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  “In return,” Frannie said, “I promise you I’ll do my very best to help you through this. You have my word of honor.” The woman’s words sounded like a sacred oath, and Polly wanted so very much to believe them. “Okay. I promise. No suicide.” She took Frannie’s extended hand and held it for a moment. It was a long-fingered hand, warm and surprisingly strong.

  “Then I’ll set up appointments for us starting tomorrow, Mrs. Forsythe.”

  “I guess you’d better call me ‘Polly.’”

  Frannie’s smile showed she was pleased. “I’d like that, if you’ll call me ‘Frannie.’ Now, I’ll go and talk to the resident about your admission. Do you want me to send your husband in to be with you?”

  The agony had eased somewhat while Frannie was there, but now it came back. Michael couldn’t make it go away. Wearily, Polly shook her head.

  “He needs to get back to his office. He’ll have patients waiting.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Frannie confirmed.

  The door sighed shut, and once again Polly was alone. She looked at her watch. She’d been at the hospital almost two hours now. Time was passing.

  Time. Half the well-meaning people at the funeral had muttered platitudes to her about time healing all wounds, and it had been all she could do not to scream and strike out at them. How could they talk about a future? All that mattered was the moment, and getting through it somehow to the next without Susannah.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Fourteen months later, Seattle, Washington

  “Michael. It’s Michael Forsythe, isn’t it?”

  Michael paused in the hallway outside the meeting room and waited until the short, robust man with the graying hair caught up to him.

  “Good to see you again, Michael.” The man smiled and stuck out a hand, which Michael shook as he combed his memory for the other doctor’s name and came up empty.

  “Ralph Stern, from Pasadena. Internal medicine. We met three years ago at that conference in Vancouver. How’ve you been?”

  “Fine, thank you.” Michael summoned a smile, still trying to place Stern. Fortunately, the other man was a talker.

  “I spotted you at the presentation yesterday afternoon. Wanted to say hello then and there, but I promised my wife I’d take her out for dinner and then shopping right after the seminar. It went lots longer than I figured, so I had to leave before it ended.” He winked. “Mary was put out with me as it was. You know how women are about things like that. Your wife with you?”

  “Not this time.” Michael vaguely remembered meeting Stern, but again no details sprang to mind.

  Stern didn’t have the same problem. “You still living in Vancouver? G.P., I seem to recall, with your own practice. Am I right?”

  Michael nodded. “You have a good memory, Ralph. Better than mine, I’m ashamed to admit.”

  Stern leaned close and whispered, “Ginkgo biloba.” His breath smelled of garlic. “Swear by the stuff. Couldn’t remember my own phone number before I started taking it. Not approved by the American Medical Association, but hey, whatever works, is my policy.”

  “And mine. I’ve heard of ginkgo. I’ll try it, if I can remember to get some.” Michael smiled at his own weak joke, and Stern grinned appreciatively.

  “You’re still too young to need it. Speaking of memory loss, I see Griffon’s giving a presentation on Alzheimer’s this afternoon. Should be interesting. You staying for the dinner tonight?”

  Michael shook his head. “I want to get home early. I have a meeting to attend tonight. I’m leaving right after lunch.”

  "Smart idea.. .beat the traffic. What is it, about a three-hour drive from Seattle to Vancouver?”

  “If you avoid rush hour and get lucky at the border. Did you drive up from Pasadena?”

  “Yeah, and we’re not going back until Sunday. We don’t get to Seattle often. Might as well take advantage while we’re here. Mary’s mother’s supervising the kids. It’s a chance for us to kick back and relax, enjoy some time alone together. You have a family, Michael?"

  Michael’s stomach clenched the way it always did when he was forced to speak of Susannah, but his voice remained calm and matter-of-fact. “One daughter. We lost her fourteen months ago. She was nine years old. Astrocytoma.”

  Shock played across Stern’s face, and Michael felt the immediate emotional distancing that occurred with a lot of people whenever he spoke of Susannah’s death from brain cancer. They didn’t know how to respond, and it made them pull away.

