"Yep! I know! I've got a cinnamon one," she said. "Want a bite?"

"No, no, honey. But thank you," I said.

"Yeah, she's grown almost a whole two inches! Do you want pumpernickel or onion or plain?" Charlotte asked.

"How's Dad doing?" Bertie asked. "I'll take onion. This is one thing I sure missed. You can't get decent bagels in Kathmandu."

"I'm sure. I'd guess Dad's still in the operating room," I said, and I reached over to take a cup of coffee from the cardboard tray. "We should hear something soon. I'll take half of a plain one?"

"Here you go, Mom," Charlotte said, handing it to me on a napkin.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

The wall clock went from ten to eleven, and closer to noon, Dr. Chen appeared. As if on cue, we all stood.

"Mrs. Carter?" he said to me. "Your husband did just fine. We're reasonably sure we got it all."

"That's wonderful," I said.

"We had to remove one testicle and we took some lymph nodes. They appear to be clean. Of course, we have to send them out to pathology and they'll give us the definitive answer in a few days, but I wouldn't worry. It was a seminoma tumor, stage I, and it does not appear to have metastasized."

"Thank God!" I said. "When can I see him?"

"Well, he's still sleeping right now."

"Can I take him home soon?"

"Actually, we decided to admit him for one night, just for observation. His blood pressure has been bouncing around. He's in no danger, but he's probably safer here."

"I see. So when can I see him?"

"As soon as he starts coming around, I'll send someone right out to get you. Just remember to tell him to take it easy when he gets home tomorrow. We'll give him something for pain. No driving for a week and no heavy lifting for at least two."

"Great. Well, I'm so glad he came through it okay. Thank you, Doctor."

"Yes, thanks, Dr. Chen," Charlotte said.

I noticed that Dr. Chen wasn't wearing a wedding ring. I also noticed that Dr. Chen noticed Charlotte and that she noticed him. He also appeared to have not even noticed Bertie was with us. Well, I had to admit, Bertie no longer looked like our tribe.

"So who wants to go get your daddy's pajamas and a toothbrush?" I said.

I stared at their blank faces.

"Fine," I said and sighed. "I'll be back as quickly as I can. I'm sure your father will be happier to see your faces than mine when he wakes up anyway."

"Oh, fine!" Charlotte said. "I'll go! Come on, Bertie."

One bag of bagels does not a life change make. And here I had thought they were off to a grand new beginning.

When the elevator door closed, I sighed again and dialed Harold.

"Harold? Hey, it's me, Les. How are you?"

"I'm doing okay. But we miss you, Les, you know?"

They did?

"Thanks. Wes just got out of surgery and he did fine. He wanted me to give you a call."

"Good. Glad to hear it. I saw him yesterday and wished him good luck. He's got the best doc in the country."

"Thanks to you, I understand. Okay, then."

"Let me know if I can do anything, okay?"

"Sure. Thanks."

Harold sounded funny, like something was wrong, but he didn't say and I didn't ask.

I dialed Paolo next. My call went straight to voice mail so I left him a message.

"Hi, Paolo, it's Les. Just calling to let you know that Wes is out of surgery and he's fine. Give me a shout if you want the details."

I settled back into People magazine, thinking I had no idea who I was reading about and further, I wondered why the idiotic antics of these lunatics were news. The whole celebrity magazine thing seemed like reports from the zoo. Pretty young people go and do something outrageous, like tattoo their children or overdose or get married in a tree in the jungle, the paparazzi combs their garbage, finds some juice, and sells it. Then an incredulous Dr. Phil reads them the riot act, they go on all the talk shows, and eventually some crazy publisher gives them a book deal. They write a memoir with a ghostwriter and go on Oprah's show, and she calls them all a pack of liars-and she's right, by the way. Then their story is picked up by Lifetime and made into a movie. A few months later, they walk the red carpet in borrowed gowns and win an Emmy. All that and I still don't know who they're talking about and why they're worthy of all this attention. Nonetheless, in no time they're a spokesperson for their own line of pots and pans or jewelry for JCPenney or Target. This, my friends, is a multibillion-dollar industry. Go figure.

"I love this country," I said to myself and looked up to see an orderly staring at me.

"Mrs. Carter?"

I stood. "Yes?"

"You can follow me now."

We went through several sets of swinging doors to the recovery area, and there was Wes, groggy and drifting in and out of sleep. I took his hand in mine.

"Wes? Wes? Can you hear me?"

He nodded his head and then drifted off to sleep again. I stood there for around twenty minutes until a nurse came and checked his blood pressure.

"We're going to move him to a room now. Room 129. We'll meet you there?"

Another nurse or orderly appeared, and the next thing I knew, Wesley was rolling down a hall again.

When I reached the cell-phone area, I called Charlotte and gave her Wes's room number. I found his room, and just as I arrived, so did he. They transferred him from his gurney to the bed and tucked him in neatly. I watched him as he slept and thought about all the trials and tribulations we'd been through together over the years. The truth was there was much more we'd gone through separately. He had not been a particularly attentive father or husband, traveling as he did for business and playing golf when he wasn't traveling. Maybe things might have turned out differently if he'd been around a little more. If he'd been more interested in us, our home might have been happier. But it wasn't fair to blame Wes for the children's performance in life any more than it was fair to blame myself. The children were no longer children. Maybe they had not enjoyed an idyllic childhood, but it wasn't so bad. They were well educated and well fed, they had excellent health, and I had always believed that they were good people at heart. Maybe they just needed to be sent to their rooms. Wait, they were in their rooms.

Wes slept for another hour, and then I saw his eyes flutter a little.

