Dr. Lawrence picked up a pencil and studied it, as if trying to gauge its length. “Any other reasons?”

  “That is enough.”

  With great deliberation, he lay the pencil down. Folding his hands on his blotter, he leaned toward Carmen, fixing her with a stare. “You have an unusual position in this matter, Mrs. Cruiz. You have known this family for many years. You work right in the heart of the house. You have seen Tessa grow up. You’ve seen and heard many private things.”

  “That is true.”

  “Your opinion will be of great help to me. That’s why you must be fair and honest.”

  Steadily she met his eyes. “This is what I know: Mrs. Madison is a saint. A saint. She works very hard. She keeps her house very clean, her clothes very clean. She loves her daughter, Tessa. She is a good mother to her. You should not take her daughter from her.”

  “Dr. Madison loves his daughter, too, doesn’t he?”

  Carmen didn’t reply.

  “You think he doesn’t love Tessa?”

  Carmen sniffed.

  “What makes you think he doesn’t love Tessa?”

  “If he loved Tessa, he wouldn’t leave Mrs. Madison.”

  Dr. Lawrence stifled a sigh. “But do you have any other reasons? Have you ever seen, for example, Dr. Madison hit Tessa?”

  Carmen studied her shoes. “No.”

  Dr. Lawrence looked at his notes. “All right. Tell me about Tessa.”

  “What about her?”

  “Well, what is she like?”

  “She’s a good girl. She obeys her mother.”

  “Do you have children, Mrs. Cruiz?”

  “No.” She polished the snap on her purse with her thumb. “I was married. My husband drank. When I was pregnant, my husband hit me. I lost the child. Mrs. Madison came to the hospital. She took me into her own house until I recovered. She helped me find a new place to live. She helped bring my sister here from Mexico to live with me. She found a job for my sister.”

  “You live with your sister now?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re divorced?”

  “No. I do not believe in divorce. I’m a good Catholic.”

  “I see. Your husband—”

  She shrugged. “He moved away.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  “Maybe five years ago.”

  “Well, Mrs. Cruiz, I think that’s about all. You’ve been most helpful. Thanks for coming in.” Dr. Lawrence rose.

  Carmen Cruiz rose, too, but stood her ground, facing the psychiatrist. “Dr. Lawrence. Please. Please do not take Tessa from her mother. It would not be right.”

  “It’s not my decision to make, you understand, Mrs. Cruiz? I’m only one person, speaking in the interests of a child.”

  “The best interests of Tessa are to remain with her mother.” Leaning forward, Carmen Cruiz declared vehemently, “A daughter must be with her mother.”

  Dr. Lawrence smiled a professional smile. “I understand your concern, and I appreciate the time you’ve taken to speak with me.”

  Mrs. Cruiz turned sharply on her heel and left the room, muttering as she went.

  Randall sat in his office, trying to decide what to do with what was left of this beautiful summer day. His last patient had come and gone, he’d taken care of ordering prescriptions, and from the reception area he heard Pam shutting and locking up the file cabinets, humming as she went.

  As he slipped off his white lab coat and pulled on his jacket, he heard the office door open and then Pam’s cry of delight. Almost immediately came the scent of lemon. Groaning, Randall quickly pulled on his lab coat, settled at his desk, and got busy at the computer.

  It was Lacey, he knew. It had to be. Pam adored Lacey, who always found time to talk with her, who remembered her children’s names and ages and habits as well. Laughter floated from the front room. Then a knock came at his door and Lacey peered in.

  “Randall?” She wore a tight flowered summer dress. “Pam told me it was all right to come on in.”

  “Of course,” he replied. “I’m just finishing up some paperwork.” He rose, staying behind the desk.

  In her hands Lacey held a magnificent lemon meringue pie, its peaks a whirl of glossy white. She set it gently on his desk. “I had the day off,” she said, looking up at him girlishly through her eyelashes, “and I felt like baking, and I remembered how much you like lemon meringue pies—”

  “That’s kind of you, Lacey, thank you.” He tried to be polite but restrained.

  “You know I love to cook, Randall.” She smiled seductively. “In fact, I’ve got a leg of lamb in the oven right now.”

