"This is important," he insisted.

I finished talking to Sophie, hung up, and swung my legs out from under the sleep-warm comforter. "It's like you're one of the kids when you interrupt me that way."

"Did I disturb some holy doctor conversation?"

"Don't be sarcastic. Sophie just gave me bad news. I need to go in earlier than I thought." Drew's att.i.tude should have warned me of looming trouble, but my preoccupation with the test results Sophie had just given me had put my patient front and center. The tests revealed awful news for Audra Connelly, and she was one of my favorites.

Poor Audra; first her eczema had turned out to be Paget's disease. Then she'd found she had underlying breast cancer, like most Paget's patients developed. Now the cancer had spread to her lymph nodes. Sophie said Audra wanted, needed to talk to me. Audra trusted Doctor Denton medically, but he overwhelmed her. Doctors such as Denton, caught in their statistics and tests, weren't capable of managing an older woman's emotional concerns and needs.

I pulled underwear from my drawer and forced my still-wet hair into a bun.

"Lulu, wait." Drew grabbed me, taking me from my neatly arranged rows of beige and black bras.

"I have to go." I tried to pull away, and he spun me around.

"Stop and listen, Lulu," he barked. I clenched my shoulders and iced up. Drew knew how I hated displays of anger. One of the traits I loved was his unusually long fuse. "We need to meet with Ca.s.sandra's teacher."

"What's wrong?" I held my underwear to my chest.

"She's going through another fear stage. I know, I know that's common at her age. The teacher agreed, of course, but apparently, she's free-falling. I would have told you last night, but you were asleep before I came in."

"I was exhausted." I dug my fingers into my upper arms, making little Cs with my short nails. "What's wrong, what's Ca.s.sandra doing?"

"Telling kids stories about how they might be adopted and not know it, or how they should watch out for kidnappers. That someone might be following them." Drew took off his gla.s.ses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "One mother finally called the school because Ca.s.sandra was talking so much about kidnappers murdering children."

"Oh, G.o.d." I sank down on the bed. "Do you think my sister said something to the girls? She's been acting crazy since she came back from New York."

"This isn't about Merry." Drew fell beside me. "I think kids pick stuff up by osmosis."

Osmosis. I thought how Mama forgot to buy us food, leaving our nutrition to Harry's Coffee Shop or to freezer-burned chicken potpies. By eight, I was throwing them in the oven. I knew Mama had been unhappy with us, with Dad, with our life. She didn't have to say anything. The potpies spoke for her.

However, we had a good life here.

Drew and I sat stupidly for a moment, staring at our honeymoon photos of milky icebergs floating in white-blue lagoons.

"I bet Merry told her something," I said. "I just bet. I'll kill her."

"This isn't about Merry," Drew repeated. "She'd never do that. Not without your permission."

I laughed. "My permission? Merry thinks everything is community property. I'm surprised she hasn't taken you as her husband. Made us into Mormons."

"Christ, Lulu, she loves the girls," Drew insisted, ignoring my jab. "Why the h.e.l.l would she do that?" He picked up the shirt and pants he'd thrown on the chair the previous night, after coming home sweaty and exhausted from playing handball with Michael.

"That doesn't mean she's smart in how she shows her love." I headed toward the bathroom.

"This isn't about Merry and you." Drew threw down his belt when I said nothing. "Oh, wait. What am I saying? Of course it's about you and Merry. It's about your whole d.a.m.n family."

"Maybe it's Ca.s.sandra's drama cla.s.ses. She never stops acting," I said. "I have to get to work. We'll talk about this later."

"Do you even listen?" Drew asked. "You can't just ignore the problem and leave."

"I'm not ignoring anything. Make an appointment with the teacher. I'll be there. Leave me a message."

"It's not just about the teacher meeting. It's about everything."

When I didn't respond, Drew looked like he was counting to ten. I recognized the signs. He touched my shoulder. "It's time they knew."

I moved away. "Dead topic. You knew that from the minute we met."

