MI think about the things we used to do that I liked."

Like what things, she wanted to prod, but she held her tongue. She had to stop directing conversations. Ben was a big boy. If he wanted to elaborate, he would.

Sure enough, after a minute he said, "I liked it when we used to do spontaneous things, like cook on that little hibachi out on the rickety balcony of that first apartment we had, or play backgammon until three in the morning. I liked it when we used to be snowed in, when we slept late and went for a walk. Things like that."

"Then I got too busy to be snowbound."

"And I let you," he admitted. "I let it happen. So I'm at fault, too."

Yes, thank you, she thought. If the hours he had spent driving around in his car had produced this realization, she forgave him the driving.

The infidelity was something else.

"Are you suing for divorce?" he asked, looking at her now.

She shook her head. "I'm not ready to give it up, but I need to know what's happening with her."

"Nothing. It's off between us."

He looked earnest, but she had to know more.

"Why?"

"She was a substitute. A way to fill the time."

"She's been that for eight years. What's changed now?"

"You know now. And I feel like shit."

The angry part of her was glad to hear it, the demoralized part felt a redemption of sorts. She had always thought Ben a man of conscience.

Indeed, politically, his cartoons threw a punch for those who couldn't fight for themselves. Mara had loved that. And Angie had been proud.

Despite a lapse, conscience had prevailed. It was gratifying to know that she hadn't been totally wrong.

"What about us?" she asked quietly. "Can we put something meaningful back together?"

He straightened his leg and rubbed its thigh.

"I don't know. I'm still angry sometimes."

"When I'm at work?"

"Mostly."

"Do you want me to quit?"

He eyed her cautiously. "Would you?"

She had asked for that one. But there was no weaseling out. "Would isn't the issue," she tried to explain. "It's could. Could l?" She took a shaky breath. "I don't know. Being a doctor is part of who I am. I don't know if I could give it up completely, any more than you could give up drawing."

"I've been drawing since I was two."

"I've been wanting to be a doctor nearly as long." gArt is part of the psyche."

"So is the need to heal."

A silence settled between them, heavily on Angie's heart. In the back of her mind were Paige's desperate urgingsTalk to him, Angie, tell him how you feeland then Mara's writingsI come and go in people's hues, just as people come and go in mine.

At that moment, Angie identified with Mara.

But it was the last thing she wanted.

"There has to be a compromise," she burst out. Meekness wouldn't do when one had reached a crossroads in life. "It can't end like this.

We have too much in common, too many things we both like. We have a history together" "And a child who's coming home for vacation tomorrow," Ben broke in with an echo of the sarcasm that had been so prevalent of late.

ills that what this is about?"

A dead leaf fell on the hood of the car, dull and drab, discouraging enough to spur Angie on. She shook her head. "No, Ben. I've come to see things I couldn't see before. You were right about Dougie. I'm not saying that I'm thrilled he's boardingI don't think I'll ever be thrilled about it, but it's like the times when he was little and used to climb across the top of the swing set, and I'd close my eyes and let him do it because I knew that he'd never learn unless he did. He's doing okay as a boarder. It's what he wants. It may even be what he needs." She took a breath.

"No. This is about us."

Which brought them full circle.

"So," Ben said to the dashboard of the car.

"Where do we go from here?"

Angie wasn't touching the question. "You'll have to tell me that. I'm feeling gunshy where giving direction is concerned."

"I can't do this alone."

"But I don't know what to say. I know what I want. I want us to stay together and try to make things work, but I don't know if that's what you want at all."

He was still. After a long minute, quietly, he said, "It is."

"Then there have to be solutions. Maybe we should think about them for a while, then talk again." It sounded a little like carrying on long-distance negotiations, but Angie didn't know what more to say. If there was hope, she could wait.

"And Nora?" he asked. When she looked at him in alarm, he added, "Can you forget about her?"

"Can you?" seemed the more appropriate question to Angie. She waited anxiously for an answer.

"She's been a good friend. I'm not sure that if I hadn't had her, I wouldn't have run away."

Angie felt a sarcasm of her own. ill'd thank her for that, except I hope I never see the woman again. She slept with my husband. I don't know if I can forgive her for that.

Besides, maybe if you had run away, I would have learned about the problem sooner. I didn't know, Ben." She was bewildered all over again. "Honestly I didn't."