"Well. You know. Books can save lives, too. Um-you can stack them under an unconscious person's feet so they come around quicker. Speaking of books, did you want me to sign that for you?"

She reached for the book tucked under Barb's arm, but Barb clutched the book and slowly shook her head. "I'm going to be really forward, here. If you're not doing anything for the next hour, could I get you to come with me? The book's not for me, it's for a friend. And meeting you would make her day.

Her year."

"Go off with a stranger instead of attending to my mysterious business?" Marnie shrugged. "What the h.e.l.l. The day I've had-the week I've had-walking off with a perfect stranger to meet another stranger seems logical."

"Actually, studies show that less than thirty percent of strangers are perfect. In fact, some people think it's more like seven percent."

"Do you stumble across a lot of trivia in Intensive Care?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Listen, if you're going to smoke, you'd better do it before we get to the hospital."

"G.o.d, no. I don't want it. I don't smoke."

"Oh."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN .

The friend Barb wanted her to meet was in the hospital. As they opened the door, Marnie could see a middle-aged woman sitting on the bed, talking on the phone. Chemotherapy had left her completely bald, she was so pale she was the color of the bed sheet, and she was much too thin. But her voice was cheery and upbeat.

"Aunt Kathy, listen. To. What. I. Am. Saying. I feel fine. I look great. You know that problem with split ends I kept having? Totally taken care of. And I've lost a ton of weight. Seriously. I'm going to recommend lung cancer to all my friends." She paused, listening to the voice on the other end of the phone. "Uh-huh...uh-huh. No, I have everything I-well, I'd love a cigarette or ten, but I don't suppose you'd-no? Oh, fine, refuse a dying request. That'll get you straight into h.e.l.l, no waiting...aw, cut that out. I was only kidding, Aunt Kathy. Yes, I'm sorry. Yes, I won't joke about dying anymore. Which reminds me, did you hear the one about the corpse and the pathologist? Okay, well, the pathologist is walking down the street, and he realizes he left his bone saw in the-" Lynn looked up, saw Barb, and waved. Then she noticed Marnie and her eyes widened. "Holy s.h.i.t! I have to go, Kath. Dr. Doofus and a best-selling romance novelist just walked in...no, I haven't had my medication yet...I'll call you back."

She hung up the phone and turned to greet her visitors, folding her hands primly on the sheet.

"When you said you were running out to pick up a LeFleur, I sort of thought you meant the book." She smiled broadly at Marnie. "Hi. I'm Lynn Filkins. It's really great to meet you."

Marnie crossed the room and shook Lynn's small, hot hand. "Thanks very much. I ran into Barb just outside the bookstore..."

"And she hit you over the head and brought you here. Well, I can't say I condone her methods, but I sure appreciate the results. Could I get your autograph, Miss Hammer?"

Marnie was already digging in her purse for a pen, but at the sound of her real name, she looked up. "How did you know my real name?"

Lynn rolled her eyes, clearly disgusted with such a stupid question. "Puh-leeze. Every real fan knows your name is Marnie Hammer. The name is on the copyright page of all your books, for G.o.d's sake. Which reminds me, were your parents into, like, really bad Hitchc.o.c.k films?"

Marnie grinned, delighted. "Yes! Marnie isn't even short for anything. I can't tell you how many times people think my name is Barney. Especially when I have a head cold."

Meanwhile, Barb had been busy on the other side of the room, and she returned to the bed with an armful of LeFleur paperbacks, retrieved from their place on the counter. She dumped them on the bed, where Lynn shuffled through them expertly.

"Would you mind signing the whole lot?"

"I'd be honored."

The h.e.l.l of it was, she would. She had finally found a pen, and pulled up a chair to start signing.

Barb handed her Love's Tender Fury, and Marnie flipped the cover open to a blank page, as she had done thousands of times before, and bent to her task.

"How long are you going to be here, do you think?"

"Until I die."

She froze in mid-autograph. Oh, s.h.i.t. Nice question, loser. By the way, are we done feeling sorry for ourselves yet?

Lynn was looking at her kindly enough, but when she spoke it was as if to a small-or dumb- child. "I have end-stage lung cancer. And only one lung left to have it in. It's pretty much hopeless.

Didn't Barb tell you? No, I guess not."

"But you can't-you aren't more than-how old are you?"

"Twenty-six."

Marnie shook her head. That couldn't be right. Lynn looked as if she was in her late thirties, at least.

She had no idea what to say, what to think.

"I'm so sorry. I'm really sorry."

"My own stupid fault. Well, mine, and the tobacco company's. Hey, come on, you look like somebody just die-I mean, cheer up. I've come to terms with it. And you coming here really makes my day. I love your books."

"Tell her about your goals."

"Oh. Well, after I got the bad news-you know, that they don't get cable on this ward-and then the very bad news-that I probably wouldn't live to see Thanksgiving, which, given my family's history of overeating and then picking fights wasn't exactly the worst news I'd ever-"

"Lynn."

"I'm getting to it! Anyway, once I found out my time was more finite than I'd thought, I set a goal- hang on until Love's Tender Fury came out."

Marnie didn't know whether to be appalled or flattered. "You're kidding."