"You heard what your sister said when she got back from New York. They might release your father. It could be as soon as this spring."

"My father's been saying that c.r.a.p forever. He's not going anywhere."

"And if he does?" Drew followed me into the bathroom. "What then, Lulu?"

"Then nothing. He's still dead to us."

"He's not dead to Merry."

"Fine." I reached over and turned on the shower. "She can have him."

Drew stepped in front of me as I tried to push back the shower curtain. "What about the girls? You can't ignore that he's their grandfather."

I pushed past him and got into the tub. "Their grandfather is as gone as my father." I turned the showerhead to pulsate. "He died along with my mother. Drop it."

Drew pulled the shower curtain aside. "You can't wish someone dead. You have to deal with this." Water soaked into the sleeve of his cotton sweater.

"No. I don't." I felt as though I were on the top of a roller coaster about to drop. "If you can't accept it, then maybe you have to leave."

"You'd choose me leaving over dealing with your father? Is that what you're saying?"

G.o.d, what had I said? I'd die if Drew ever left me. I stepped out of the shower. "Don't ever leave. Promise. I'm sorry. I just can't do it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I grabbed him. "Please, Drew. Don't go away."

"It's okay, Lu. Shh. It's okay." Drew threw a towel around my shoulders. "I'd never leave."

"I bring so much trouble."

"It's all part of being a family. Calm down. Ca.s.sandra will be all right; I'll talk to her teacher. I'll make the appointment."

Audra looked pale and too thin. Five pounds less than she'd appeared three weeks before, when she'd already been a wraith. I took her hand and gently squeezed. "How are you?"

"Not so good."

"I can imagine."

She shrank into herself. "I know it's growing and things look bad. I want your help in making decisions."

I placed a light hand on her arm. "You should bring your children in to help with the decision making."

"Doctor Denton thinks we should do another round of chemo," she said, ignoring my suggestion. "What do you think, Doctor Winterson?"

"I can help you go over the options." This wouldn't get me recommended for Cabot's employee of the month. Sophie had already reminded me twice that I hadn't yet responded to the medical director's memo regarding clarifying your frequent visits with Audra Connelly. Aren't they duplicating visits with Doctor Denton? What is the reason for these appointments? "Maybe he'll check into clinical trials for you."

Audra nodded, too ready to plunk her life into my hands.

"In the end," I reminded her, "it's always your choice."

"What would you do if I were your mother?" The paper lining the table rustled. Audra sat up straighter. "That's what my daughter told me to ask you."

A good daughter would do anything to save her mother, I thought. "I need to know which path you want to take. How aggressive you want to be."

"I want to see my grandchildren grow up."

Articles, I scratched on my arm. Clinical trials. I'd cancel my lunch with Sophie, get a sandwich from Jerry, and eat it while I read articles online.

Fortunately, the rest of my morning patients were easy-a cold, followed by a strep throat, anxiety, gastritis, sprained toe, Pap smear, and a pulled back muscle. I got to Jerry's cart at eleven-thirty, which in Jerry's view was too late to expect much of a lunch selection.

"I'm almost sold out." He steered his wheelchair closer. "You should have gotten here earlier."

"When? At breakfast?" I bent down and studied the sandwiches.

"Most people buy when they get here. If you didn't bring your lunch so often, you'd know that. What you got left is tuna or egg salad, Doc. Which will it be?" From the impatience in his voice, you'd think a line for Jerry's food snaked out to the parking lot. "People will be here any minute."

"What kind of bread is this?" I pointed to egg salad on yellowish bread.

"Anadama."

"What's that?"

"My wife bakes it." He wheeled over to the sandwich area and plucked up a sandwich. "It's cornmeal; you get corn m.u.f.fins. You'll like it."

Before hearing my opinion, he placed the sandwich in the thinnest bag known to humankind. Actually, I remembered a thinner one.

"Coffee, right?" Jerry poured it without waiting for my answer.

