Defensive anger welled up inside her. "You just didn't want her around anymore-isn't that what you really mean? You were jealous of our relationship. You never did understand how close we were. She wasn't your child. She was mine." She saw the look on his face and knew her words were like daggers in his heart. Let them be. He had hurt her first. "The sooner Annie was out of here, the sooner you thought you'd have me all to yourself to do whatever you want whenever you want."

As the torrent of angry words poured from her mouth, part of her was screaming. Why are you doing this to him? Stop it. Stop it! Yet the flood came pouring down, drowning them both in her bitterness.

How many words did it take to do irrevocable damage?

Silence reigned between them for a full minute before Fred spoke in a weary voice. "When have you ever done anything someone else wanted, Nora?"

"I'm always doing for others. I've done everything for them from the time they were babies. You can't understand how I feel because you've never had children of your own."

"I wanted them, Nora, but you weren't willing."

"Don't throw that in my face now, Fred. How could I think about having a baby when Michael was in college and Anne-Lynn was consuming so much of my time?" She heard her own words echo and saw the expression on his face. "I love Annie."

"That may be, Nora, but you love yourself more. You love yourself above everyone and everything."

She stared, bereft. "How can you say that to me after all I've done for them? When Annie left, I was devastated. You know I was."

"Oh, I know. Everyone knows. But the truth is you were devastated for all the wrong reasons. You thought you were in control. You had her future all laid out, years ahead."

"She wanted to go to college!"

"No, Nora. You wanted her to go to college! All I've ever heard is how much you wanted to go and never had the chance. I always wanted to ask. What stopped you?"

"What are you saying? That I should go to school now?"

"It takes guts to live your own life, doesn't it, Nora? All you've ever done is tell others how to run theirs. All you've ever done is bully your children into living for you."

She was furious. "How can you say such cruel things to me?"

He sighed. "I'm saying it because it's the sorry truth, and it's about time you hear it from someone who loves you."

"Love? Is that what you call this? You don't know the first thing about love!"

He went back into the empty family room and sat down, eyes straight ahead on the droning television. "Have you ever asked yourself why your son never calls or comes home? Michael was the first one you drove away. No, I take that back. Maybe it was Bryan Taggart."

Pain swept through her. "I hate you." She was weeping again.

"You've never faced the truth about anything."

"It's not the truth. Michael cares."

"About what?" Picking up the remote, Fred changed the channel.

Himself, came the betraying thought. She rebelled against it. "You don't know my son the way I do."

"I know his mother. That's enough." Fred turned up the volume.

Trembling, Nora snatched up her purse and went upstairs. Tossing her purse into a wing chair, she yanked off her camel-hair blazer and went into her closet to hang it up. She was still shaking violently. She sat on the edge of the bed. Fred's words kept ringing in her ears: "It takes guts to live your own life. . . . You thought you were in control . . ."

"He's wrong."

Look around you.

Raising her head, Nora looked at the elegant Ethan Allen furnishings, the expensive draperies, the faint, peach-colored walls with original oil paintings and signed prints she had purchased from an exclusive San Francisco gallery. She had picked out everything herself, sparing no expense. How many thousands of dollars had she spent doing this room exactly the way she wanted it? Had she ever asked Fred what he might like?

She had done every room in this house the same way, including Michael's and Anne's. She had poured blessings lavishly upon her children. They had only the best. The best schools, the best neighborhood, the best clothing, the best toys, the best lessons, the most affluent church, the right friends.

To what purpose? To what end?

"It takes guts to live your own life. . . ."

I sacrificed for them!

She heard a still, small voice questioning her. Did you, beloved?

I did. I did! I wanted Michael and Anne-Lynn to have a better life than the one I had. I wanted to be there for them the way my mother never was for me. I wanted to give them everything I ever wanted. I wanted . . . I wanted . . . love.

Nora covered her face with her hands, and her bitter weeping drowned out the quiet, beckoning voice of the very thing she sought.

