"I wanted to be there when Bette gets her sentinel node injection. She needs to get five hefty shots, and I wasn't sure how you and the rest of your family would feel about being in the room with her then. It's intense. She could use someone to hold her hand."

That was the Edward she knew and admired.

"That's really kind of you," Evie said, wishing she could say more. But she felt restrained in Susan's presence.

Bette was sitting up in her hospital bed when they entered.

"Susan," she gushed, and tears began streaking her powdered face.

"Hi, Mom."

Mother and daughter embraced while Evie stood to the side.

Next to Bette's bed was a huge bouquet of pink azaleas. Evie squinted to read the card: "For my favorite gal in CV Towers. Looking forward to your healthy return. Yours, Sam." It was nice to see they'd reconciled-that the rumors of him playing shuffleboard with the condo hussy were overblown. Why shouldn't old people date? If her grandmother wanted to subject herself to the misery and heartache of relationships, who was Evie to stop her?

"Back with Sam, I see?" Evie said, gesturing toward the flowers. "You haven't mentioned him in a while."

Bette shrugged her feeble shoulders. "At my age, you learn to be forgiving. I've alvays believed it's better to compromise zan to be alone."

"I know that, Grandma." Did Bette actually think she was telling her something new?

"I'm sure you don't agree. And you shouldn't. Don't settle, Evie-le. You don't have to."

Just when Bette did surprise her, Edward entered.

"Good morning, Bette. You look beautiful," he said. "I'm afraid though that you're going to have to take off your jewelry before we get started." Evie didn't like the way Edward was throwing around his compliments, using the same word to describe her and her eighty-one-year-old grandmother. Maybe he hadn't been flirting with her after all.

Evie stepped outside to let Susan and Bette reunite more. Her mother and Winston were in the hallway, arranging trays of coffee, yogurt, and m.u.f.fins. Edward tapped Evie on the arm and motioned for her to follow him outside the room. They gathered into a huddle with Fran and Winston.

"I just want to go over the details again. The surgery itself will take about an hour and a half and then she'll be in the recovery room until all of her vital signs are strong-could be up to four or five hours. Bette will be awake but pretty out of it. There's really no reason for you to stay here if you want to get some fresh air. I'll call right away if there's any issue. And then the most important thing is to make sure Bette takes it easy for the next few weeks because we don't want her to get an infection during the recovery. This is especially important for the older patients. She will definitely be in pain for a while. I've left a Percocet prescription at the hospital pharmacy. Evie-I know Bette's insurance covers a home-care attendant for the first few weeks after the surgery, but I know you'll be helping out as well. Make sure she drinks plenty of water with the pain medication and changes her bandages. I think that's it for now. We'll talk more after."

Evie loved watching his brow furrow while he spoke, the way his face conveyed concern even unintentionally.

"All right, I'm going to get Bette started in a few minutes, so now's the time to wish her luck." Looking at Evie, he said, "And I know you've got a picture to take."

"Thank you for everything, Dr. Gold," Evie said. She felt strange saying "Edward" in front of her family. She went in to see Bette, who looked remarkably peaceful.

"Evie-le, you really look gorgeous," Bette said when Evie bent down to give her a kiss. "I'm so lucky to have such a devoted granddaughter. Your father vould be so proud of you. If something happens to me during surgery, I just vant you to know how much I love you. I have alvays been so proud. Even vith losing Henry, I still feel lucky because I have you."

Evie choked up. She reached for Bette's hand, squeezed it gently, and didn't release it until the lump in her throat subsided.

"Grandma, stop. You're going to be fine. Dr. Gold is a great surgeon. He's going to take good care of you."

"Yes, I know you're right." She sighed. "Okay, send in ze rest of zem to vish me luck."

Evie gave Bette another kiss and motioned for her mother to come in.

"You know, Evie," Bette said as Evie shifted to allow her mother to approach. "Everything happens for a reason."

Evie didn't know exactly what her grandmother meant, but she nodded anyway.

