“Is he teaching again this semester?”

  “No. He wants the court to think he’s got the time to take care of Tessa.”

  “Still living in the same apartment?”

  “As far as I know. He hasn’t informed me of a move, and Tessa hasn’t said anything about a change. He’s been taking her out to his father’s farm near Concord more often than usual recently.”

  “Any other changes in his routine?”

  Anne looked down at the spot she was rubbing on her skirt and thought. “His mother died two months ago. Tessa says he goes to visit her grave every Sunday morning.”

  Reaching over, Glen gently put his hand on her arm and stopped its movement. “Mrs. Madison. Anne.”

  Jerking her arm away, she demanded, “How dare you!”

  “You need to know. That rubbing thing. It looks odd. It looks neurotic.”

  She flinched. “My idiosyncrasies are not your concern.”

  “You want me to help you get full custody of your daughter, don’t you?”

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  “I’m just saying, you need to control that. At least in front of a judge.”

  “Yes, very well. I will.”

  “Have you thought about seeing someone? A doctor?”

  “You mean a psychiatrist? While I’m campaigning for a public position? Oh, I don’t think so.” Regaining her composure, Anne reached into her purse, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it on the table. “This should take care of your fee for the next thirty days. Follow him everywhere. All the time.”

  “You got it.”

  “I’ll need your report before September fifth.”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” She rose.

  “Thank you.” He rose, as well, courteously.

  She strode from the shop, away from the pity in his eyes.

  They lay together in the mauve hotel room, curled in each other’s arms. From beneath the hem of the curtains, and at the slender gap where they met, sunlight slipped through, providing a slight illumination by which they could see the outline of their bodies, the gleam of their eyes.

  “Morgan,” he said.

  “Mmm?” She was so exhausted, so satisfied, her body felt like honey.

  “I can’t call you Morgan any longer. I want to know your real name. I want to know everything real about you.”

  Lazily she considered this. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.” With the tips of his fingers he traced her neck, shoulder, arm, waist, hip. “I want to tell you everything about me. I want us to become genuine, honest, open to one another.” She turned toward him, nuzzled her face against his chest. She could hear the firm, determined beating of his heart. “But … I don’t want to ruin … this.”

  “You think we’ll ruin it if we become real to one another?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Gently he pushed her away from his chest so that he could look into her face. “All right. If we ruin it, what would happen? We’d stop seeing one another. You would marry your assertive Jason. I would finish the divorce and wander off into the world where I’d eventually find someone else, but no one, I’m sure, as right for me as you.”

  She smiled, and tried to kiss him, but he held her away.

  “But what if we don’t ruin it?” he asked. “What if we discover that we love each other, and want to be with each other, what then? Then you would have to break your engagement, for one thing. Is that what’s holding you back? Do you love Jason?”

  Kelly twisted around, pulled the sheet up over her shoulders. “It’s cool in here.”

  He reached down to pull the blanket up over them and snuggled spoon-style against her, waiting without speaking.

  “I do love Jason,” she said at last. “In a way. I care for him, certainly. I wouldn’t want to hurt him. But that’s not what’s holding me back.”

  “What, then?”

  “What if I told you everything about me, and that made you stop wanting me?”

  His laughter made her hair drift against her neck. “I don’t see that as anywhere near possible. But let’s start with some easy things. What’s your name?”

  Still, she hesitated.

  “All right. We’ll start with first names. My real name is Randall.”

  “Randall.” She tasted it. “I never would have guessed that.”

  “And your name?”

  “Kelly.”

  “And do you work, Kelly?”

  Kelly chuckled. “Oh, dear, do I work? Oh, Randall”—she turned toward him, smiling—“yes, I do see you’re right. I mean, I know you’re a physician, and I assumed you understood I was … a professional person, but for all you know, I could be anything at all in the world!”

  “And you are—”

  She hedged. “A lawyer.”

  “Good God. The last thing I would have suspected!” Randall shoved his pillow behind his back and sat up.