  “I’m afraid I’m buried with work. I’ve got to visit my father this evening,” Randall told her.

  She didn’t blink. “Well, then,” she responded cheerfully, “you’ll have someone to share the pie with.”

  He stared at her with admiration and irritation, searching for the perfect words that would make her leave without hurting her feelings.

  She actually laughed. “It’s only a pie, Randall. Don’t look so grumpy!” She went out the door and then looked back in, her luscious pink lips glistening with a smile. “I’ll call you next week. Maybe then you’ll have time for that drink.”

  Saturday evening Kelly slipped into the passenger seat of Jason’s red Saab convertible. “Hi.” Leaning over, she kissed his cheek. “Hey. Look at you. What a great tan!”

  “Unlike some people I could name who can’t find time to step outside on a gorgeous summer day.”

  “Jason, come on,” Kelly cajoled. “I’ve been away from home all week. Today I had to do some basic maintenance. Don’t sulk. Wouldn’t you prefer it if I wore clean underwear?”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “I’d prefer it if you wore no underwear.”

  Gunning the engine, he shot them out into the flow of traffic. It was seven o’clock, the evening warm and bright, a lovely night to be in a convertible. Kelly leaned her head back against the seat.

  Tomorrow, she thought dreamily, is Sunday.

  “Must be a pretty sweet fantasy,” Jason said.

  Her eyes flew open. “What?”

  “What were you thinking of just then?”

  Guilt made her stutter. “Sun—sun. Sunshine. Peace and quiet.”

  “Tough week?”

  “Tough but good. I’m learning a lot. But it’s always wrenching, seeing families torn apart.”

  “So forget about all that. Go back to your fantasy.” Jason patted her knee.

  I am a terrible person, Kelly reproached herself.

  Lying back in the seat, she gazed at Jason. No doubt about it, he was just plain gorgeous. His teeth were brilliant white against the even tan of his face. The red collar of his polo shirt lay against his navy linen blazer, accentuating the dramatic darkness of his eyes and hair.

  Feeling her studying him, Jason turned. He held her eyes with his. “You’re beautiful.”

  She looked away. “Can’t compare with you,” she said lightly. His desire came toward her like a missile—and she felt nothing in return. In remorse, she amplified her compliment. “You look like a movie star. Truly. How did you get such a great tan in just a week?” She put her hand on the back of his neck, stroking it lightly.

  He relaxed into her touch. “Tennis. Three afternoons this week and again this afternoon. And yesterday I took off, went down to the Cape, and spent the day sailing with Buster and the gang.”

  “Well, I got to see some great theater. Stockbridge one night. Williamstown the next. Frank Langella. Blythe Danner. Plus hear Seiji Ozawa at Tanglewood.”

  “Oh, hey. Buster and Muffy invited us for Labor Day weekend. They’re having a great smash of a house party at his parents’ place on the Vineyard.”

  “Oh. Well—great!” She forced herself to speak with enthusiasm. After all, tonight they were on their way to have dinner with Donna and the new love of her life, and while Jason didn’t dislike Donna, he didn’t consider her one of his set. Donna was too argumentative, he’d complained to Kelly, who’d retorted, “You just think that because she doesn’t agree with you.”

  Turning off Mass Ave, Jason pulled into the parking lot of Marino’s and switched off the ignition. Kelly flipped the visor down to check her hair in the mirror.

  “Don’t worry,” Jason assured her. “You look good.” Leaning over, he nuzzled her neck. “Good enough to eat,” he murmured, and nibbled on her ear.

  His touch irritated her like a mosquito’s whine. She caught her breath, stunned by her reaction.

  Jason misinterpreted her gasp. “Let’s make this a short night, okay? I want to take you to bed, Kelly.”

  “Mmm.” She met her own eyes in the mirror of the visor. Liar, she accused herself. Fool.

  She didn’t want him to spend the night. She really didn’t want him to go to the cemetery with her in the morning.

  She pulled away from him. “Sure, but not too short, okay? I mean, this is a big deal for Donna, Jason. This is the first guy she’s been really serious about in a long time. We can’t eat and run.”

  Jason stroked her cheek. “Whatever you want, sweetie.”