  “God, I’m really sorry.” Stern’s face turned magenta, as if he’d committed a social blunder of the very worst type. It was a reaction that had become familiar to Michael over the past months. He’d learned that doctors, who dealt with death all the time, were just as awkward as anyone else when death became personal.

  “What a helluva thing to have happen.”

  Michael had never managed to formulate the right reply to that. He nodded and remained silent.

  Stern reached out and gripped Michael’s forearm in a wordless attempt at condolence. “Well, guess we’d better get in there if we’re going,” he said in a hearty tone. “Good to have met you again.”

  Michael let the other man precede him through the doors to the conference room, sensing that Stern was relieved to get away. For a moment he stood with his hand on the knob, considering, then he turned and strode down the hall to the elevators.

  Up in his room he went straight to the phone and punched in his calling-card information. Then he dialed his home number, knowing even as the phone rang that Polly wouldn’t be there. If he’d really wanted to talk to her, he would have used the number of the cell phone she always carried in her handbag.

  He didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to listen. Calling his home number was a ritual he’d performed for months now, and he’d stopped feeling foolish about it.

  After the third ring the answering machine picked up. His wife’s husky voice, with its undertones of energy and animation, said, “I’ve gone shopping, big surprise. Leave your name and number and I’ll call you back.”

  Just the sound of her voice was enough. The ache in his gut, the tension in his body, eased somewhat, and he hung up before the beep. He gathered up his shaving kit, stuffed several soiled shirts into the side compartment of his sports bag and bent over the bed as he packed his grey suit and tweed sport coat in the suitcase.

  Straightening, he caught sight of himself in the mirror on the opposite wall. He noticed the strain on his face, the grimness of his expression.

  “Smile, Forsythe, smile,” Polly used to tease, pushing up the comers of his mouth with her fingers. “You gotta learn to smile more, you’re gonna scare your patients. Practice, now. One, two, you can do it. That’s the ticket, feel the burn.”

  She hadn’t done that in a very long time. He gave the room a last careful check, then shouldered his bags and made his way down to the desk, a tall, powerful man with perpetually tousled, curly black hair, tanned skin and an intense manner. He was entirely unaware of the appreciative glances of several well-dressed women in the lobby.

  Ten minutes later he was in his car, winding his way through Seattle’s noon-hour traffic toward the freeway. It was a sunny, warm April day, but he rolled the windows up and turned on the air-conditioning. Then he slid a tape of classical music into the player and turned up the volume until he could feel the sound permeating every cell in his body.

  This, too, had become a ritual. He’d learned that if the music was loud enough, he could lose himself in it. He thought for a wistful moment of Polly, wondering where she was and what she was doing, and then he let the music overwhelm him.

  Polly was thinking about buying the skirt and vest she’d just tried on in Brambles, one of her favorite small boutiques on Vancouver’s trendy Robson Street.

  “That’s striking on you, Mrs. Forsythe. I knew it was you as soon as I saw it. You’ve gotta be really slim to wear that cut, and the color’s great with your hair.
I love it short, by the way.”

  “Thanks, Dana. It’s a good fit, isn’t it?” Polly stroked a hand down the aubergine silk vest, turning in front of the three-way mirror to check the back view. The bias-cut skirt clung to her hips and thighs, then flared provocatively to mid calf length. The vest was good even with the simple navy T-shirt she had on; buttoned up, the vest could go it alone for evening wear. And it would work with other things in her wardrobe, she assured herself. Which was a ridiculous rationalization, because she had so many clothes that inevitably something was bound to go with something else. She glanced at the tag, raised her eyebrows and whistled.

  “It’s pricey, but it’s a designer label,” Dana said. “The quality’s there, full lining, finest silk.”

  “What the heck, I’ll take it.” Polly went into the dressing room and slipped off the outfit, then handed it over the top of the door along with her charge card. “Do this for me while I change, will you, Dana? I’m late, I’m meeting my sister for lunch. It’s her birthday.”