"Fine." I'd been planning to have a c.o.ke, but I didn't want another argument. I handed Jerry a ten-dollar bill and waited for the tiny bit of change I'd get. Which I would, of course, put in the gla.s.s jar marked "Paraplegic Veterans" in Jerry's slashing scrawl. No one had the guts to ask him who, what, or where the paraplegic veterans were. Most of us a.s.sumed it was Jerry and a couple of his drinking buddies.

"Louise."

d.a.m.n. I gave a phony smile to the medical director. Peter Eldon was born to be petty. When he was a child, I'd have bet he was the tattletale, the cla.s.s monitor, the one who stuck his arm straight up in the air each time the teacher called for a volunteer. Now he was an overbearing Medicrat in love with his own authority and all things English. Today he wore what looked to be a hunting jacket.

"Peter. How are you?" I asked.

"Not so good. Some of my staff have been ignoring my e-mails." He loomed over Jerry. "Coffee. Black. Bran m.u.f.fin." He turned back to me. "I'm compiling my monthlies, and I need to wrap up your department. You, Louise, are my squeaking wheel." I'd swear he'd developed a British accent since our last encounter.

After pouring the coffee, Jerry stretched his arm to the back of the rows and grabbed the smallest bran m.u.f.fin, placed it on top of the covered coffee without using a bag or waxed paper, and handed it to Eldon. The m.u.f.fin absorbed moisture as we spoke. Good job, Jerry.

"Two fifty," Jerry said.

Eldon wordlessly gave Jerry three dollars, keeping his hand out for change. "When can I expect them, Louise? And what exactly are you doing with that patient requiring you to double up on Denton's work?"

"The patient requires extra."

"Extra what?"

"Her husband died of cancer not a month before her diagnosis. She needs comfort. Help."

"Refer her to a social worker." He juggled his coffee and m.u.f.fin.

I took cleansing breaths. I didn't grab his hot coffee and spill it on his b.a.l.l.s. "I'm not sure Denton has the time to deal with all her needs. He's a man, and when he examines her she feels ugly."

"Personality isn't our stock-in-trade. Stick to the internal medicine patients and leave oncology to Denton."

Jerry interrupted. "Hey, wait, Doctor Winterson. I forgot this." He reached for a chocolate chip cookie, slipped it in a bag, and handed it to me.

"Send in your monthlies, Louise," Eldon said. "I'll be flagging this."

When he entered the elevator, Jerry snorted.

"Thanks for the cookie, Jerry."

He waved it's nothing. "The guy's a solid a.s.shole." With those words, Jerry capped off our bonding and wheeled over to serve the now-growing lunch crowd.

I headed to the stairwell. I'd stay as late as I needed to finish. Having him, having anyone, question my work, think I'd made mistakes-that didn't happen to me.

24.

Lulu All I wanted to do when I arrived home after hours of writing reports was collapse in bed, but my sister's fragrance greeted me as I entered the living room. Merry's scent usually trailed beside her, a lemony rose-a delicate perfume that had turned tart when I'd tried it. Smoky sweetness from the fireplace drifted through the house.

Drew and Merry seemed uncomfortable when they saw me. Merry, curled on the couch, managed to look both s.e.xy and innocently vulnerable dressed in baggy blue sweats. Drew, slumped in the rocking chair, looked exhausted after his day working at home and then being with the girls. Kids drained everything but blood from you, their maturation feeding off molecules siphoned directly from the nearest adult in charge.

"The fire smells great. What a treat." Instead of heading straight for bed, I went to Drew, kissing the top of his head, breathing in his musk of straightforward drugstore shampoo, cooking odors from supper, and a faint memory of the sunny cologne he slapped on each morning.

He stiffened. "It's eight-thirty. Where were you?"

I pulled away, confused. "I had to work late. It was an emergency. Didn't you get my message?"

"Did you get mine?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "Did you forget you were supposed to meet me at the girls' school for our meeting with Ca.s.sandra's teacher?"

I slapped my head. How could I forget Ca.s.sandra? What in the world was wrong with me lately? "I'm so, so sorry."