Side by side, we crossed the lawn. There was something uncanny about the way we fit together, from the rhythm in our strides to the comfortable silence. Without a word, we both veered toward the same picnic table, a redwood near the adjacent schoolyard and away from the cluster.

As I unpacked lunch, Cecelia brushed away pine needles and twigs. I handed her a serving of everything, and we plopped down on the same side of the bench, our backs propped against the table, facing the playground.

She cast off black Birkenstocks and stretched her legs. "I love to come here," she said over the distant squeals of children playing on recess. "It reminds me of Lauren. She always wanted to eat at this table. She'd drag me out of the breakroom and tell me we should be with the children, even though they're always on that side of the fence, and we're over here."

I matched her pose, letting the sun warm my legs, while shade from a nearby tree cooled the rest of my body. "How long were you two lovers?"

"Four years."

"What made you break up?"

"There wasn't one reason. Mostly, I guess, because we were better friends than lovers," she said, fiddling with a turquoise earring. "When did you last see Lauren?"

"On her birthday. She wasn't scheduled to work, but she came by to pick up a tape for her Walkman."

"What did you give her?"

"A Natalie Merchant tape. She called the night before and asked for it."

"Did she seem upset those last days?"

"Not at all! I think she was happier than ever."

"Colleen told me she had a two-year anniversary the week before she died. Does that ring a bell?

"Lauren? Of what?"

"I don't know. She told me she caught her having a private celebration, but Lauren wouldn't tell her why."

"This is the first I've heard of it."

"Hmm. How about a Dr. W? Did Lauren refer to anyone by that name?"

"No. Where did this come from?"

"Nicole picked through her appointment book and claims she found thirteen entries with this woman's initials, but she has no idea who she is."

"I don't either."

"She thinks Lauren was having an affair with her, that the guilt might be what caused her to kill herself."

"She's wrong," Cecelia said, her sharp features darkening. "Nicole never deserved Lauren's loyalty, but she got it anyway. Lauren wouldn't have cheated on her."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive! You can drop that line of questioning. It's an insult to her."

"I have to look into every angle," I said apologetically.

"I understand, but that's not the answer. Have you met Nicole?"

I nodded. "Yesterday."

"I'm surprised she had time in her busy schedule to see you."

"She didn't. She made me wait an hour and organized files the whole time I was there."

"That's Nicole." Cecelia shook her head in bewilderment. "I never could see what Lauren liked about her. What did you think of her?"

I chose my words carefully. "I think she's trying, but she doesn't understand what's happened, and she probably never understood Lauren."

"Exactly! Two days after it happened, she came into the store to talk to me about it, to see if I knew anything. It's like she wanted me to tell her, 'Lauren had a bad day at work, and she decided to kill herself.' She wanted a simple answer, but Lauren wasn't a simple person."

"You don't think there's one answer?"

"Not at all. Personally, I think she simply got tired of fighting every day."

"Fighting what?"

Cecelia stopped eating and changed positions. She pulled up her knees, rested her chin on them, and began plucking at her toes as if they were strings on a dulcimer. "Fighting to stay sane. I've never met anyone as strong-willed and disciplined, but Lauren never fit into this world. She was around people a lot, but she didn't really connect with them. All she wanted was a 'normal' life, something that was impossible after the crazy childhood she had."

"You mean her mother's suicide?"

"Hell, that was the least of it. When her mother was alive, she tortured Lauren."

"Physically?"

"Physically, emotionally, everything. She terrorized her. When Lauren was in the first grade, her mother shaved her head because she lost one of her barrettes. Lauren covered it up by telling the other kids in school she'd had a brain scan, which they thought was neat." Cecelia fell silent before wearily adding, "All her life, she invented ways to deal with things. Maybe she got tired of coping."

"What about her father?"

"He was never there. He was a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company, and he traveled a lot. When he was home, he drank. After Lauren's mother died, he withdrew completely. He sat in the bedroom in a rocking chair for five days straight. Lauren had to beg him to come out."

I shook my head in disbelief. "Why didn't Patrice tell me any of this?"

She shrugged. "She probably doesn't know. She was quite a bit younger than Lauren, plus I think Lauren shielded her from a lot of it."

"So, it didn't surprise you when she killed herself?"

"Not really. It wasn't like I expected it, but it also wasn't a complete shock. Her whole life, she was in pain, and now she's not."

"That's one way of looking at it, I guess."

She tensed, before saying in a measured tone, "It's the only way I can, or I'd wake up screaming every morning because I miss her so much." She stood abruptly. "I've got to get back to work."