Ruth came out of the bathroom and stared at Corban, her face ashen, her eyes red. "Guess what?" She held out a white, plastic object.

"What?" He peered at it, baffled. Her eyes were burning with anger, boring into him with dark accusation. "What is it?"

"A pregnancy test! What do you think it is?" She thrust it in front of him. "It's blue. See? Positive!" She uttered a foul expletive.

He could feel the blood running out of his face. His body was going cold, then hot. "I thought you were on the pill."

"I am on the pill. Not that birth control should be my sole responsibility!"

"That's not what I meant." He tried to stay calm. He tried to think. "How far along?"

"Two months. Three. I don't know! I didn't even think about it until I started throwing up a few days ago." She threw the test into the trash beside his desk and cursed again. "Jessie said I might be pregnant. So I thought I'd better find out."

Corban didn't know what to say. A baby! The first thought that came to him was how had he managed to get himself into this mess and how was he going to get himself out of it. Over the past few weeks, he had come to realize he wasn't in love with Ruth Coldwell. In fact, he wasn't sure he liked her all that much. Their affair had started in lust, pure and simple. Well, maybe not so pure. He had begun to wonder about Ruth's feelings within the first few months of living with her. Her motives had become pretty clear. She had needed someone to bankroll her living expenses while she went through school on scholarships. She liked his apartment, his car, his bank account. Pretty simple to figure out once ego was out of the way.

Well, now things weren't so simple.

"Stop looking at me that way!" she said, angry and distressed.

"What way?"

"Like I planned this pregnancy."

"I know you didn't."

"Darn right I didn't. The last thing I wanted was to get pregnant." She looked down as though she couldn't even bear to touch herself. "I've already gained two pounds." She burst into tears. "Why did this have to happen? Everything was so perfect!"

Perfect?

He could feel the perspiration beading on his forehead. His heart was pounding. His stomach was in a knot. Ruth was pregnant with his child. He looked at the plastic test in the trash and felt a rush of heat through him. Was it shame? Fear? Wonder? He couldn't even begin to assess the feelings stirring in him. He had to think, but she was pacing like a caged animal. He wanted to quiet her, to calm her. "We'll work it out, Ruth."

She stopped and glared. "Work what out?"

"What we're going to do." He stood up and went to her. "This isn't just your problem, you know. We're in it together."

Her shoulders hunched slightly. "I can't believe this is happening," she said bleakly. "I've been so careful." Corban drew her close when she began to cry. He had never seen or heard Ruth cry. He didn't think she could.

"It'll be all right." He rubbed her back, as though she were a frightened child, he the adult. He took on his new role of comforter willingly, if not eagerly. The panic was passing, the possibilities rising. He felt strangely protective. "People have had babies before us and made it through school."

She went rigid in his arms. "You're not suggesting I have it, are you?" She drew back from him. "Don't even go down that road, Cory."

He went cold inside at the look on her face. "Why not? You'd be done with the school year before-"

"No way!" Her eyes were hot. "Are you out of your mind?"

He frowned. "I graduate in June."

"Well, I don't." She turned and walked away, sitting in the chair on the other side of the room. Crossing her legs Indian fashion, she gripped her knees and looked at him coolly. "What about grad school? You're going to graduate magna cum laude. You've already had an interview at Stanford. I still have another year . . ."

"You could transfer."

"Yeah, right. And who's going to pay my tuition? Santa Claus? My scholarship is here. I can't go off to whatever college I want. I don't have a trust fund."

She was firing all her guns at him, and he didn't like it. A coldness seeped into him. How had he ever gotten involved with this girl? Her eyes flickered. Could she see what he was feeling? Was it written on his face? She looked away again and bit her lip. It was a little late to hold her tongue. She looked at him again, troubled. "We always agreed, Cory. First things first. Graduate from college, then . . ."

Then what? He wondered now. Had they ever really discussed the after part? He felt sick inside. He knew he couldn't make any promises about financing her education, especially at Stanford.