Lynn patted her bald head. "h.e.l.lo? Do I look like I'm kidding? What, that's not a worthy reason to hang around the planet for a while longer? I should have decided to hang around for the Super Bowl?"

"I-I didn't-I don't-that's-"

"Boy, you're probably the least articulate best-selling author I've ever met. Anyway, the book is out, right? I mean, you're holding it in your hands. So the new goal is to see the movie."

Marnie just sat there. She remembered her actions at the movie premiere and wanted to squirm with shame. And had she really thought she had a life full of problems? Had she really?

"h.e.l.loooooo? Are you still in there? Don't make me slap you; I haven't got the strength."

Barb shook her head. "She's so stubborn. The doctors gave her six months to live. Ten months ago."

Marnie laughed. "Shame on you. Not listening to your doctors. Naughty girl."

Lynn laughed, too, but the laugh soon dissolved into a coughing fit. She turned an alarming purple color and Barb hurried to her side, but Lynn got control of it and ended up flat on her back, exhausted.

"s.h.i.t. Can't even have a good laugh anymore...that's the worst part." She sighed, then forced a smile. "Anyway, you coming here...that means a lot. I'm so glad to finally meet you. I wanted to tell you how much I liked your books before I couldn't tell anyone anything."

Marnie inched her chair closer and took Lynn's hand. "Don't thank me again. I should thank you."

"Why?"

"You've really helped me get a handle on...on some things that have been happening lately. I was trying to write a different kind of book...not because I could, but because I didn't think these..." She gestured to the small stack of paperbacks on Lynn's bed. "...were worth anything."

"Well, you write what you like, Ms. Hammer. But those books are gold to me."

Barb cleared her throat. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I've got to get up to the floor...rounds start..."

She looked at her watch. "...ten minutes ago."

"So?" Lynn asked. "Who's stopping you?"

Barb blew a kiss to Lynn and shook Marnie's hand. "Thanks a million for coming back here with me. Lynn, behave yourself. I'll come down on my break."

"Okay, but I can't promise to be alive."

The doctor rolled her eyes. "That's some disgusting sense of humor you've got there. 'Bye."

"You know, I have another book coming out. But it's not slated for release until after the New Year."

"You're trying to trick me into enduring another Thanksgiving with my family! Well, I won't do it."

"I could get you the galleys next month. They're like a rough draft."

Lynn smiled tentatively. "Really? I could get a LeFleur book before anyone else? Oh, the advantages of being terminal!"

"'Dying is an art, like everything else.' Sylvia Plath."

"Quote Ms. Plath to me again, I'll be forced to get out of this bed and kick your a.s.s, literary idol or no."

She snorted. "I wouldn't be your idol if you'd seen some of the dreck I've been producing lately."

"Hey, if it works, don't fix it. You write great love stories. Your heroines have functioning brains.

Your heroes are honorable and don't smack the ladies around. It works."

"I don't know, the romance genre is so...it's got such a trashy reputation. n.o.body takes it seriously."

"What's that line from The Fisher King? 'There's nothing trashy about romance.' Besides, there's worse genres. True Crime, how about that? How'd you like to write about nothing but murder cases...

ooh, there's a literary goal."

"Hmm."

"And while we're getting all cozy, here, what's with the black clothes? You look like a gangster...or like you were on your way to a funeral. I'm not dead yet."

"It's sort of a long story."

"Do I look like I'm going anywhere?"

Marnie leaned back and got comfortable. "Okay, well, you asked for it. See, in high school, I fell in love with this guy, this really great guy..."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN .

Joe slowly went to his door. The sound made his head and his heart hurt-Marnie used to pound on it that way, that 'hurry up, we've got things to do' way that always made his day. But she wasn't likely to be pounding on his door anytime soon.

He missed her so much, and wasn't sure if he was angrier with himself-for spoiling their friendship by giving in to her in a moment of weakness-or her, for wanting more than he could give.

So it was with a heavy heart that he opened the door.

Marnie grinned at him. "If you're ready to apologize, I'm ready to listen."

She was standing there, having the nerve to look prim and wait for his apology, it was just so typically Marnie, and he suddenly knew. It was going to be all right.

CHAPTER NINETEEN .

"So I told my friend Joe..." Marnie chewed and swallowed. "I told you about Joe, right?"

Tony nodded. "The good friend you want to get naked with."

"Right. Anyway, I had a long talk with him last night and he and I decided it's time to tell you everything."

"You're both secretly in love with me?"

"No."

"Rats."

Suddenly, it was very hard to look him in the eye. You'd think she was about to confess to murder, rather than writing successful romance novels. "The thing...the thing is...I've sort of...got...a publishing history. That is to say, I've...had some experience writing." She glanced up and froze in surprise. Tony's mouth was hanging open and he had dropped his napkin in his soup. He clutched his heart, rocked back in his chair-and toppled to the floor in spectacular fashion.

A long moment pa.s.sed, and then she saw a hand reach up, grope around, and grab the edge of the table. Tony hauled himself back in his seat, dabbing his forehead with his napkin.

"I'll...I'll be all right," he gasped. "Just give me a minute. The news...such a shock..."

She narrowed eyes. "Son of a b.i.t.c.h."

He smirked at her. "May I have your autograph, Miss LeFleur? I'm just your biggest, biggest fan."