"No doubt about it," said Craig. "I know abuse when I hear it."

Bree chuckled. "No. Really. It's no wonder you two write so well together. Hearing you together brings to mind at least three of your movies."

"Good ones?" asked Sloan tentatively.

"I hate to admit it, but they were all good. I tried like hell to hate them, but I never quite managed it."

"I'm glad to hear it." Sloan frowned. "I think."

Bree smoothed a hand over the crisp white cotton of his shirt. Her touch sent tiny electrical currents

shooting through him. Her hair was down today, and it floated about her face in a silky froth that begged for exploring fingers.

"So?" she asked with a sympathetic smile. "Are you ready?"

"I'm not," lamented Craig. He turned his eyes on Sloan. "You sure about this? A shock like this might kill her. And I don't want to be responsible for killing anybody."

"You've killed dozens of people," argued Sloan, grateful for the distraction.

"Only actors, and they don't count. They're not like real people."

Bree laughed. "You've got to come in, Craig. Mom will get such a kick out of this. It'll make her day."

"It won't make me feel any better if she dies laughing."

"Craig!" groaned Sloan. "She won't bite. Now let's-"

Franki poked her head out of the door. "Hey dudes!"

Bree seemed surprised. "Franki! I didn't know you were coming."

She slipped out into the hall. "Well, I thought I'd do you guys a favor and pave the way. I hope you

don't mind, Bree, but I sort of filled her in on Sloan's...activities."

"How did you know we were coming?" asked Sloan.

"Bree phoned me this morning. I had to head out this way anyway, so I thought I'd pop by and ease her

into it." She laid a sympathetic hand on Bree's shoulder. "Good thing, too. The news didn't go over well. The poor thing cried a river."

"What?" asked Bree, apparently astonished. "Mom would never judge Sloan-"

"No, no," objected Franki. "She was upset because now she figures there's no one left on the planet who will marry you. She'll never be a grandmother."

Sloan chuckled and Bree glared at her friend. "You two would be no slouch in Vaudeville either," he taunted. "You make a great straight man, Bree." Craig clucked his tongue. "If you think she would make a good any kind of man, then you're nuts, buddy."

Franki lifted her eyebrows. "That almost sounded like a compliment. If I didn't know better I'd say Craig here was flirting. With a woman, no less." Craig licked his lips, and Sloan found himself relishing his friend's discomfort. Sloan had done his time under the interrogation spotlight. Now it was Craig's turn. "Uh...maybe," mumbled Craig as he struggled for a retort. "But even vegetarians can appreciate the aroma of roast beef, you know." "Oh, so now she's a hunk of meat?" Franki took a step toward Craig and slid a hand up his arm. "I suppose it's a good thing you don't have to worry about seducing women. Apparently you suck at it." "I...j-jus...uh..." stuttered Craig. Sloan had never seen Craig stutter. Franki's hand continued its journey until her fingers tickled the skin under Craig's ear. "Such a shame,"

she sighed. "Because even without a good pick-up line, with those big eyes, that tight little butt and a kinship with Hemingway you'd probably have them all swooning at your feet."

Suddenly Sloan reached out and grabbed Craig by the arm. He dragged him out of Franki's reach. "That's enough teasing, Franki. We're here to see Lydia." He turned to Bree. "Right?"

Bree dragged her gaze away from Craig, and Sloan was afraid that she, too, had seen the parade of goose bumps that was still trailing down Craig's arm.

"Uh...yeah," said Bree. "Are you coming back in, Franki?"

"No. I have an appointment to show a house." She spoke to Bree but her eyes lingered on Craig. "It has the most enormous bedroom that looks out over the lake. And the bathroom has a big Jacuzzi tub that just screams out for slippery, naked bodies." She sighed. "If I weren't all by my lonesome I'd snap it up myself."

"Bye, Franki," said Sloan tightly. "Weren't you leaving?"

"Jealous, Sloan?" she asked with a flutter of her eyelashes. "Don't worry. I'm sure he's a one-man...uh...man." And with a flick of her tiny miniskirt she pranced down the hall toward the exit. Her snicker echoed in their ears. "I'll see you around, gals."

"Jesus," groaned Craig. "She's..." He sighed.

"Yeah. She sure is." Sloan would have to keep those two apart. Franki was a flirt, but this kind of thing was a bit blatant, even for her. She had been looking at Craig as if she'd like to devour him on the spot. The trouble was, he bore little resemblance to her usual taste in prey. So, unless her tastes had changed dramatically in the last few years, she was up to something.

"You okay?" asked Bree with a conciliatory nod in Craig's direction. "I'm sorry about her. She'll flirt with anything with chest hair."

"Well then, why is she bothering me?"

"Come on in." She pushed the door open and Sloan and Craig preceded her in.

Sloan's good humor evaporated. The sight of Lydia Hampstead's illness-ravaged features knocked the smile off his face like a well-aimed slap. She was propped up on a mountain of pillows, her head wrapped in the traditional post-chemotherapy turban, her eyes sunken and dull. If he had come into this room by himself looking for her, he would have walked right out again. He wouldn't have known her.

She reached for him. "Sloan. It's so good to see you."

He crossed the room and gently grasped her hand. "Lydia..." Words eluded him, and he was startled to feel the sting of tears behind his eyes.

She smiled and for a moment he could see a glimmer of the woman he used to know. Her hand squeezed his with surprising strength. "You're looking good. So fit and tanned. California agrees with you."

He wanted to say something suitably complimentary in response, but nothing would come.

"It's all right, Sloan. You don't have to tell me how wonderful I look." She sighed lightly. "I already know." She lowered her eyes. "And we wouldn't want the compliments to go to my head, now would we?"

