"No, actually, it helped. This may sound weird, but I wish I could go back and do it again, have us both be young, but I'd act grown up and be more understanding." My throat tightened. "I think I could have been nicer to David than I was."

"You shouldn't feel guilty, Kris."

"I don'ta"" I couldn't finish the lie.

"Before Ashley came to Children First, I used to feel guilty."

"Really?"

She nodded. "No matter how much I did, I thought I should do more. After she started coming here, I finally relaxed a little, but I still felt guilty about the two hundred dollars a day the state pays for her care."

"You shouldn't. This is the best use of tax dollars I've seen."

"I don't as much, but it took a long time for the feelings to change. As part of the evaluation for her to get into this program, they asked about things like my health, family history, drugs, drinking. There were all these questions, and I couldn't stop thinking about the one glass of wine I had when I was pregnant. I thought the woman who interviewed me could tell I was a bad mother."

"You're not."

"I know, but we all look for reasons. Maybe we'd feel more secure if we knew what caused the illness, more in control. I bumped into Tyler's mom one day, and she told me she and her husband had wished for a girl, and she thought maybe that's why Tyler's autistic, that they caused it."

I shook my head in amazement.

"You never really get over not knowing," she said quietly. "Even when you learn to deal with it, there's always someone around to remind you how tragic it is to have a disabled child. They stare at Ashley in malls, but they never see her accomplishments. Six months ago, maybe even six days ago, she would have ignored you. Today, she talked to you. Not in the way other kids her age would, but I saw progress. That's what I live for, the little steps. They're all I have." She glanced back at the building in which we'd spent the morning, and a shadow crossed her face. "I don't know what I'd do without them, but I guess I'll find out next year."

"What happens then?"

"Ashley leaves the program to attend a neighborhood school. I have no idea how we'll cope. I wish Lauren were here to help me."

I had no reply for that.

From Children First, I drove to Choices. I had an eerie compulsion to buy fresh fruit and vegetables, and they, reportedly, had the best in the city.

I entered the sparkling store and headed straight for the juice bar. No sign of Colleen, my erstwhile informant, there or in the deli. However, her equally wild, nonconforming male counterpart was busying whipping up drinks for three society ladies who balanced on stools in front of him.

One of the women, in a green leather jacket, flashed $10,000 worth of cosmetic dental work as false gratitude for the vegetable mixture he placed in front of her.

Nonplussed, he threw his ponytail over his bare, tattooed shoulder and gave her the peace sign.

She giggleda"a vacuous sounda"and leaned closer to her fifty-something friends who probably thought the proper make-up, jewels, and designer clothes subtracted, not added, a decade.

I had hoped to run into Cecelia but couldn't summon the courage to ask for her. I felt a pang of disappointment when I overheard the juice clerk tell another employee that Cecelia had the day off and wouldn't return until morning.

I left without buying anything.

The image of privileged, beautiful people haunted me all the way back to my office. I wanted to cry, for the children I'd left behind, the ones whose lives were already determined. Three or five years behind them, seventy or ninety to go, and yet, so much already had been sadly, irrevocably set.

Back at work, I made a feeble attempt to concentrate, but my thoughts kept drifting. After rationalizing that the computer was back from the shop, work was caught up, and no deadlines loomed, I gave myself the rest of the afternoon off.

I spent my free time biking around Cherry Creek reservoir, trying to forget David lying in a bed, trying to remember Ashley laughing in a playhouse. After three hours, guilt and tired muscles surfaced, prompting me to journey to Denver Health in a crazy attire of padded bike shorts, tank top, and leather gloves. Much to my relief, I didn't run into any family members in David's room, and I spent a satisfying hour telling him about my visit to Children First.

From the hospital, I drove to Destiny's mansion in Capitol Hill.

Built in 1896 for a wealthy family, the building now housed Destiny and two other women in separate residences. With her parents' help, Destiny had bought the house years earlier when Denver's real estate prices had crashed. One of the tenants, a carpenter, renovated in exchange for rent. One room at a time, she was restoring the building to its original splendor, an ambitious plan that had stretched over more than a decade.

