fun in Wyoming too, and she thought it was doing her good. Like the others, she had felt the same pull here. There was something almost mystical about the mountains.
And then he asked her something that surprised her. He said he wanted a favor from her, and she couldn't imagine what it was. But she was deeply touched when he asked if she would visit some of his patients. She was so knowledgeable and she had so much experience, it would be invaluable to him if she would see them. He only had about half a dozen, but he read everything he could, and had a huge library on AIDS-related research. He had copies of all her articles, he said. But having her actually consult with him would be the greatest help he could think of.
“Not until you're feeling stronger of course… maybe in a few days…” He looked up at her with hopeful eyes, and she told him she'd be happy to do it. In fact, she was honored,
“What kind of visiting services do you have?” she asked with interest.
“Not bad,” he said modestly, grateful for her interest. “We have a wonderful hospice group, and some terrific nurses. I see everyone I can. I go out to them, I try to rally their friends and families to help them. We're trying to organize some kind of a small central kitchen run by some friends, a little bit like Project Open Hand in San Francisco, on a smaller scale. I hope we never need to service that many people. For the moment, fortunately, we don't have that many cases. But with the influx of people from urban areas, people in the entertainment business, writers, people who just want to escape, I think that, conceivably, we could wind up with a lot more people coming here who have AIDS, possibly even in late stages, and in need of treatment. I'd appreciate all the input from you I can get,” he said, and she nodded soberly. She promised to send him some additional books too, volumes that had been useful to her, and even some of the articles Sam had recommended to her. They started discussing alternative medications then, and by the end of the afternoon they discovered they'd been talking shop for nearly two hours. She was tired by then, and he suggested she take a nap before she tackled dinner. She wanted to go to the dining room, to watch the two-step lesson they were having afterward. It sounded like fun and she knew the others were going. And she wanted to go with them.
“I'll come and see you at the hospital in a few days, or maybe you want me to do house calls with you. See what works best for you,” Zoe said helpfully, “I'm open to anything, just leave me a message.” They were doctor and student now, more than doctor and patient, but he knew that she was well aware, better even than he, of what she needed. She thanked him again for his help the day before, and when he left, she lay down again and fell asleep. She was sleeping soundly when the others came back from riding. It had been a pleasant afternoon for them. They had paired off as they often did now, Hartley rode with Mary Stuart, and Tanya rode on ahead with Gordon. And she was happy to hear he was coming to the dancing lesson in the main living room that night. It was one of the rare occasions when the wranglers were not only allowed to mingle, but asked to. And Gordon was particularly popular because everyone said he was such a good dancer.
Zoe woke up in time to get dressed, and chatted with her friends. With Zoe feeling so much better again, in spite of what they now knew of her disease, they were all in surprisingly high spirits. But their romances had them all laughing and talking and giggling. And once again it reminded all of them of the old days in Berkeley.
“God, it's like being kids again, isn't it?” Tanya said, still amazed at what was happening to each of them. “Do you suppose it's the water here?” She hadn't had as much to say to anyone in years as she seemed to with Gordon, and Mary Stuart and Hartley looked as though they had always been together. They were amazingly comfortable and completely at ease, and they seemed to have identical, or at least compatible, views on almost every subject.
“I've never known anyone like him,” she said. It made her think of living with Bill, even before Todd died. There had always been a considerable divergence of opinion between them, but she'd thought it was interesting, and even at the best of times, there had been a fair amount of amicable conflict. She used to think it gave texture to things, and it shed new light on a variety of situations. But in Hartley's case, everything was so much smoother. Now she saw what it was like being with someone who had the same ideas about things, shared the same views, it was like dancing with Astaire and being Ginger Rogers. She and Bill were no longer even in the same ballroom.
She was halfway out the door that night, in bright red jeans, a matching sweater, and lipstick exactly the same color and her dark hair pulled back, when the phone rang. The others had just gone on ahead, and she had stayed to look for the bright red cowboy boots she'd bought at Billy Martin's. She had just pulled them on and run out the door when the phone rang. And she was tempted not to answer. But it didn't seem fair to the others, it could have been a call from Zoe's child or one of her patients, or something warning Tanya of danger, or a potential problem. She hurried back into the room, carrying her red cashmere shawl, and picked up the phone, sounding breathless.
“Hello?”
“Is Mrs. Walker there.?” She didn't recognize the voice at first. It was a man and she couldn't imagine who was calling.
“This is she. Who is this?” she said formally, and then was startled by the answer.
“Mary Stuart? It didn't sound like you.” It was Bill, and it only underlined how remote they had become. Neither of them had recognized the other. But she hadn't spoken to him in days. Most of the time now, they exchanged brief and extremely uninteresting faxes.
“It didn't sound like you either. I was just running out to dinner.”
“Sorry if this is a bad time,” he said drily. It was three o'clock in the morning for him. And she couldn't imagine why he was calling.
“Is Alyssa all right?” Her heart skipped a beat as she asked him. It was the only reason she could think of now for him calling.
“She's fine,” he said calmly. “I spoke to her yesterday, they're having a ball in Vienna. They had just arrived from Salzburg. They're all over the place, but it's fun for them. I don't suppose we'll see her now all summer.” Mary Stuart smiled at the description of what she was doing. It sounded just like her.
“If you talk to her again, tell her I love her. She hasn't called me. I think the time difference probably makes it too difficult. But I figured she was okay, or she'd have called you. It's late for you. What are you doing up at this hour?” They were like business associates exchanging news, there was nothing personal between them.
“I was working late, and I was stupid enough to drink coffee this afternoon, so here I am, awake at this ungodly hour, so I figured I'd call you. The time difference never really works for me either.” Neither does our marriage, she wanted to add, but she didn't.
“It's nice of you to call,” she said, but sounded unconvincing. She didn't even want to try anymore. She didn't want to warm up to him. She had made her decision. She wanted out now. And it had nothing to do with Hartley Bowman. It had everything to do with William Walker.
“What are you doing there? You haven't told me a thing in your faxes. In fact, I don't think I've heard from you in several days, have I?” He didn't even remember. But it didn't matter to Mary Stuart.
“You don't tell me much either,” she said pointedly.
“There's nothing to tell, I'm working. I'm not going to Annabel's or Harry's Bar. I'm sitting on my duff day after day, night after night, getting ready for this case. It's not much fun, but I think we're going to win it. We're very well prepared.”
“That's nice,” she said, looking down at her red leather boots, and thinking of her husband. But as she listened to him, she found all she could think of now was Hartley. And Bill suffered from the comparison. She couldn't imagine having this conversation with Hartley Bowman, or having the year she had just shared with him. She couldn't imagine any of it, or wanting to live through it again, or even continue any longer.
“What about you?” He was pressing her, and she didn't seem to want to talk. He noticed it too, and wondered about it.
“We're riding every day. It's incredibly beautiful here I've never seen anything like it. The Tetons are spectacular, better than Europe.”
“How are your friends?” Why was he so interested suddenly? She couldn't understand it.
“They're fine.” She didn't say a word about Zoe. “In fact, they're waiting for me for dinner.” She didn't tell him about the two-step lesson afterward, or about Zoe's illness. There was nothing she wanted to share with him. It was over.
“I won't hold you then. Give them my best.” She was about to thank him and say good-bye and there was an awkward pause at his end. It was late for him, and she hadn't seen him in weeks now.
“Stu… I miss you.” There was an endless silence after he said it. She didn't want to mislead him now, and she