When she was back in the hallway, Edward said to her, "Evie, I'll call you as soon as the surgery is over." He put his hand gently on her back, which was exposed thanks to her dress. His touch sent unexpected chills down her spine.

"Okay," Evie said. "Thanks again." She wanted to reach up and hug him but resisted.

A nurse approached them as Evie was preparing to leave.

"Dr. Gold, Mrs. Gold is on the phone for you."

"I better take that. We're better on the phone than Twitter," Edward said, giving Evie a sheepish look, but she didn't catch his meaning.

"It's all good, Doc," the nurse said, jabbing him in the waist with her elbow.

"Thanks, Milly," Edward said. "I'm glad you've got my back." Addressing Evie, he said, "We'll speak later then." She nodded her acquiescence.

He waved at her as he turned toward the nurses' station, looking wistful as he walked away.

Or maybe it was just Evie, projecting her own disappointment onto him.

Evie didn't expect to have any free time the day of Bette's surgery. While she slipped into the jeans and sweater she had brought along, she realized they never took the family photo Bette requested. Evie hadn't seen anyone even carrying a camera. She had already arranged a personal day from Brighton, so after changing into her regular clothes, she set out for a stroll on the Upper East Side.

Fran and Winston opted to stay put while Susan set out in search of organic toothpaste and "conflict-free" baby wash, whatever that was. Evie grabbed a latte from a coffee shop on Third Avenue and sipped it slowly while she window-shopped. She stumbled upon a vintage poster shop with a Great Gatsby movie poster in the storefront and had a brainstorm. This would be perfect for Tracy's cla.s.sroom. Inside the store, she picked out three more posters for movies based on great works of literature-To Kill a Mockingbird, Great Expectations, and The Crucible-and headed to the register.

"That will be three hundred and fifty dollars," the elderly clerk said to her. He was dressed in a woolly gray cardigan and was sipping hot tea from a New York Film Academy mug. Despite his appearance, he managed to be completely ungrandfatherly in demeanor.

"For posters?"

"Yes, these are vintage posters. We have the most impressive collection of cla.s.sic movie posters in New York."

He let out a hacking cough, the signature of a lifetime of cigarettes. Evie tried to imagine this curmudgeonly poster salesman in his younger years. Maybe he was a screenwriter; someone who chain-smoked in coffee shops while aspiring actresses flirted with him so they could get parts in his movies that were never made. This sales job was supposed to be temporary. For every star residing in New York City, there were a thousand has-beens or wanna-bes. She softened on him. Perhaps he registered this, because he leaned close to her and lowered his voice.

"I'm not supposed to be saying this, but all of these posters are available on eBay for half the cost. Trust me, I know. That's where we get our posters most of the time." He gave her a smile that was a tad sleazy.

"Only online?" she pressed. "No other stores in the area sell these posters for less?"

"Sweetheart, I just told you where you can get the posters for half price. Now you want me to direct you to other stores? You want these posters or not?"

"Yeah, fine, I'll take them," she relented and pulled out her credit card.

Quitting the Internet had definitely been cash-flow positive, even if she couldn't find these posters on eBay. She no longer made frivolous clothing buys that she'd be too lazy to send back; there was never the right size box to return them in, and going to UPS was a total drag. It had been months since the Amazon.com money pit had gotten the best of her late at night. The job at Brighton, while it was no Baker Smith, afforded her some monetary wiggle room. She had Tracy to thank for that one, so it only seemed right she should do something to express her appreciation.

Rolled-up posters in hand, she wandered the streets aimlessly for another hour, trying not to think about Bette, Edward, Jack, Susan, Stasia's baby, Paul's baby, Baker Smith, and everything else that was unhinging her. By the time she got the call that the surgery was complete, her psyche was in tatters.

Back at the hospital, she found her family gathered in Edward's office. There was no empty seat so she stood awkwardly against the wall. The degrees and anatomical posters covered practically every inch of free s.p.a.ce, so she braced herself against an important-looking certificate from Harvard.