  Kelly turned onto her stomach, looking up at him. “Because you think lawyers are all sharks? Hard, manipulative, vain, incapable of moral decisions?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you’re a little harsh on the subject.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I’m proud of being a lawyer.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. What kind of law do you practice?”

  “Family and probate. For three years I was with a firm specializing in divorce. Their client list was wealthy. When I felt safe financially, I moved to another law firm, also specializing in family matters but with a more varied clientele. I do a lot of pro bono work.”

  “And you work for my ex-wife. You’ve been hired to enchant me.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “No, I guess it’s not. Oh, man. Look at the time. I promised my daughter I’d pick her up at noon.” Grabbing her shoulders, Randall said, “Look, can I see you tonight? Tomorrow?”

  “I have to go out of town this week, on business.”

  “Next Sunday, then. At the cemetery.”

  “Fine.”

  “You know, there’s a lot I want to say to you. A lot I want to know about you. Everything.”

  “I know. Me, too.”

  “But we’ve got to go.” He looked tortured.

  Kelly smiled at him. “I know. Let’s go.”

  Randall threw himself from the bed and rushed into the bathroom. Kelly gathered her clothes, which were mostly in a pile by the door, and when Randall had finished with his shower, she took one herself, hastily dressed, then raced with him down the long corridor to the elevator and on out to the Jeep.

  The traffic was heavier than it had been, the interior of the Jeep hotter, Randall’s need to hurry filling the space like a kind of pressure.

  As he brought them to an abrupt stop at a red light, he asked, “Do you want children?”

  “Well … yes.”

  “Because I like children. I want more children. Not dozens. Not even four or five. But at least two or three.”

  “Do you think a woman should stay home to care for the children?”

  “To be honest, when they’re infants, yes, I do. For the first year. I don’t think a woman should give up her career. It’s not a matter of time so much as a matter of desire. I mean, my wife is a professional woman, and always has been, and that’s where her heart is. She has tried to be loving, but she doesn’t have that fierce passionate joy most women have for their children, and I don’t think it’s because Tessa’s adopted.”

  “Your daughter’s adopted?”

  “Well, in a way.” He turned onto the winding road leading to the Forest Hills gates and Kelly’s car. “It’s a long story, and complicated. I’ll tell you next week.” Sliding his Jeep next to Kelly’s Subaru, he said, “I’m sorry about this rush. If it were anyone else but Tessa, I’d cancel, but I can’t disappoint her.”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  Randall took Kelly’s face in his hands. “Next Sunday? Here?”

  “Next Sunday. Here.”

  He kissed her, roughly, with haste. Then Kelly stepped down from his high Jeep, on legs that were weak from lovemaking and amazement, into the hot bright world that had been suddenly and entirely transformed.

  “What are you doing!”

  Tessa almost flew straight up into the air. She’d been so engrossed in the movie—this was the part where Cher realizes she likes her ex-stepbrother—that she hadn’t heard her mother come in.

  “I was just watching a movie, Mom.”

  “Haven’t I told you I don’t want you watching television without my permission?”

  “Yes, but—”

  Anne grabbed the remote control and pressed the OFF button. Cher vanished into obscurity.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Tessa.”

  Tessa hung her head. “Sorry.”

  “I leave you alone in the house for one minute and you sneak down and watch trash.”

  “It’s not trash, Mom—”

  “Go to your room.”

  “Mom—”

  “Now.”

  Tessa slumped out of the room and up the stairs. It was only eleven. An hour before her dad was to arrive. She fell facedown on her bed, her nose buried in the covers. She could smother like this. What if she smothered? Why not?

  But without thinking, her head turned. Involuntarily she gasped for air.

  She had friends whose mothers sat and watched Clueless with them. And laughed. Tessa wished her mother would do that. Or she wished she didn’t have a mother.