  The restaurant was crowded. Donna and her new beau were already there, at a table in a far corner. As Kelly crossed the noisy room, her hand in Jason’s, she was aware, as always, of the way people looked up at them and then looked again. She could feel the admiration. The envy. It was like a spotlight on them; she felt highlighted, on stage. Few people became lawyers or judges who didn’t enjoy this sensation. Jason loved it, she knew. And they did look like such a perfect pair—tall, lean Jason, dark like a prince, Kelly floating next to him, pale as a swan.

  Donna rose to kiss Kelly. Her dark hair tumbled down to her shoulders, which supported two tiny red straps that in turn supported a dangerously stressed, plunging, skin-tight red silk top. “Hi, you guys! Jason, this is Eric.”

  “Eric.” Jason shook hands with the other man.

  Eric rose. He was short, with the kind of meticulous grooming that made his beard and the hair on his head equally short and bristling with urban chic. This did not quite offset the fact that he was short and portly, with the gentle brown eyes of a cow set in a round cherub’s face. He was as plump as Donna—they looked, in fact, like brother and sister. What round babies they would have, Kelly thought.

  “You look fabulous,” she whispered to Donna.

  “I feel fabulous,” Donna giggled.

  The four settled around the table, adjusting their chairs, flapping open their napkins, making small talk while the waitress took their orders. Eric was a lawyer specializing, like Jason, in tax law and inheritance, so the two spoke a common language and were quickly involved in a heated discussion.

  Donna leaned close to Kelly. “So? What do you think?”

  “We just got here! But he seems nice.”

  “He’s terribly brilliant.”

  “You’re smitten.”

  “Oh, Kelly, I am!” Donna glanced over and, seeing that Eric’s attention was fully on his conversation with Jason, confided, “He’s an amazing lover!”

  Kelly looked at Eric. In spite of his bristle cut, she could see that he had a receding hairline and a bald spot at the top of his head. His cheeks were actually rosy. He looked as innocent as the Pillsbury Doughboy.

  Donna was flushed. “It’s not just sex, Kelly. I think it’s love. The real thing.”

  A wave of wistfulness moved through Kelly. She wanted to reach over and stroke her friend’s face. “Oh, honey. How great. I’m so glad for you.”

  “Well, don’t look so sad. You’re engaged, for heaven’s sake.”

  “I know. Believe me, I know.”

  Both women did a quick surveillance of the men.

  “—Dewar’s for every day, but to celebrate, I like a good single-malt Scotch,” Eric said.

  Jason topped him. “Have you tried Glenrothes? Sixty-five bucks a bottle.”

  Donna looked at Kelly. “What’s going on?” Donna asked. Then, pouncing: “You’ve met that man again!”

  Kelly moved close to Donna. “Last Sunday. Donna—all you’re saying about you and Eric? That’s how I feel about this man.”

  Donna’s eyes went wide. “Have you slept with him?”

  “No. But I want to.”

  “Oh, jeez, Kelly, that’s getting into dangerous territory.”

  “I know.”

  Donna put her hand on Kelly’s. “Hon, think about it. You don’t want to lose Jason just to sleep with some stranger. Have you even found out his name?”

  The waitress set their first courses before them. Kelly got very busy with her salad.

  “Well, have you?” Donna demanded.

  Kelly laid her fork down. “I don’t know his name. He doesn’t know mine.”

  “And you want to have sex with him.”

  “It’s kind of a game we’re playing.”

  “A game.”

  “Look, he’s a doctor, I know that much. And he’s a father. He’s got a little girl he’s crazy about, and he’s involved in a custody battle.”

  “And you want to have sex with him.”

  “More than that. Oh, I don’t know how to explain it, Donna. I just feel—at home with him.”

  “And you don’t feel at home with Jason?”

  “Not like this.” Guiltily, Kelly looked over at Jason.

  He caught her look and smiled. “How’s your salad?”

  “Delicious. Yours?”

  Eric leaned forward. “Donna tells me you’re a new probate court judge. Congratulations.” His smile curved up, a perfect half moon.

  “Thank you.”

  “You were in training this week?”

