Stubborn, was his first thought, but he took his cue from Charlie. “She needs time.”

  “That's understandable. End of life issues are tough. How about you? Where do you stand?”

  He eyed the elevator pad. “The tests are clear. Time won't change that.”

  “It won't change the tests. It might change your mother's feelings. Do you have kids?”

  “A daughter.”

  “Can you think of her and try to imagine what your mom feels?”

  “Not really. I'm a guy. It's different.”

  The elevator arrived. They stepped on and rode down in silence, but when Chris would have nodded a good-bye, she said, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? There's a quiet part of the patio where we could talk.”

  He had already tried coffee. It hadn't helped. But he hadn't tried talking. This woman seemed to understand Kathryn. He wondered if she might understand him, too. He could use an ally at this point.

  Moments later, they were crossing the patio. The sun was warm, but well-placed lindens offered shade. Beyond the trees were the bluffs, beneath the bluffs the river, across the river another state. Chris loved a good view—before Chloe, he and Erin had often climbed local peaks—but today he was oblivious.

  The social worker chose a table away from the rest. “Were you close to your sister?” she asked as soon as they were seated.

  He nodded. “We're a tight family.” “But you and Robin—were the two of you close?” “We were when we were kids. Then we got our own interests. But you can't be a Snow without being involved in Robin's life. Her running is everything.” “You don't sound bitter.” “Why should I be? It's exciting.” “Do you ever envy her the attention she gets?” “No. I'm support staff.” And happy enough to be that. Support staff felt less pressure. He liked going to work, coming home, seeing Erin and the baby, watching the Sox. He didn't have to make decisions like his parents or work weekends like Molly. If he had wanted to be a CEO, he wouldn't have become a CPA. Enough said.

  “Support staff is important,” the social worker acknowledged. “I'm the numbers guy for Snow Hill.” “Is that why you agree with the test results?” Chris shrugged his assent. “It isn't like there was only one test. Don't you trust them?”

  “I do. But it's like I said before. Tests don't give the whole picture. They don't take emotions into account.”

  “If you believe the test,” Chris argued, “Robin has no emotions.”

  “Your parents do.”

  But he parted ways with his parents on that. “How can they let her live like this? It's no existence.”

  “It may be the only one your mom can handle right now.” He lifted his cup, then put it down without drinking. “She isn't the only one affected. It's like with Robin's running. Everyone is involved.”

  “This is different. It's a process.”

  He considered that. “When does it end?”

  “When your mother accepts that Robin is gone.”

  “So we all just stand around and wait for weeks—months— years?” He had done his homework. Terri Schiavo was kept alive for fifteen years. He couldn't imagine his parents doing that to Robin.

  “Like I say, it's a process.”

  Chris sat back. “I vote for organ donation, but Mom won't hear of it.”

  “It's a tough concept to grasp when a loved one's heart is still beating.”

  “Then why did they mention it at the meeting?”

  “Because it's an option. And for some people trying to decide what to do, it's a help. Donor families often feel that good can come from bad. I take it none of you know how Robin felt about this?”

  Chris shrugged. “Not me. But hell, I'm just a guy.”

  “Hold on now,” the social worker said with a smile. “You said that before. Is it an excuse?”

  “For what?”

  “Not getting involved? Guys have emotions. Don't you love your wife?”

  “Yes.” The phone in his pocket rang.

  “And your child?”

  Nodding, he pulled out the cell, looked at the panel, and felt a nagging worry. He had known this was coming and was not in the mood.

  “Work call,” he told the social worker dismissively and was about to re-pocket the phone when she rose.

  “Answer it,” she said, reaching into her purse. “That's how you can help your family most right now. Here's my card. Call anytime.” She left before he could tell her that his family didn't need counseling.

  Frustrated, he opened his phone. “Why are you calling on this line?”

  “Because you're not at work,” said Liz Tocci, “and right now I don't feel welcome calling Snow Hill. Do you know that your sister fired me?”

