"Barrett?"

It was Ralph, and she immediately regretted picking up. He'd been leaving messages on her home machine, asking why she wasn't calling back, pleading. She'd not returned them, still too furious.

"Barrett?" he repeated.

"Yes," her throat went dry. "What do you want, Ralph?"

"What happened?" he asked, his voice hollow. "I thought after the other night ..."

Her pent up-rage exploded, "And then what happened in the morning, Ralph? Did you go straight from me to her?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't do this, I can't take the lying. Just tell the truth ... for once. I saw Carol."

"So? I swear to G.o.d, Barrett, I've not seen her ..."

"Since when, Ralph? Let me make sure I've got your story straight."

"Since the day you walked in on us. I've not seen her."

"Interesting, because her story's different."

"You've got to believe me, the last I spoke to her was last week. I didn't see her, it was over the phone. I told her I was sorry, that there was no way we could see each other. Barrett, you've got to believe me, it was only s.e.x, it was wrong, and it was stupid. You're the only one who matters. I love you."

Competing thoughts battered away. She remembered something Sophie had once said ..."When someone starts a sentence with, 'you got to believe me,' you probably shouldn't." "So what day did you call her?"

"It was after I left our place."

Barrett hesitated; Carol hadn't exactly said she'd seen Ralph; just that they'd spoken. It's possible she'd leapt to the wrong conclusion. "So what do you want?"

"You sound so cold ... it's you ... and us, that's what I want."

He sounded sincere, vulnerable; her resolve wavered. "I can't take the lies Ralph. I just can't."

"Can we get together and talk."

" ... When?" she asked, feeling her resolve soften.

"Tonight ... please. I could meet you after work."

"Okay, I'll meet you at D'Emilio's," she said, naming the corner bistro and their favorite, let's-not-cook-tonight restaurant.

There was a pause. "Barrett ... I love you so much. The other night made me realize what a complete idiot I've been. I can't lose you. Whatever you want me to do, just tell me. I don't want to lose you."

"We'll talk," she said, wondering if talk would again lead to the bedroom, and would that be enough to make her forget, or at least blind her for a time. But that still wouldn't do a d.a.m.n thing for why he'd cheated in the first place.

"I love you, Barrett."

She said nothing, feeling his words swim in the back of her head, how easy it would be to say, "I love you too, Ralph," but she didn't. Instead, "I have to go, Ralph, 10:30?"

"I'll be there."

She heard the disappointment in his voice, he'd wanted her to say it. She thought how easy those words came to his lips; did he mean them? He sounded sincere, but what sincere words had gotten Carol into their bed?

She felt lightheaded. Her gaze drifted to the flashing light on the telephone. She pressed the other line, having forgotten about Justine. "Sorry about that," she said.

"What happened? Where'd you go?"

"It was Ralph."

"Oh ... what did he want?"

"Everything. He said that he hasn't seen Carol again."

"But I thought you said ..."

"I know, I might have jumped to a wrong conclusion. I don't know. I don't know what to believe. He says that he loves me and that he'll do anything I want."

"Do you still love him?" Justine asked.

"Yes ... but I don't know if that's enough. Love is supposed to make everything better; it doesn't."

"What are you going to do?"

"I told him I'd meet him for drinks after he gets off."

"Are you going to take him back?"

"I don't know. I miss him so much." She thought about their great night together, and then the scene of opening the bedroom door, and seeing Carol, and then Ralph, naked. "I can't stand feeling this way. It's not just my husband being unfaithful ... Ralph is the only man I've ever felt like I could just be myself with ... that I didn't have to try and be someone different. And now I think I was wrong; I'm not who he wants, or what he wants..."

"Look Barrett, I'm getting paged. We can talk later, okay?"

"Sure ..." and then remembering why her sister had called, "and Justine, congratulations. It's fantastic news."

She hung up and pressed her hands against the sides of her face. It was hard to think. And she hated the fact that one of the things that kept popping through her mind was money. Justine's call, while great news, made things worse. Although, the Martin case, if it were to continue, would certainly help. It was a big if, and Jimmy's low lithium level, and the overpayment-which she should never have deposited-weren't helping.

She picked up the stylus for her Palm Pilot and punched up Jimmy's name. Twinges of panic quickened her pulse. She took several slow breaths and forced her fingers to dial. He picked up after the fifth ring.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Mr. Martin? It's Dr. Conyors."

"Yes?"

"Your sister told you that your bloodwork came back?"

"She said it was okay."

Barrett paused. "It was low."

"But that's still okay."

She heard his anxiety. "I won't report it, if that's what you're wondering. But I will redraw ... frequently. So I suggest you don't play with your pills. I need to talk to you about my fee. The check was for four times the amount. I expect to be paid for each session, no more, no less."

"I didn't write it. Ellen did. If there's a mistake, it wasn't mine."