Rolling up to the house thirty minutes before our scheduled date, I planned to sneak in, clean up, and change clothes before Destiny arrived.

I parked my car in a space off the alley and was opening the back gate when I heard Destiny's voice. I looked up in time to catch the silhouette of her and Suzanne hugging at the top of the stairs, outside Suzanne's third-floor apartment.

Unaware of my presence, Destiny bounded down the stairs, two at a time.

"Hi, there," I said, loudly.

Shocked, Destiny almost missed a step and fell headfirst. It took her half a flight to regain her balance.

"You're early," she said, a touch accusingly.

"I thought you were at work," I countered.

"I left an hour ago," she said, flustered. "I thought I'd check the pipes in Suzanne's apartment. I've been hearing a vibrating noise for a few days."

My girlfriend moved to hug me. Arms limp, I returned her embrace. When I smelled a new scent in her hair, my body stiffened, and I almost collapsed. Applesa"the fragrance of green applesa"clung to her.

"How was it?" I asked, coldly.

"What?" she replied, stung by my frost.

"The plumbing."

"Oh, that," she said frivolously. "I couldn't find anything. I'll get Claudia to look at it when she gets home."

"Maybe you should leave all the handyman tasks to Claudia."

Destiny gazed at me intently, concern rippling across her forehead. "Are you okay, Kris?"

"Yeah," I said dully. "I just need to take a bath and a nap."

"Come on in," she said. She grabbed my hand and gaily led me around the side of the house to the front entrance. "We'll get you all clean and rested."

Once inside, as she leafed through her mail and turned on the stereo, I undressed in the bedroom. Naked, I shuffled down the long hallway to the bathroom, devastated. What was going on with Destiny and Suzanne?

I spotted a bottle of New England Orchard bubble bath and let out a breath. I picked up the bottle to confirm it matched the smell in Destiny's hair and almost jumped out of my skin when I heard a knock.

Destiny peeked in. "Do you want me to order dinnera"maybe Chinese?"

"Sure," I said. "Whatever you want."

I returned the bottle to the counter and crouched to turn on the water.

Destiny crept up and put her arms around me. "Do you like the smell? I bought it at a shop in Durango. You should use it in your bath."

"No thanks." I wiggled out of her grasp. I lowered myself a half-inch into the of water in the tub and instantly scalded my legs and buttocks. I vaulted out and adjusted the mix of hot and cold.

Destiny handed me a towel to quell my shivering. "Speaking of Durango, they asked me to come back tomorrow. The women at the Southern Colorado Lesbian Community Center are meeting with town leaders, and they'd like my input."

"Great," I said under my breath.

"I told them I couldn't go."

I held the towel tightly, afraid to let go. "You should."

"I explained the situation with you and your brother. They're trying to reschedule. I want to be here for you, Kris."

"I don't need you to stay." I sloshed water around the tub with my left foot. "Nothing's happening. David just lies there. There's nothing we can do," I said bitterly.

"I know he's in stable condition now, but things could change. I'll stay if you want."

"Don't," I said, venturing into the tub cautiously. Perfect temperature. "Really, I'm fine."

"If I leave early tomorrow morning, I could be back Friday night."

"You shouldn't cut it that close," I said feebly. "It's a five-hour drive one way. If you do it all in two days, you'll be exhausted. Why don't you spend the weekend down there?"

"Six hours," she corrected. "And I'm coming home to spend time with you this weekend, Kris, whether you like it or not." She bent to kiss the top of my head. "Are you sure you don't want to try the new apple bubble bath?"

Suddenly self-conscious of my drooping breasts, I could have used the foam for protection, but I declined.

"You'll be okay while I'm gone, right? You'll have Ann to talk to, and Fran. And you can call me on my cell phone if anything changes, right?"

"Sure," I lied on all counts. What was the point of honesty? After a long pause, I willed lightness into my tone. "By the way, are you and Suzanne still working on that literacy grant?"

"No, thank God. She finally submitted it last week. I was going to ask her earlier if she'd heard back from the foundation, but she wasn't upstairs when I checked on the pipes."