  “Liz, this is a bad time.”

  “I'm still fired. That means I'm out of work.”

  Turning his back on the hospital, Chris faced the bluffs, but the view held no escape from Liz. He hung his head. “Do you know what's going on here?”

  “Yes. Robin is on life support, and it's a bad time, but I wasn't the one who asked for this. Your sister went berserk, just flew off the handle over a petty issue. I was counting on at least one more year at Snow Hill. I don't have enough of a following yet to go out on my own, and finding a new job is hard when you've been fired from the last. The more people learn about this, the worse it is for my career.”

  “Tell them you quit.”

  “I didn't quit. I was fired. That wasn't part of the deal when I agreed to come.”

  “What deal?” Chris asked, annoyed. “I introduced you to my mother. Any arrangement you had was with her.”

  “Oh, come on. We both know I was coming for you.”

  He was silent for a minute. “I didn't know it, Liz.”

  “Excuse me? What about those lunches? What about our phone calls?”

  “They were always work-related.”

  “Don't be dense, Chris.”

  Chris might be. But he wasn't stupid. “The only thing going on was in your mind. I'm married.”

  “To a very sweet young thing who will bore you to tears. I can be patient on that. This business with Molly is something else. Talk to your parents. I want to be reinstated.”

  “Liz,” he said pedantically, “my parents are with my sister, who is dying. I will not talk with them about this.”

  “Do you want them to know about us?”

  “ What us? There is no us. We were together when I was in college. That was eight years ago.”

  “I have pictures,” she taunted.

  “That's old news.”

  “Nuh-uh. These pictures are new. There's one from last year's Christmas party and another from the Snow Hill booth at the Concord design conference. We look pretty chummy. Combine that with an eight-year-old picture, and your wife might be upset. Your mother, too. You never told her about our relationship, did you?”

  No, Chris hadn't. He was a guy—and that was not an excuse. Guys didn't call their mothers each time they slept with a woman, particularly when the mother in question was straight-laced and the woman in question was ten years his senior. Kathryn would never have understood the attraction. Frankly, Chris didn't either just then.

  “Are you trying to blackmail me?” he asked.

  “It won't come to that. I know you'll do the right thing.”

  MOLLY stayed with her parents in Robin's room, but conversation was sparse. Nurses came and went. The respiratory therapist stopped by. Charlie filled out paperwork regarding Robin's continued care. Kathryn sat silent, holding Robin's hand tightly. And there Robin lay in a pale, beautiful mockery of life.

  Given the choice, Molly would rather have been at the greenhouse or with her grandmother. Either place held the promise of comfort—but how selfish was that? There was no comfort for Kathryn and certainly none for Robin.

  When Charlie suggested lunch, she went gladly. It was something to do, and she was desperate to talk. They settled at a table in the cafeteria, Charlie with a grilled chicken salad, Molly with a cheeseburger.

  She stared at the burger for a minute, then sat back and said, “Robin would be sitting here with a salad like yours, telling me how many grams of fat are in this burger. I've always loved cheeseburgers. Can I really eat this now?”

  “Are you hungry?” her father asked with perfect logic.

  She had thought she was, but something about the burger bothered her. It might have been the size, though it wasn't as big as some. It wasn't the smell, which was really good, or the sheer appeal of comfort food. The problem, she realized, was her guilt. Robin could have none of this. Even if they inserted a tube straight to her stomach, she couldn't enjoy food.

  But Molly was hungry. Leaving the table, she returned with a fork and knife. She took off the top half of the bun and cut into the burger. This was better.

  “If you're worried about gaining weight,” Charlie said as he worked on his salad, “don't be. Did it ever occur to you that Robin was jealous?”

  “Of me?” Molly asked.

  “You've always been able to eat what you want without gaining weight. That's the kind of thing other women hate you for.”

  “Robin never gained weight.”