"I'll call her," Barrett said. "But Jimmy, no games. The same goes for Ellen, and I will talk with her. You need to take your medicine and do everything according to your release agreement. If you don't, they'll pull you back."

"No!"

"Then take this as a warning."

"I can't go back," his voice went flat, "I'll kill myself. Please. You don't know what it was like."

"Calm down. I'll talk to Ellen and we'll get through this."

"Okay."

It seemed as though she were talking with a frightened child.

"Dr. Conyors ..."

"Yes?"

"I can't go back."

"That's entirely in your hands, Jimmy. And Jimmy?"

"Yes."

"I'm real good at knowing when someone is telling a lie. Don't do it."

After she hung up she wondered what Hobbs' take would be on all of this: the low lab value, Ellen's overpayment, her gut telling her that something was very wrong. Thinking about the detective helped quiet her racing thoughts. After all, there was nothing concrete. Her certainty that Jimmy had not been taking his medication was shot down by the results of the bloodwork, and the check could be a misunderstanding. Maybe Ellen thought she had to pay for Barrett's time at dinner; that was probably the answer, and thinking about the extra money, Barrett wondered if maybe that was okay. It still felt wrong, almost like a bribe, but for what purpose?

She stared out the window, the countryside now colored in a palette of evening gray. She glanced at her watch and then stuffed her tape recorder and notes on Walker Green into her briefcase. She had wanted to review Jimmy's files in the bas.e.m.e.nt archives, but somehow the time had slipped away, and now it was too late.

TWELVE.

A piercing pain shot behind Jimmy's eyes as he thought back through his conversation with Dr. Conyors. She'd sounded cross, disappointed.

"She'll send you back, Jimbo," Father whispered, the voice stronger since he'd restarted the medication. The pills were supposed to make voices decrease; they made it worse. "She's waiting for you, Jimbo, she's going to lock the door and throw away the key."

"No!" Seated at his computer in the carriage house, he stared at the screen that displayed date-stamped files for Barrett's calls. First, he replayed his phone conversation with her. When he got to the part about the check, it didn't quite make sense. He played it back a second and third time. Her words ran through his head.

"She took the money, Jimbo." The voice reminded him.

Jimmy stopped, waiting for more. What Father gave with one hand usually came with the other balled into a fist. Like his beautiful cello. Eight years old and already considered a prodigy when Father made the extravagant purchase. But that same day other things happened, bad things, things that crept up in the middle of the night and... "Maylene," he whispered, conjuring up a beautiful dark-skinned face with soft loving eyes. The face of the only person-other than Ellen-who'd ever loved him.

"She took the money, Jimbo. She took the money."

"Yes," Jimmy said aloud.

"Not according to Hoyle, is it, Jimbo?"

"No," he answered, suspicious of the voice's newfound helpfulness. "She should have ripped it up."

Jimmy pondered this. Morris Kravitz had been easy. Dr. Kravitz loved his money, and that blond wife of his had had no difficulty in spending it. And with the others, the guards, and the other patients, subtle, and not-so-subtle gifts were how he'd survived those long years in Croton. With Barrett, his beautiful Barrett, it had to be different. He wanted her to have everything. All the things she deserved, but couldn't afford.

He pressed the b.u.t.ton for her home phone, and a series of files popped up on the screen, each one gave time, date, and the caller's number.

He played the first. A man's deep voice came in. "Barrett, please call me back. We have to talk ... I'm sorry. Whatever it is, I'm sorry."

Jimmy smiled, and clicked on the next. Again, it was her husband, Ralph. Obviously things weren't going well. The timing couldn't have been better.

But the next stopped him cold, "Barrett, I must sound desperate leaving all these messages. I just wanted to say how glad I am we cleared things up. I'm really looking forward to seeing you tonight ... I love you, babe. Always have, always will."

Jimmy's hands shook.

Father sang, "Her boyfriend's back and you're going to be in trouble."

He pressed the b.u.t.ton to hear the final message. It was another man. "Barrett, you there? I guess I'll try you at the office."

He recognized the voice, the detective who'd run after her. Why was he calling?

"She's playing games, Jimbo."

"No!" Jimmy replied, as his anger surfaced. "It's a test." He pictured the detective, like so many other men who'd questioned him for hours on end, trying to trick him, trying to lock him away. It had happened once, it could happen again. Bile rose in his throat.

He stood on shaky legs. Barrett was testing him. Her phone call, the husband, the detective, all tests. Just like the compet.i.tions when they were children, each performance clearing the way to the next and then the next. Each prize bigger, each audience more adoring. He didn't doubt that she loved him, but she needed him to prove himself.

He clicked on the last message-the detective again.

"Barrett, it's Hobbs. Guess you're not there, either. Give me a call. I got the thing we talked about. I really think you should wear it ... give me a call."

"What the h.e.l.l?" Jimmy hissed. "Wear what?"

"Fun and games, Jimbo," Father whispered. "Fun and games."

___.