"No kidding. Then exactly who were you hugging when I came in the back gate?" I thought but couldn't articulate.

My throat was too raw with emotions of the past weeks to confront her.

After Destiny left to call in our dinner order, I slid as low as I could into the recesses of the giant tub, mouth submerged, nose and eyes a drop above drowning level.

The water turned cold and my skin shriveled up, but I dawdled until long after the Chinese food arrived.

The next day, preparing monthly financial reports occupied so much of my attention that I would have forgotten the upcoming evening's illicit activity were it not for Fran Green's hourly reminder calls. Any eavesdropper would have guessed we planned to break into the Denver Mint, not into Dr. Gloria Schmidt's office.

At four o'clock, the temperature hit ninety-eight, a record for that day in June. Five hours later, I felt hot and conspicuous in the darkest clothes I owned: heavy blue sweats, a purple turtleneck, and burgundy knee socks. Exaggerating the potential danger that lay ahead, I had even taken a black magic marker and darkened my beige Topsiders.

I was ready for anything.

At precisely one minute before nine, a large car pulled alongside the curb. In it sat Fran, wearing a purple workout suit and Colorado Rockies baseball cap. Next to her, at the wheel, was the owner of the Oldsmobile Eighty-Eight, her lover Ruth, clad in a flower-print housecoat and orange-juice-can hair rollers.

I tried to hop in behind Fran, but the passenger door wouldn't open. The two ladies gestured for me to get in from the other side, and as I passed the back of the car, I couldn't help noticing the enormity of the trunk, large enough to comfortably store four bodies. Attached to the bumper was a yellow sticker: "I smoke and I vote."

It was bound to be a long night.

Shaking my head, I slid in behind Ruth and scooted to the middle of the seat. I reached between the headrests and patted my comrades.

"Good to see you, Ruth. Hey, Fran."

"Pardon my outfit, Kris, but it's what I wear this time of night. If an officer sees me, Fran said to tell him I went out for a quart of milk and became confused."

"The helpless old lady scam," Fran interjected. "Fools 'em every time."

"Good cover," I laughed. "By the way, Fran, I'm glad we're on our way to a burglary in this inconspicuous orange car with SISTER vanity plates."

"Persimmon," Ruth corrected. "And I'm glad you like the plates. I sent for them last month. Isn't it rich: ex-nun and dyke."

"My honey looks good in the car, like she belongs," Fran explained. "That's what counts. And it's an older car, shouldn't turn any heads. Plus, you gotta see the enginea"it'll chew up street faster than a police cruiser."

"God forbid," I said vehemently.

The two older ladies exchanged glances and chuckled.

Ruth took one last drag from her cigarette, threw the butt out the window, and applied a fresh coat of pink lipstick before shifting the car into drive. "Off we go!"

She peeled out of the driveway, taking the first corner at such a sharp angle she ran over the curb. Between silent curses, I wished I had worn a neck brace, or at least a bra.

I reclined in the plush seats, using my knees as a brace. "So, how was the rolfing?"

Fran shuddered. "Don't ask."

"That bad?"

"Oh, it was a great experience, if you like having your body chopped in half. Good thing I arrived early and did the gumshoeing beforehand, because I'm here to tell you: I was in no shape after."

Ruth turned to me. "She felt so puny, we had to miss Bingo."

"Wow," I said as Ruth, her focus back on the road, swerved to miss a parked bus. "You must have been sick!"

"You said it."

At the next stoplight, Ruth hit the brakes three times before we came to a complete stop five car lengths behind the truck in front. The way things were going, chances were decent the cops would pull us over long before we reached Lauren's therapist's office, much less got in.

"I'm no stranger to crime myself, you know," Ruth said conversationally, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel.

"Oh, really?" I said, praying she wouldn't try to make eye contact again on the two-mile drive.

"Two years ago, some hooligans stole this very car you're riding in."

"You're kidding!"

"I'm not. They took it from in front of our housea"in broad daylight, if you can imaginea"and went on a joyride."