  “Because she ran. And because when she wasn't loading up on carbs for a race, she ate salads.” He eyed the burger. “Cholesterol's another story, but you don't have to worry about that yet.”

  “Robin thought she didn't either.”

  “Her problem wasn't cholesterol. It was being an extreme athlete. That would tax even the best of hearts.”

  “Does that mean that you may have a bad heart,” Molly asked, “but since you're not an extreme athlete, it never became a problem?”

  “My heart's fine.”

  “Why do you eat salads?” She had never thought twice about it. Now she wondered if there was a reason.

  “I like salads.”

  “That's all?” When he gave her a strange look, she said, “Robin told her doctor that her father had an enlarged heart. I found a letter. It was right there in black and white. Why would she say it if it wasn't true?”

  Charlie frowned. He gave a small head shake, lifted his soda but studied the straw for a minute before sipping.

  “That's the thing,” Molly said sadly. “We just don't know. She isn't here to tell us why she said what she did. And she can't tell us what she wants.” She picked at the burger for a minute, then set the fork down. “What are we supposed to do, Dad? How does a family make a decision like this? How do they even begin to approach it? Mom's right. To hear the doctors tell it, what's up there in that room is just a body, a shell with nothing inside.”

  “Nothing intelligent,” Charlie corrected. He was no longer eating either.

  “Do you believe that?”

  “I trust the doctors when they say her brain no longer functions.”

  “Do you believe that there's absolutely no chance of recovery?”

  At one time he had talked of miracles. Now, he said quietly, “I believe they're right about that.”

  “Then what's upstairs is just a body.”

  “There's still a heart beating,” he cautioned.

  “Would it beat if the machines were turned off?” She saw the answer on his face, and could almost understand why Kathryn was so stubborn. She wasn't clinging to hope, but to her child's last remnant of life.

  “What about her soul?” Molly asked.

  “It's in heaven.”

  “Already?” He nodded. “Not hovering here still? How can we feel it, Dad? How do we know what to do if Robin doesn't give us a hint?”

  Charlie took her hand. “Robin is in a good place. From this point on, we have to do what's best for us.”

  “We know what Mom wants,” Molly said, remembering Kathryn's hand holding Robin's. “What do you want?”

  “What Mom wants.”

  She might have predicted that answer, but it wasn't what she wanted to hear. “Do you agree with her?”

  “It doesn't matter. I want what she wants.”

  “Chris wants to turn everything off.”

  “What do you want?”

  “What Robin wants.”

  He smiled sadly. “If only we knew.”

  That was the challenge. Molly grew pensive. “Would Robin want to be lying up there for months? She does love being the center of attention, but there's no winning this, and she hates to lose. Remember Virginia Beach? She was the best female runner in the field until the organizers lured in three better contestants a week before the race. Robin withdrew rather than lose.”

  “It was a political decision,” Charlie explained. “She needed a win at that point.”

  Molly understood that. “But take what she did then and apply it to now.”

  “No comparison. This is life and death. There's nothing political about it.”

  “Maybe not, but Robin has pride. This is the woman who pays two hundred dollars for Luciano to cut her hair before every major race.”

  “She does that for luck.”

  “She does it for looks,” Molly insisted, “and I would, too, if I had hair like hers and a perfectly shaped scalp.”

  “What's wrong with your scalp?”

  “I don't know since I can't see it through all this hair, but that's not my point. Robin does care about how she looks. Would she want the world seeing her like this?”

  “It's just us, sweetie,” he said quietly. “I take it you want her off life support.”

  “I want what she wants.”

  Charlie looked past her, and suddenly Nick was standing there. Not only hadn't Molly seen him coming, but she was astonished that he would show up after their phone conversation last night. In a split second, she was livid.