Relief washed over him.

"See, Sloan?" said Bree. "She's still as feisty as ever. Not even radiation can put a damper on my mother's cheerful disposition."

"Nonsense," scolded Lydia. "I've had to fight off my share of depression, just like every other cancer

survivor." She shifted her eyes away from Sloan. "And you must be Craig." Craig shuffled his feet like a ten-year-old. "Yes. It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Hampstead." "It's Lydia. And come a little closer so I can see you." She extended a hand and Craig accepted it gingerly. She looked him up and down. "So you're the one who's looking after Sloan these days." "It's a full-time job, Mrs.-I mean Lydia. He's a handful." "So you do know him. I lost count of all the times his mother cried on my shoulder over worrying about that rapscallion." Sloan's stomach clenched at the mention of his mother. "I wish those two would talk," continued Craig. "Maybe she could convince him to slow down." "I sincerely doubt it." Lydia shook her head. "She tried for more than twenty years. But I'm afraid he had too much of his father in him. And her too, actually." Her eyes rested on Sloan. "When you walked in I almost thought it was Jonathan. You grow to look more like him every day, except around the eyes. You definitely favor her around the eyes."

"Sloan?" asked Bree with a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

"Huh?"

"All of a sudden you went pale as a ghost."

His hands were clammy and his heart felt like a herd of stampeding antelope. "I'm fine. Bit of a

hangover, I guess." He addressed himself to Lydia. "No one else has ever mentioned a resemblance to

her. That's a bit of a surprise." "It shouldn't be. You also share her flare for language. She was always a wonderful letter writer. She still is. Sometimes her words bring me to tears."

"I'm sorry that she can't be here in person."

"That's all right. She has her life, and I'm glad she's happy. I'm glad you both are."

He shrugged, at a loss.

Bree filled in the void. "How was your lunch, Mom? Did you want anything?"

Lydia considered the question. "Actually, yes. I would love a cup of decent coffee and one of those eclair things. All these visitors have lifted my spirits. I'm feeling quite decadent today."

Bree smiled. "Well, I'll get right on it. It's not often she actually makes a request."

"Why don't I go?" offered Craig. "It'll let you guys catch up."

"Actually," interrupted Lydia. "I have a second request. I would like both Bree and Craig to tackle this little errand."

"Mom?" asked Bree. "What are you up to?"

"I just want a moment alone with my best friend's son. I don't think that's too much to grant a dying woman, do you?"

"I hate when you talk like that." Bree's voice was tight and strained.

"You shouldn't. We both know it's the truth." She waved that bony hand at them and Sloan felt an unexplained surge of panic.

What did she want? What couldn't they talk about in front of Bree?

"Now, scat. I want that coffee before I'm too weak to enjoy it."

"Craig?" asked Bree with an air of resignation. "Shall we?"

Craig tossed a sympathetic glance at Sloan before trudging after Bree.

"Pull up a chair, Sloan. You look like you might fall over."

He obeyed. He sat down, but trained his eyes on his hands.

"I'm not going to scold you, if that's what you're afraid of. I'm truly pleased to hear that you've found some happiness."

Sloan's misery approached new and despicable depths. "Thanks," he croaked out. "Craig's...he's great."

"I won't deny that I'm a bit disappointed for Bree. I confess I had always entertained some hope that you two would find each other again." She shrugged. "But I suppose that's fate, for you. Always throwing curves at you when you least expect it. She'll find her way eventually."

"Uh-huh." The pit of despair opened a little wider. "Uh...was there something specific you wanted to talk about?" "Yes, actually. I wanted to talk about your mother."

Sloan closed his eyes and waited.

"I know you two had some words before she left. Sabrina mentioned it, and Janelle alluded to as much in her letters."

He nodded.

"Bree tells me it had something to do with this Armand. But I'm a little unclear on it all. I was hoping you could fill me in."

Sloan rubbed his hand along his jaw and began slowly. "He was over here visiting family, and she ran into him at the golf club. They hit it off right away. He swept her off her feet, and after a brief, and rather...heated goodbye to me, they took off for the Mediterranean the next morning." These lies came so easily, like a pitch he had memorized for selling vacuum cleaners door-to-door. "She told me she'd been feeling cooped up and restless. She said she needed a distraction. She'd mourned Dad long enough. She ignored my objections and belittled my concerns. She asked me to say her goodbyes to all of you for her and...that was it." He shrugged. "That's all there is to it, really. There's nothing more to tell."

"Nonsense," she said softly. "Please, Sloan. What really came between you and made you decide to leave?"

He sucked in a deep breath. "Forgive me, Lydia, but even if there was more to tell, I really can't see that it's any of your concern." The words came out harsh and he regretted that, but he was feeling cornered.

But Lydia seemed unfazed. "I suppose that's true. But Janelle was-still is, I hope-my friend, and you are Bree's friend. Obviously whatever transpired between you and your mother contributed to your estrangement to the point that you've been driven to inhabiting different continents. I'd like to know why." She coughed lightly. "I'd like to help."

He kept his eyes trained on his hands, and was startled to see a tear splash on his thumb. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm fine. And I'd rather not talk about it."

"Is it really so bad?"

Bad? I can barely face myself in the mirror. How can I possibly face you? "It's not that it's so bad. It's just very personal." He met her eyes. "Kind of a family thing, I guess. I'd like to keep it that way."

"But why can't you talk about it?" she pressed, and Sloan was amazed by her tenacity.

He had never known her to push or force her will on anyone. But then again, he supposed facing death could make one a little less concerned with appearances and other people's feelings.