A baby. His baby. He thought about the choices before them.

"Look," he said cautiously, "I haven't decided to go to Stanford. There's nothing wrong with staying here in Berkeley."

"You want to go to Stanford and you know it. Don't tell me you don't. If you stayed here, you'd resent having to change your plans."

"No, I wouldn't."

"Get real." Her face was rigid and pale. "I've missed two classes this week because I was too sick to go. I think they call it morning sickness. Only I'm sick until past noon. How many classes do you think I can miss and still keep my grades up enough to hold on to my scholarship?"

He knew what she was thinking. He had listened to all the arguments for abortion and agreed with every one of them. Up until this moment, he had been pro-choice. Now he wasn't so sure. This was his child she was talking about. Something on the elemental level had shifted inside him. All the rhetoric didn't seem to matter. All the rationale, the justifications, the excuses.

Plain and simple, he felt sick at the thought of her having an abortion.

"I know it's not the best time-" he chose his words carefully-"but we can figure things out. If you don't want to keep the baby, we can give it up for adoption."

"I can't believe it. You're really suggesting I have it!" She sprang up and paced again. "This isn't a trophy we're talking about, Cory. This is my life!"

"I know, Ruth, but it's my child."

She stopped and glared at him. "I can't believe you said that. It's not a child yet. Don't call it a child."

"Spare me the feminist manure, Ruth. We've both had physiology and anatomy. I swear I'll take care of you. I'll pay for everything. I'll take responsibility. I'll even marry you, if you want."

"Thanks for the romantic proposal." She turned away, hugging herself.

Shame gripped him. Crossing the room, he put his hands on her arms. "I didn't mean for it to come out that way." He caressed her arms. "Ruth, I'm sorry. If I could undo things, I would. I know this wasn't planned. I know how much your education matters to you. I wouldn't ask you to give up on it. Just sit tight for a few days, all right? Let's think things over. Let's weigh all the options. Isn't that what choice is all about? Knowing there are options."

He felt her muscles relaxing. She let out a shaky breath. "I'm scared. I'm so scared, Cory."

Corban leaned down and kissed the curve of her neck. "So am I."

He wondered if they were afraid for the same reasons.

"You there!" Leota shouted from her front door. "Leave those children alone or I'm calling the police."

The two teenagers bullying Arba Wilson's children shouted obscenities at her and took off down the street. She came out onto her porch. "Come on inside, you three. You're sitting ducks for any little hoodlums out there on the sidewalk. Didn't your mother tell you to play in the backyard?" She held the door wide open for them. "Go on into the bathroom and clean yourself up, Vermont."

"My name ain't Vermont."

"It is when you're in my house. Now, get going." The two little girls were crying. She closed the screen door, latched it, closed the front door, and double locked it. "You two come into the kitchen with me." She took two dish towels from a drawer and wet them with tap water. She gave one to each and told them to wipe their faces. "What did those two boys want, anyway?"

"They wanted Nile to let 'em in the house."

Nile stood in the doorway, a wet cloth pressed over his eye.

"You're a brave boy."

"Don't call me boy."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Fine. You're a brave young man. Do you like that better? Now plant your tailbone in that chair and cool off."

"Why should I?"

"Keep standing in the doorway, and I'll give your cookies and milk to the girls."

Nile sat.

"Mama'll wonder where we are." Kenya wiped tears from her cheeks.

Leota patted her shoulder. "She'll know, honey. I told her you three were welcome here. You can consider this a safe house. Carolina, you sit there. Indiana, you can have my chair. What time does your mama get home?"

"Six," Indiana said. "She's picking up Kentucky Fried Chicken tonight."

"It's her favorite," Nile said with a jerk of his head toward Kenya-Carolina. "She gets it 'cause it's her birthday today."

"Your birthday, is it? How old are you?"

"Seven."

"Well, I'm twelve times seven. So what does that make me?"