"Evie, welcome," Edward said. "I was just saying that all went as planned. Bette is awake and resting. You can go see her when we're finished in here, a.s.suming she's up. We successfully removed the first-draining lymph nodes and sent them off to pathology. The lumpectomy went smoothly as well. I would imagine Bette will experience significant soreness for a few days, but other than that she should be comfortable. Remember she needs to rest. If I know Bette, she's likely to ignore the instructions from the nurse. But you guys might get through to her. We'll meet in a week to discuss the results. I know the wait is the hardest part. Stay positive. It really helps."

Evie's mother stood up and went to give Edward a hug, making Evie wonder why she had felt awkward doing the same earlier.

"Dr. Gold, I can't thank you enough. We're just all so grateful to you," Fran gushed.

Winston rose too and slapped Edward on the back, echoing Fran's sentiments.

"Please, don't thank me," Edward said modestly.

They all walked out of the office to head toward the recovery room. Fran, Winston, and Susan took the lead, and Evie and Edward fell back and walked together. She wondered if any of her family noticed a special connection between her and the doctor. If so, n.o.body said anything.

"She's sleeping," Winston said, looking back when he reached the recovery room. "Let's get something to eat downstairs and try again in a little while."

"You guys go ahead," Evie said, waving them off. Fran linked her arm in Winston's and they set off for the elevator.

"Feeling better, Evie?" Edward asked when her family was out of view. She a.s.sumed he was referring to their talk from the day before.

"Much," she responded truthfully. In his presence, she really was happier, especially when she succeeded in moving Mrs. Gold to the deep recesses of her brain.

"Glad to hear it," he said. "How about we get something to eat as well? I never did get that egg cream I wanted yesterday."

This time, with her energy drained from the stress of the surgery and her faculties cloudier than usual, she couldn't resist.

"I'd love to."

Evie and Edward exited the hospital and walked two blocks together in silence. Their lack of conversation wasn't totally awkward, but it didn't relax Evie either. They settled into a red-vinyl booth and Edward ordered two egg creams and a coffee for himself from a waitress on roller skates. A few other white-coated doctors from Sloan Kettering and nearby New York-Presbyterian were scattered around the restaurant. Edward nodded his acknowledgment to several of them but didn't stop to chat.

"The food is great here. You've just got to ignore the ambience a little," he said.

"It's cute," Evie said, even though it was obviously cheesy. "Thank you so much for everything you've done for Bette."

"Of course."

"You're so lucky you love what you do. I think maybe I'm just not cut out to work."

"Well, you've only tried one thing. There are a million options out there," Edward said.

"I guess so," Evie said. "But you didn't do anything before being a doctor."

"That's not true."

"Really? What did you do?"

"Well, it was just for one year, but before I went to medical school I was a journalist. I was a science reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle. I wanted to try out the West Coast, since Manhattan was all I'd ever known. Some of my articles are still online if you're ever having trouble sleeping."

Evie laughed. She never would have guessed Edward had been anything besides a doctor. If she'd Googled him, as she'd been tempted to do many times, she'd have known that. It was refreshing to learn something new about him directly-a fact he chose to share, not something she discovered through covert research. It was so much more satisfying watching his story unfurl like a blooming onion than to crack him open like a piata.

"Wow, that's really cool. What else don't I know about you?" She tried to give him an opening to share what she'd been wondering, really hoping for, all along-that his marriage was stumbling, or he couldn't get her out of his mind.

"Nope. I'm quite the open book."

Evie was disappointed.

"So, former reporter, what should I do for my next job? What information have you gathered about me that will help me choose a new profession?"

"If you want to hear what I really think . . ." His voice trailed off as he stirred his coffee with skim and two sugars. It was the same drink he always seemed to choose, if she was deciphering the Magic Markercoded Starbucks cups in his office correctly. Evie, on the other hand, liked to mix it up. One day she'd order a creamy latte with an extra shot, the next day an icy decaf espresso. It was like their coffee orders were reflections of their personalities-Edward consistent and Evie erratic.