  If you thought about it, all the best books were about orphans. Anne of Green Gables. The Secret Garden. Anastasia—well, that was a movie, not a book. But her favorite fairy tales: Cinderella, Snow White, The Little Mermaid. Their mothers were all gone. Dead. They had mean stepmothers.

  Oh, no. Tessa had a terrible thought. What if her dad remarried? What if she had a mean stepmother?

  She pulled the pillow over her head.

  “Tessa?”

  “Yes, Mom?”

  “Are you ready?”

  Tessa looked at the clock. “Almost,” she lied. Flinging herself from the bed, she threw herself into shorts, T-shirt, and sneakers. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, brushed her hair, and clipped it back. She galloped down the stairs.

  Her mother was pacing up and down the marble hallway, her heels clicking like little bursts of gunfire.

  Dread plunged through Tessa. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

  “Your father’s late.” Anne glared at her wristwatch. “He promised he’d be here at twelve on the dot. This is incredibly irresponsible of him! Typical!”

  “Not typical, Mom,” Tessa protested. But she was worried. Her father had always been late for everything until he moved out and filed for divorce; since then he was blamelessly punctual. Was he backsliding into old habits? Didn’t he realize that her mother would use even the tiniest of sins against him in court, to prevent him from gaining even joint custody of her?

  “I have an important appointment! And Randall knows this!”

  Wrenching the powder room door open, Anne flew inside, turned on the hot water, and frantically scrubbed her hands.

  Tessa came to the doorway to watch her. “Go to your appointment, Mom. I’ll be fine here till Dad comes.”

  “That’s not the point! The point is: your father will do anything he can to demonstrate his lack of affection and respect for me. He knows I have an appointment!” Angrily she dried her hands on a thick terry-cloth towel, and then dropped the towel into the hamper below it, took a clean one out of the cupboard above the toilet, and draped it on the rack.

  “Mom,” Tessa said, “hand lotion.”

  “What? Oh. Right. Thanks.” It was important to Anne that her hands look soft and well-tended, and she did have a weekly manicure, but her constant hand-washing turned the skin on her hands red and scaly. She was trying, God knew, to cut down on the hand-washing, but at times like this, when Randall made her so frustrated …

  “Go, Mom. Go on. I’ll be fine.”

  Anne wiped the excess lotion on a tissue. “I suppose I have no choice if I want to be on time for my appointment.”

  Tessa followed her out to the front door.

  “Tell your father I want you home in time for dinner.”

  “All right.”

  “And don’t let him fill you up with junk food.”

  “All right.”

  “And if you ride those filthy horses, wash your hands afterward.”

  “All right.”

  “I’m serious, Tessa.”

  “I know you are, Mom.”

  “Oh, Tessa, I wish you wouldn’t look at me that way. I’m only trying to protect you.”

  “I know.”

  “No, you don’t. You have no idea.” Anne checked her image in the mirror one last time; then she stepped out into the harsh glare of a summer day. “You’ll be sure to lock the door behind you.”

  “I will.”

  “All right, then.” Leaning forward, she pecked a kiss on her daughter’s forehead and hurried to the shelter of her air-conditioned car.

  After Tessa shut the door, she stood by the front window and stared through the leaded glass. She waited a few moments until she was sure her mother was gone. Then she hurried back to the kitchen.

  She was still hungry. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t seem to subdue her stomach’s cravings.

  Inside the refrigerator were some watermelon, bean sprouts, baby carrots, lettuce, and radishes. She shut the door.

  She knew what was in the cupboards, but she searched through them anyway, just in case Carmen had left something. Her mother’s Ry-Krisp crackers stood next to the nearly empty box of Cheerios, a small jar of instant coffee, a large box of white powdered artificial sweetener (which Tessa had tried once to eat by itself; she shuddered at the memory), and some old cans of bouillon. As she stared at the food, her heart did that funny skipping-racing thing it was doing more and more, as if it had turned into a bird fluttering to escape its cage. It was a disgusting feeling, but it certainly turned her thoughts away from food.