  She quickly wriggled into her slim paisley skirt and matching jacket, then settled the gold chains she’d looped around her neck and ran restless fingers through her wheat-colored hair, encouraging it to stand on end just the way Louie had when he cut it yesterday afternoon.

  She leaned in close to the mirror and applied color the shade of ripe strawberries to her full mouth, then fumbled in her bag for the amber shadow that matched her eyes. She brushed some on, found her small round sunglasses in her purse and put them on, then burst out of the change cubicle.

  Dana already had Polly’s purchases folded in tissue inside one of Bramble’s distinctive black shopping bags.

  Polly scribbled her signature on the charge-card receipt without even looking at the total, waved a cheery goodbye and hurried out to her car. She and Norah hardly ever met for lunch, and now she was going to be at least fifteen minutes late, she realized, squealing the tires as she pulled into traffic.

  She knew Norah was always ten minutes early, which drove Polly nuts. It made her feel inadequate.

  Why did so many things make her feel inadequate lately? Or was it just one big thing—her marriage—that made her feel that way? She shoved the thought out of her head and concentrated on driving. There was a parking space right in front of the cafe. She breathed a prayer of thankfulness and wheeled into it.

  After grabbing the present from the seat beside her, she shoved change into the meter, then sprinted into the restaurant, deliberately ignoring the sign that indicated the parking spot had a thirty-minute limit.

  She saw Norah right away, in a long, loose, printed beige dress that didn’t do a thing for her. How could her sister have been born without any sense of style? Polly wondered in despair. Norah was sitting at one of the wrought-iron tables in the garden area under the skylight, sipping iced tea.

  Polly plunked herself on the empty chair across from her, blew out a huge breath and handed over the birthday gift. “Sorry I’m late. Happy thirty-fourth, baby sister.”

  Norah smiled the hesitant one-sided smile that was one of her greatest charms. She stroked the small box with a forefinger. “Look at this wrapping paper. I hate to even open it it’s so wonderful.”

  Polly grinned with pleasure. She’d spent hours the night before designing the wrapping paper and the card, painting tiny roses all over crumpled brown paper, figuring out a card that was meaningful.

  Norah carefully undid the card from the intricately knotted twine and slid it out of its envelope.

  Polly had found a childhood picture of the two of them and glued it onto a folded piece of rag paper. Polly was about eight, Norah six. They were sitting on the steps of their parents’ house, squinting into the sun, arms wound tightly around each other, knees bare and scabby.

  Their mother had taken the picture. Taking pictures had been Isabelle’s hobby. She must have told them to smile, because they both had huge phony grins on their faces. Norah was missing two top teeth right in the front. Inside the card Polly had printed: “With or without teeth, you’ll always be the sister of my heart. Happy birthday, dear Norah.”

  Norah’s hazel eyes filled with tears, and she gave Polly a quavery grin. “Thanks so much, Pol. Your cards always make me cry. How can you figure out exactly the right thing to say?” She unwrapped the gift, then folded the paper into a meticulous, tidy square before she took the lid off the small jewelry box.

  Norah’s exclamation of shocked delight was exactly what Polly had hoped for. She watched as her sister lifted the antique oversize gold watch on its long, heavy chain out of the nest of cotton wool. The intricately scrolled case glowed in the muted sunlight that poured through the skylight above them.

  “Oh, this is too much. Oh, Polly, it’s exquisite. But it must have cost the earth.”

  “Try it on.” Polly bounded to her feet took the watch and slipped it over Norah’s dark, silky head, settling it on the front of her nondescript dress. The watch made a statement, just as Polly had known it would.

  Norah was tall, five-seven to Polly’s five-four, and her height meant she could wear such an important piece.

  “Oh, Polly.” Norah’s eyes were troubled. “It’s far too expensive. You can’t spend this kind of money on me.”

  “Phooey. It’s perfect on you. I saw it and just knew you had to have it. Pretend it’s a family heirloom.”

  “That’s a whopping big pretend. Our family runs more to plastic than gold.” Norah cradled the watch in her hand. “I’m very grateful, don’t think that I’m not, but I still think it cost way too much.”