  “Yes. My second week.” Kelly was glad to have her interrogation by Donna derailed. “I was in Berkshire County this week.”

  “Lucky you. Beautiful out there. What kinds of cases did you have, Kelly?” Eric inquired.

  “Some divorces. Child custody. One adoption. That was pretty nice. The happier side of probate law.”

  Donna speared a tomato. “Have you been following the fight in Oregon? About their new law? Measure fifty-eight, Adoptee Rights. It gives adopted children legal access to birth certificates, and thus to their birth parents. At least to their birth mother.”

  “It’s an understandable wish, to know who your birth parents are,” Kelly said. “So many people are searching, and I can understand it. It’s like looking for a part of yourself. I’ve worked occasionally with a group called Bastard Nation, a national organization devoted to the opening of birth records to adopted children.”

  “Remind me of the law here in Massachusetts,” Eric requested.

  Kelly knew this by heart. “Identifying information will be released to a twenty-one-year-old adult adoptee, if there’s written permission from both the adoptee and the birth parent.”

  “That makes sense to me,” Eric said. “Provides some protection for the mother.”

  Jason gestured with a bread stick. “I don’t know. Out in Oregon, the opponents of Measure fifty-eight are claiming that release of the birth mother’s name, the appearance of a child in the woman’s life, could cause humiliation and all sorts of terrible problems in the birth mother’s life.”

  “Yeah,” Donna agreed. “What if some poor woman gets knocked up accidentally, has the baby, gives it up for adoption, marries some guy and never tells him about the child, and then wham, one day there comes a knock on the door. Dad answers it. Or Sonny. ‘Hi, can I speak to my Mom?’ Imagine how angry someone would be.”

  “On the other hand,” Kelly said, “think of the joy of seeing your child again. Think of seeing your mother for the first time. It’s got to be one of the most powerful, urgent, primitive longings human beings know.”

  Something in her voice caused the others at the table to fall silent.

  Jason sipped his wine and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve always admired people who adopt.”

  “So have I,” Kelly agreed eagerly.

  “But I could never do it myself.”

  “Oh, really.” Kelly sat up straighter in her chair.

  The waitress appeared at their table, arms laden. “Who has the primavera?”

  Donna had the primavera; Kelly, the scallops; Jason, the swordfish; and Eric, the veal. Veal, Kelly thought, how attractive. She glanced at Donna. Donna kept her eyes on her plate.

  Eric picked up the thread of conversation. “I agree with Jason. I think adoption is a real crap shoot. You don’t know what kind of kid you’ll get.”

  “You don’t know that when you give birth to your own child,” Kelly pointed out.

  “Ah, I disagree. You do have more information, simply because you know what sorts of things run in your family. Illnesses, personality problems, psychological tendencies.”

  “Or talents,” Jason interjected.

  “Right. Or talents. You know in general whether or not, let’s say, schizophrenia or a propensity for violence runs in the family. Intelligence or retardation. Any day now they’ll be able to test embryos for certain diseases. Cystic fibrosis, for example. Alzheimer’s. Parkinson’s. Genes are everything, we know now.”

  “I wouldn’t say they’re everything,” Kelly responded mildly.

  Jason spoke up. “The idea of genetic testing is so new it still makes everyone nervous. Forget about that, then. The point is, with your own child, you at least have some idea what to prepare for. If old Grandfather Joseph was a closet alcoholic, for example. If Sister Susie had diabetes.”

  Donna leaned forward, cheeks burning. “Then what do you gentlemen propose we do with all the children who are born to mothers out of wedlock, mothers who don’t want their children, parents who abandon them?”

  “Hey, hey, hey.” Eric held up his hands as if being arrested. “I didn’t say someone shouldn’t adopt those kids. I’m just saying I couldn’t do it.”

  “I’m with Eric,” Jason began.

  Kelly cut him off. “How can you be? I mean, how can you say you wouldn’t adopt? You’re fortunate. You’re healthy. You’re wealthy. Don’t you feel the need to balance out your karma? Or simply just to be on the side of the good in life? If you, who have everything, who have more than your fair share, won’t take on some responsibilities for the poor, the weak, the unfortunate, then who will? How can you be so—so greedy, so selfish?”