  “Tessa?” Her father’s voice came booming down the hallway.

  “Hi, Dad. You’re late.”

  “I know, honey. I’m sorry. Did your mother throw a fit?”

  Tessa hated it when her father dissed her mother. It made her feel sick inside, as if she’d done something really wrong.

  “No. She was all right. She just had to leave for an appointment.”

  “Great. Ready to go?”

  Tessa stared at her father. Something was different about him. His face looked … soft, kind of. “I’m ready.”

  They left the house, double-checking as Tessa’s mother always reminded her to, to be sure the front door was locked, hopped into the Jeep, and headed out toward the country.

  Her father steered them down Brattle toward Route 2. “Want to stop at McDonald’s on the way?”

  Hunger and guilt battled within her. She weighed herself all the time, secretly, on the professional scales in her mother’s bathroom, and she hadn’t gained any weight. In fact, she’d lost a couple of pounds. Now the thought of the plump, yielding, hamburger bun, the zest of onions and mustard, the dense dark meat obsessed her. Her stomach growled. Some girls her age dreamed of Leonardo DiCaprio. She also dreamed of hamburgers.

  And the French fries … golden sticks of hot salty grease …

  “Sure.”

  Her father bought her a hamburger and fries, and a cheeseburger for himself. Riding toward Concord, they ate while listening to the radio. Her dad liked some of the music she liked, which was kind of cool and kind of weird.

  After they’d crumpled their wrappers and tossed them into the bag, her father said, “Tessa. I’ve decided to make another change in our lives.”

  Tessa’s lunch turned to stone in her stomach. What now? she thought. Not another woman in his life, not yet, it would make her mother insane. Her mother hadn’t given up on the hope they might reconcile. Tessa hadn’t, either.

  “I’ve decided to move in with Grandpops. My apartment is just too small. I know you hate staying there. I know how much you love the farm. And heaven knows the house is big enough for me to have my own space, and for you to have a really nice room. Concord has excellent schools … if it turns out that you end up living with me. With us. I know how much you love your grandfather, and this way, if I have to go off on an emergency, you’ll have him there to take care of you.” He looked over at her, smiling.

  So this was why he was so happy. He looked younger, and kind of glowing, as if a light had clicked on inside.

  “So what do you think?” he asked.

  “Cool, I guess.” Tessa chewed on a fingernail. A convertible passed them, a man with a white poodle in the passenger seat, its long ears flying backwards. Her mother hated convertibles, said they were accidents waiting to happen.

  “You guess? Anything you want to tell me?”

  She’d made her father’s brow furrow with concern. The light coming from him dimmed. It was so hard, being responsible for her parents’ feelings. Sometimes she thought she didn’t have the energy to do it anymore. Sometimes she felt like opening the door and throwing herself outside. She’d smash into a million pieces, her molecules would escape into the open air, and it would all be over. She’d never make anyone feel bad again.

  “What will Mom think?”

  “You mean because it’s further away from her house? Or because she doesn’t like the farm?”

  “The farm.”

  “Well, Tessa, let’s look at the problem rationally. Your mother’s concerned about germs from the farm, right? So remember that not only did I grow up there in abundant health, but your Aunt Evangeline did, as well. If you did some research, I believe you’d discover that most people consider farms, country life, to be a bonus as far as health goes. Fresh air, that sort of thing. Besides, I’m a physician. I’m qualified to judge whether or not you’re healthy and to take care of you in an emergency. Not to mention that your grandfather is also a physician and has been healthy all his life.”

  “Mom thinks he’s getting senile.”

  “I know she thinks that. And not without reason. Grandmom’s death really knocked the stuffing out of him. It’s only natural that he’s been forgetful recently. This isn’t the reason I’m moving out there—I’m thinking of you, and what’s best for you—but I know it will be a great joy in Grandpops’ life to have you around. The best medicine in the world for grief.”