  “Stop worrying and just enjoy, okay?” The waiter appeared, and Polly grabbed the menu and studied it, then made an instant decision. “Cauliflower soup and a vegetarian bagel on sesame, loaded.”

  Norah took much longer, asking questions about the daily soup and the types of salad dressing before she finally ordered. Then, still cradling the watch in her palm, she tipped her head to one side, eyeing Polly. “When did you get your hair cut?”

  “Yesterday afternoon. I got tired of it long. You like?”

  Norah considered and then nodded. “You got it streaked, too, right? I definitely like it, but I thought you said once that Michael liked your hair long.”

  Polly felt a stab of irritation. It was hard to tell anymore what Michael liked, and she didn’t appreciate Norah’s reminding her of it She waved her hand airily. “Nothing like a change. It’s a surprise. He hasn’t seen it yet. He’s in Seattle at some medical conference.”

  “How come you didn’t go along? I thought you loved Seattle.”

  Polly shrugged. “I didn’t feel like it this time.” And Michael hadn’t asked her. She really didn’t want to talk about Michael right now. “Why don’t you get your hair cut, too, Norah? This new guy I found is a genius. His name’s Louie. He’s in a salon on Granville. You could get it lightened a couple of shades. I bet it’d turn a rich oak color.”

  She squinted at Norah. If anyone was guessing, they’d probably assume Norah was the older sister, with her straight, brown, no-nonsense, shoulder-length bob and her frumpy dress. Although the watch really helped. No doubt about it.

  “I like my hair this way. It’s easy to pin up into a bun for work, and I don’t have to fuss about getting it cut all the time.”

  Polly had had enough similar conversations to know that Norah wouldn’t change her mind, so she gave up.

  “How’s work going? Lotsa babies?” Norah was an obstetrical nurse at St. Joe’s. She’d never married, and work was her whole life, as far as Polly could figure.

  “An avalanche of them. Must be the full moon. Yesterday we delivered the cutest twins you ever saw, a boy and a girl, both with curly red hair. The parents already have four other kids and the dad’s out of a job, so this is gonna be a real stretch for them. The pregnancy was an accident.” Norah rolled her eyes. “Listen to the moms and it sounds like three out of every five kids are unplanned. Makes you wonder what people are thinking about. Not
birth control, that’s for sure.”

  Polly nodded and smiled and did her best to look interested, while inside her heart kicked painfully against her ribs just as the child she longed to carry would have, the child Michael refused to let her conceive, the child who would fill the aching void Susannah had left behind.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Polly often imagined the child she would have. It would be round-cheeked and beautiful. Its downy head would nuzzle her breast as a rosebud mouth closed greedily around her nipple. One tiny hand would curl around her finger, relaxing as her milk soothed the hunger pangs.

  She should trick him, get pregnant without his consent, sabotage the condoms, the spermicidal cream. It wasn’t the first time she’d considered it. After all, she’d tell him, accidents happened all the time, just ask Norah.

  Except she couldn’t. It would be a betrayal of everything in their marriage. Not that Michael didn’t want another child; she knew that. It was because of that first miscarriage; and then Susannah’s birth had been difficult, so difficult he wouldn’t let her try again. But it was her body, damn it. It was her life. She’d screamed those very facts at him only days ago.

  He’d said, in that quiet, deliberate doctor tone that drove her nutty, that although her body was hers, he refused to risk her life with his child.

  “Cauliflower soup? And the Caesar for you, ma’am. Enjoy.” The waiter placed their food on the table, and Polly concentrated on it, willing herself to taste, to swallow, to comment on how good everything was, even though she wasn’t hungry in the slightest.

  “You talked to Mom recently?” Norah buttered a hot roll.

  Polly shook her head. Here was still another subject she’d rather not get into. “Not since that last argument I had with her over the yard. You?”

  Norah nodded. “She called this morning. Wants me to go over there for supper tonight to celebrate my birthday. I thought maybe she’d invited you and Michael.”