her gloves.

"Ben, what do you think?" Donna turned toward him.

"I'll abide by what you think."

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to leave with Bill."

"You too, huh? Do you know what he did that makes Tara so crazy?" She shook her hands in front of her face and said quickly, "Oh. I forgot you're a therapist. I've been down that road. Hush, hush, hush. Fine. Keep your secrets. I saw what Bill did. I saw the knife. Okay. That was really stupid.

And I know he wasn't drunk. But he does things like that*dumb things that end up breaking stuff.

But it's just stuff."

"No, it's not just stuff," Tara insisted.

"People? You're telling me he hurts people. No, I won't accept that."

Donna shook her head furiously.

"This is an uneducated but intelligent, happy but depressed man taking out his frustrations.

That's it. He feels ineffectual and out of place in this world, and I'm the only one who seems to understand that."

"And you want to marry someone like that? You want to commit yourself to the kid on the block who sets cats on fire? Donna, what he did to my mattress was a sign. Even if you did nothing your entire life but watch talk shows that glorify bad gene pools, you'd know that this is not normal behavior."

"Then I shall show him the light. I'll make sure he understands he can't do these things," Donna said, sweetly sardonic as she batted her pale lashes.

"And this is a waste of time being where we're not wanted. Just let me get him, and let me get out of here."

Turning on her heel. Donna headed toward the hall. Tara sprinted after her. Ben called out to both of them. Tara didn't stop until she grabbed Donna's arm through the soft fluff of her fur and whirled her around.

"He is sick, you idiot."

"I don't care," Donna snapped and yanked her arm, but Tara held tight so Donna stood and fought.

"I hate to shatter your self-image, darling, but you are not the end-all and be-all in this world.

The rest of us can think and make choices without your amazing input.

Bill isn't well. He has episodes.

He needs medication, and I think I can get him to take it if we're left alone. I could tell you I love him, but I don't even know if that's the truth. The real truth is I need him. N-E-E-D. A word you don't even have in your vocabulary, so don't waste your energy trying to figure it out."

"Donna, that's absurd. You've got yourself.

You've got money. You've got your work," Tara objected frantically.

"I've got nothing when I don't have someone like Bill. Bill adores me. He makes me feel like I'm the only woman on this earth. So he has episodes.

So do I. But I shop or lock myself in my room. He tears up mattresses. Okay. Okay. We're strange. But I need him to validate me. There hasn't been a man who looked twice at me in the last few years. Don't you think I know that? They see the clothes and they think *babe'; they get a little closer and they say *old broad." Not Bill. Not him. He loves me. He needs me and I d.a.m.n well need him, so let go of my arm if you don't want to help me. Get out of my life if you don't want to be a part of it."

Tara's hand dropped. Ben was moving closer, holding out his arms as if he might need to catch her when she fell. Tara threw her arms around herself, swaying as she tried to get back on track.

Carefully she spoke, calming herself and hoping to calm Donna too.

"Need isn't a reason to stay with a man. Especially not a man like him."

Donna laughed, hard and sharp and without humor.

"Honey, at our age it's the only thing. Need and love are one and the same, and you're the only one who hasn't figured it out. Just look at you, what kind of role model are you?" Donna skirted around and pegged Ben with her sharp eyes.

"Look at this marvelous man. He's suffered so much, and you left him to do it alone. He's a good man because he's loved you all these years and helped you when you needed him. But you turned your back and didn't take him to your heart until you felt a need, Tara. Need, not love.

Deny it." Donna whipped back to Tara.

"Well, I'm not like that. I'm sticking by my man, and you aren't going to be my role model. So just stand here, Tara, and let me get Bill. We'll be out of here in no time, and you can forget about us. I'll make him see he needs a new lawyer, and when that happens, you won't have to talk to us at all.

Just leave us alone."

Twirling away. Donna flew out of the room, returning only when she had Bill Hamilton in hand.

His arm was thrown around her neck and his hand lay buried in the deep red fur of her coat. He grinned. He looked like a drunken sailor and he was oblivious to the warning that shot from Donna's eyes to Ben and Tara.

"Leave us alone. I'm telling you. He doesn't need you. He needs me."

"d.a.m.n straight, babe," Bill mumbled and tried to turn her into him. Tara turned away, knowing she'd be sick if he kissed her. But Donna was full of strength. She had him in tow and out the door, this drowsy insolent man in the baby blue sweat shirt. Tara shivered in the cold wind that blew through the open door. It slapped her in the face and brought her to her senses.

"Ben, I can't let her do this. I can't."

"Tara, leave it be," Ben warned, his hand on her arm as he watched Donna help Bill Hamilton into the car.

"We'll go to Woodrow tonight, okay?"

She looked at him long enough for him to know she couldn't accept that. They were already in the car when Tara ran out after Donna, but it was Bill Hamilton she grabbed, Bill who was like a slaphappy rag doll so easy to handle. The eyes that looked at her were bright and .. . c.o.c.ky? She wanted to slap him.

"Bill, listen to me," she whispered wildly.

"Are you going to hurt anyone? Bill, answer me."

But Bill held out his hand, putting it against Tara's shoulder, and Donna leaned over the con sole and slammed the pa.s.senger door shut. Tara was outside, hollering at the closed window. She was still holding on to the door handle screaming when Donna hit the gas. Tara's grip slipped, but she ran next to the accelerating car.

"Bill. Give me permission to call Woodrow. I'll get you help to night. I promise. I promise."

By the time Tara had run as far as she could, she was sobbing. She stood in the middle of the long drive that welcomed people to her home and she cried in frustration and anger. And the last thing she saw was Donna hunched over the wheel, speeding away from the Limey spread with Bill Hamilton next to her. At the last moment Bill's head turned, his eyes on Tara, a smile on his lips.

Tara watched a minute longer then trudged back toward Ben, who waited sadly by the gate. Without a word she headed into the house, but he caught her hand. She knew what he wanted to hear. She couldn't say the words, so he did.

"This is wrong, Tara. I'm going to give Woodrow what he wants."

"You could lose your license. You're not a psychiatrist.

You haven't dealt with people like this.

Your board could question your motives given our relationship," she said, exhausted and defeated.

"My motives are moral. At some point that obligation takes precedence."

"Are you doing this for me?" Tara asked. When he was silent she said, "You could lose so much."