We shook hands, and she walked away, shoulders bent with grief. She had almost reached the street before I remembered the brother. I chased after her. "Cecelia, wait up."

She halted, and I sprinted over, panting. "I almost forgot: I could swear Patrice said they had a brother, but Colleen thinks I'm crazy. Do you know anything about him?"

"She did have a brothera""

"See, I knew I was right. Where is he? I'll give him a call."

"You can't." She stared ahead, blank, and her voice became soft. "He died from sudden infant death syndrome. The same day their mother killed herself."

5.

Thursday, I had no time to ponder suicides, dying babies, or two-year anniversaries. Instead, I had to deal with a crisis as soon as I arrived at work.

The big-screen computer had gone down, the one we used to produce all our artwork, the one that was supposed to be backed up daily, the one only a handful of companies in Denver could fix.

The hard drive hadn't been copied in a week, no repair firm could look at the equipment until Monday, and we had to recreate four days of work in two if we wanted to meet the deadline for our largest client, a nursing organization.

I immediately pulled two graphic artists from other projects and reassigned them the unfulfilling task of joining me in duplicating the lost thirty-two-page newsletter.

In the next twelve hours, I slowed down only long enough to order lunch for the staff, food I was too upset to eat. I had intended to swing by my brother's, either at noon or after work, to see where he had been for the last few days, and to invite him to dinner and a movie on Sunday. In the chaos, I barely remembered the dinner I had scheduled with Destiny, much less had time for an additional visit.

At the last possible moment, I dashed from the office and drove like a maniac to Ramano's, the Italian restaurant Destiny had chosen earlier in the week. I parked on South Broadway and sprinted the last half block to the eatery, located between a gay bar and a lesbian health spa.

I slid through the door and had to push through a crowd (the byproduct of a recent sterling review in Westword), to reach Destiny. In black jeans, starched white shirt, navy blazer, and loafers, she looked as if she had stepped out of a dressing room, not off an airplane.

Before I met Destiny, the friend who introduced us had described her as having a "hot body" but never mentioned the character in her face, the depth of her green eyes, or the tall forehead that readily registered any sign of laughter, concern, confusion, or frustration. Every range of emotion played across the plane of her forehead as it wrinkled in expression.

This night, as she walked toward me extending a dozen white roses, joy came across as if the word had been scrawled in all caps across a movie-theater screen.

"What's the occasion?" I smiled and hugged her tightly.

She kissed my cheek. "You'll see. C'mon. Our table's ready."

She flagged down the host, who led us to a tall, mahogany booth in the back of the candle-lit room.

We scanned the menu and chose our usual: chicken alfredo for me, vegetable lasagna for her. After ordering for both of us, Destiny reached across the table to squeeze my hand. "God, I've missed you!"

"It's only been three days."

"I know, but it seemed like four." She grinned mischievously. "I should have come straight from the airport, gone to my bedroom, and had you meet me there with take-out."

I raised one eyebrow. "It's not too late."

She laughed, a light merry sound. "We'll get there soon enough. By the way, do you know what tonight is?"

Worried, I said, "Should I?"

Stroking my hand, she leaned forward and whispered, "It's our eighteen-month anniversary."

"You keep track?"

"Of course I do, which brings me to my next subject: Have you thought about my proposal?"

"Which one?"

"To live together?"

"You weren't serious the other morning, were you? You didn'ta"" I caught myself when she pushed back from the table. "I'm sorry, Destiny. I didn't mean toa""

"Forget it," she said quietly, the twinkle in her eyes gone.

"I haven't really considered it, have you?"

"Yes. It's all I've thought about this week."

"Couldn't we keep dating?"

"Why?"

"I don't know. Practice, maybe."

Openly crestfallen, she said, "Kris, I've never met anyone I loved as much, or liked as much, or laughed with as much. I want to spend my life with you."

"Your whole life?" My voice fractured.

"Maybe not my entire life, but at least this portion of it right now."

"We'd grow old together?"

"Maybe we could set a more reasonable goal, like growing older. Although, I'll never be as old as you," she said kidding about the ten-month difference in our ages.

I overlooked the humor. "But we spend time together, tons of it."

"It's not the same."

"Aren't you afraid we'll jinx what we have?"

"I think we'll make a statement, to ourselves and everyone else, that this relationship is a priority in our lives."

"But you've never lived with anyone before."

"So?"

"How do you know you'll like it?"

"I just do."