  He looked nervous. That gave her some satisfaction. Actually, he was grossly pale. When he shot her an uneasy glance, she steeled herself. But he turned to Charlie. “Mr. Snow? I'm sorry—I want you to know how sorry I am about Robin. This just isn't what anyone expected. I hope my article didn't make things worse. I'll make sure there aren't any others. I know privacy is important right now, but if there's anything I can do, anything at all to help, I'd like to do it.”

  Molly wondered what he was up to.

  “Thank you for offering,” Charlie said politely—and why not? He didn't know what a snake Nick was.

  “I'd like to see her—just to talk,” Nick went on. “Would that be possible?”

  “No,” Molly snapped before Charlie could reply. Calmer in the next breath, she shook her head. “Not possible.”

  “Not for the paper. For me.”

  Molly smiled. “Not possible.”

  Nick appealed to Charlie again. “She and I were connected. I can't explain it.”

  Charlie looked confused.

  “My parents are going through hell,” Molly said. “This doesn't help.”

  Nick gave her a beseeching look before leaving.

  “What was that about?” Charlie asked.

  Such a loaded question—Molly might have laughed if it weren't so tragic. Smile gone now, she said with conviction, “I may not know whether Robin would want to spend years on life support, but I do know that she would not want that man here.” Rising, she took her tray and walked off toward the trash.

  CHRIS never quite got home. After driving for an hour, he ended up back at the hospital and went looking for Molly. He caught her in the lobby and drew her into a quiet corner.

  “We have a problem,” he said in a low voice. “Liz is threatening to make trouble. What's the story? Is her firing a done deal?”

  Molly looked angry, not a good sign. “Yes,” she said. “Did she actually call you to complain?”

  “She's out of work, so she's concerned,” he explained, trying to be casual. “Is there any chance of her being reinstated?”

  “Absolutely none.”

  “Does Mom agree with that?”

  “She will,” Molly warned. “If Liz is reinstated, I'm outta here. Mom won't want that.”

  Chris was feeling squeezed. His sister was putting him in a bad position. “You've made this personal. That's no way to run a business.”

  “This is a family business. We can run it whatever way we want. What's she threatening?”

  He looked away in disgust. “Oh, stupid stuff, but she has a big mouth.”

  “That's why I fired her.”

  “I wish you'd checked with me first. She and I go back a ways, so I feel responsible. I was the one who introduced her to Mom.”

  “And Mom liked her. We both did. That must have gone to her head, because she's become impossible. A prima donna? Big time. No one is shedding tears that she's gone.”

  “Maybe we should offer severance,” he tried.

  “Maybe we should threaten to sue,” Molly countered. “What she did was one step shy of fraud.”

  “That's pushing it.”

  “She took advantage of a family tragedy, Chris. It doesn't get much worse than that.”

  “Okay,” he conceded, “her timing was bad.”

  “It still is. She calls you to complain about money, when your sister's life is about to end?”

  “That's Mom's decision to make, not mine.”

  “But you're family, so you're involved. How can Liz expect you to deal with her pettiness right now?”

  “She doesn't see this as petty,” Chris reasoned. And yes, he was involved. The social worker was right about that. He felt a hard tug at the thought of Robin. That was one reason he wanted this settled. Looking for a compromise, he said, “What if we let Liz work at Snow Hill just until she finds something else?”

  “Do that,” Molly warned again, “and she'll spend the time duplicating her Rolodex, stealing our vendors, and bad-mouthing us to any customer who'll listen. Am I wrong?”

  Sadly, no. Liz was not an easy person when she felt she had been crossed. That was one of the reasons Chris had broken up with her. And he had never looked back.

  The problem was what he should do now.

  ITHIN FIVE MINUTES OF THE START OF THURS day's class, David knew something was bothering Alexis Ack-erman. She refused to look at him. When he tried to engage her in the discussion, she shrugged and looked back at her book. He might have challenged another student—Have you read the assignment? Would you like to share your thoughts?— but Alexis was too vulnerable. He couldn't push her, especially when feeling as guilty as he did.