"I do want to know what you think," she exclaimed. She was dazzled by the feeling of Edward taking a genuine interest in her life. Shamefully, she wondered if he ever thought about her outside of work, when he was picking up his daughter from gymnastics, or maybe even when he was lying in bed next to Mrs. Gold.

"I think you should be an interior decorator."

"What?" Evie gasped. "Why in the world would you think that?" She was an attorney, for crying out loud. Designing homes-which, in fairness, she did in her head all the time-was a hobby, if that.

"Bette told me what you did with her apartment. Every time I see you there's a stack of interior design magazines in your bag. I bet that tube you're carrying around has something to do with design." He pointed at the rolled-up posters she had placed next to her in the booth.

"Oh, that's different. Those are posters for my friend's cla.s.sroom at Brighton."

"See! You probably don't even remember this, but the first time we met in my office, you rearranged the pillows on my couch, fanned the medical journals I keep on my table, straightened my diplomas, and angled the chairs in front of my desk differently. It actually made a big difference."

"I did?" Evie gasped. "I'm sorry!"

"You did. It was when I got a phone call. You seemed to be doing it on autopilot."

"I'm so embarra.s.sed. I usually just want to redesign people's s.p.a.ces. I had no idea I actually did it without permission. The thing is, I'm a lawyer. I went to school for that. I've invested over a decade in the legal profession. Anyone can buy throw pillows. All you need is a credit card." She doubted any of her Columbia Law School peers were choosing paint colors for a living. She shuddered to think how the Cla.s.s Notes would read.

Evie Rosen, after being pa.s.sed over for partner at Baker Smith, got her start as an interior decorator by designing her ailing grandmother's c.r.a.ppy pied--terre. Other projects include her own apartment and a random cla.s.sroom at the Brighton-Montgomery Preparatory School. She encourages all fellow cla.s.smates to contact her if they are considering buying a new couch.

"Besides, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't know how to pursue it. I'm not very good at things that don't have clearly marked paths. College, law school, internship, law firm a.s.sociate, then partner or in-house counsel. That makes sense. Breaking into something entrepreneurial or less defined-that's just not me."

Even as she resisted Edward's suggestion, she had to admit she was impressed with the way the chenille throw in powder blue, the ready-made velour window valance, and the gra.s.s cloth pillows adorning the plastic-covered love seat really did make Bette's temporary home more livable. She knew her grandmother appreciated the effort and was proud to tell visitors that her granddaughter had done all of this for her. Evie herself had really enjoyed the process-from combing Home Goods and Target to making the on-site improvements. Turning a pleasurable activity into an actual paying job was a whole other story. Switching professional gears entirely was terrifying.

"All I'm saying is that I think you'd be great at it. You could figure out a way to make it work if you wanted to," Edward said. "And trust me, not everyone can do what you do. You should see my apartment."

Evie knew nothing about where he lived, though she had always imagined the suburbs. She pictured the Golds living in a white picket fence home in Westchester, probably Rye or Mamaroneck. Their master bedroom-a place she was ashamed to admit her mind had visited-was a symphony of neutral tones and rich textures. Their kitchen was large and sunny, with top-of-the-line appliances custom built into bleached-wood cabinetry with hunter-green marble countertops. The window treatments were floral, not what she would have chosen, but perfectly appropriate and tasteful.

Now she was hearing that Edward lived in an apartment where the decor left something to be desired. Was that a little dig to the Mrs.'s taste? Her mind started to convert the tidy suburban home with its full pantry and straw welcome mat into a messy New York City apartment with IKEA furniture meant to be replaced years ago but that was still clinging to the floorboards. She wondered again what that earlier Twitter comment at the hospital was all about. Edward was proving to be full of surprises.

"Well, I appreciate the compliment, but I'm not sure how viable a career option that is for me."

"I'd buy stock in any Evie Rosen venture." Edward sucked down the remains of his egg cream and put a twenty-dollar bill on the table.

"You think I'm a safe investment?"

"My track record isn't perfect. But I've got a good feeling about you, Evie."

Too bad I can't join your portfolio, she thought.