"Hey, there," I said. "Everything's okay. You're gonna live."

"Les? I love you, Les."

Oh dear, I thought. He was drugged. If only he would say he loved me when he wasn't.

"You just rest now. I'll be right here until the kids come back. They just went home to get your pajamas."

He didn't hear me. He was already sleeping again.

Soon Charlotte and Bertie came in with Wes's things and took a seat.

"Where's Holly?" I said.

"She's playing with the little girl who used to live next door to us. I told her mother I'd pick her up when we leave."

"Well, that's good. She needs to be around other children," I said. "Look, as long as both of you are here, I'm going to go home for a while. Dad's fine so far. Maybe I'll catch a nap."

I could see that Charlotte was about to object, but then she looked at me, suddenly remembering I'd been up since the crack of dawn.

I guess my age must have been showing on my face because she said, "Don't worry, Mom. You look beat. If anything changes, I'll call you right away."

"Yeah, definitely," Bertie said. "Get some rest. We'll call you."

"If he starts to moan or toss and turn, go get a nurse, okay? Oh, and here's the key to his locker? Maybe one of y'all could go collect his things."

"No worries," Bertie said.

Charlotte rolled her eyes at him and I smiled.

Walking down the halls of the hospital, I thought about them again, my two offspring. At the very least, they had some kind of camaraderie. There was the normal push-pull of siblings, but there also was a sweetness between them that I hoped they wouldn't let expire. Someday when I was gone and Wes was gone, they'd only have each other and maybe a spouse and another child or two. That was not exactly a life crawling with relatives and people who ought to love you. Before I returned to Charleston, I'd remind them to cherish each other. And I'd tell them if and when they married, to marry wisely.

When I got home, I couldn't help but be disheartened by the state of the house. How could I sleep? I decided to put in a load of sheets and whites and change Wes's bed. He didn't need to come home to anything but a spotless and completely sanitary bedroom and bathroom. Especially with an incision to heal in such a tender place, an infection was the last thing he needed. So I went to work, wiping down every surface with bleach. I wanted to flip the mattress, but I didn't think it was a good idea to try to do it with my arm, as it was still tender sometimes. I needed Martha. I called her and used my horrific Spanish.

"Martha? Seora Carter aqu. Por favor, Seor Carter es en el hospital."

"Hospital? No est bien?"

"S, no muy bien. Y la casa es terrible. Por favor? You come?"

"S, s. En una hora, okay?"

"Oh! Gracias! Gracias!"

Well, praise God and all his saints. I was so relieved that I put my bones on the guest room bed and fell into a deep sleep. I never even heard her arrive. When I woke up two hours later, I could smell the dryer and what I thought was a roasted chicken. I found her folding towels in the kitchen with Danette. Danette was speaking very animated and loud English. Martha was speaking animated and even louder Spanish or some version of it, and the two were having a wonderful time.

"Hey, you!" Danette said. "I brought supper!"

I gave my friend a hug.

"Oh, gosh! Thank you! And Martha? Thanks for coming."

"Seora Carter loves Martha," she said and laughed. "But Martha no love Seor Bertie and Seorita Charlotte and Seor Carter. Too much trabajo!"

"S! Es verdad!" I said. "They're too much work. What's cooking? Chicken?"

"Yep, chicken, stuffing, gravy, carrots, and a salad's in the fridge. And there's a chocolate cake for dessert."

"You are the greatest friend in the world." I said. "I'm exhausted. You want a cup of coffee?"

"Sure," she said.

I set up the pot and clicked the start button to let the water drip. As best I could, I explained to Martha what I wanted to do to Wes's room and bathroom. She said s and no problema about twenty times, gathered up what she needed to clean, and went upstairs. Soon I heard water running, toilets flushing, then the vacuum sucking the last bits of life out of our old carpet and I knew everything was going to be done exactly as it should.

"So, Wes is okay?"

"Yeah, there was some fluctuation in his blood pressure, so they just wanted to keep him to be sure he's stable. I'm bringing him home tomorrow after lunch."

"That's great. And how long are you staying?"

"Until he's steady on his feet. End of the week, I think." I poured two cups for us and put the half-and-half on the table. "Think we could sneak a slice of that cake?"

"You have to have cake with coffee."

Danette got up and brought it to the table. I took two plates from the cabinet and forks from the drawer. My cake knife was miraculously right where I'd left it. I lifted the cover of her cake carrier. Her carb bomb was completely covered in pecan halves. It smelled so darned good.

"Danette! This is gorgeous! Are you sure we should cut it?"

"Oh, no," she said, in a bad-girl voice with her hands on her cheeks. "Let's save it for the others."

"Right," I said and sliced two healthy pieces for us.

"When are Bertie and Charlotte coming home? I'd love to catch a glimpse of them."

"Soon, I'd imagine. Charlotte has to pick up Holly from a playdate and give her supper. She's moved home again, you know."

"Oh, dear. Wes can't be happy about that."

"Who knows? He probably loves it. Anyway, I guess this real estate market is tougher than it looks. All their stuff is piled up in boxes in the garage and I'm sure that works his nerves. You know how territorial he is." I sat down and put a forkful of cake in my mouth. It practically melted. "Jeez Louise! Where'd you learn to bake like this?"

"Duncan Hines." She giggled. "But it's good, right?"

"Yeah, it is! It's delicious!"

"Ha-ha! And how long is Bertie staying?"

"Who knows? I just got here late last night. There hasn't really been any time to talk."

"Well, I know you're glad to see him. Molly asked me to see if he might like to be a groomsman if he'll be here in September."

I burst out laughing. "Wait till you see him. He's got dreadlocks down to here."