father’s angry one. Then Sanders said something like ‘There’s still work to be done.’ ”
Harvey’s body went rigid. “Jesus.”
“That’s all I heard. I left after that.”
“Are you sure—”
The phone rang. For a moment neither of them moved, their eyes locked onto each other’s. Then Harvey lowered his gaze and moved toward the phone.
“Hello.”
Eric’s voice came in a rush. “Get down to the lab, Harv. Hurry.”
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s Michael, Harvey. Oh God, it’s Michael.”
Michael pressed the button and held it down. Slowly and with a whir, the bed began to move, curling his frame into a sitting position. He coughed twice into his fist and then smiled at Sara.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Take a sip.”
Michael brought the plastic cup to his lips and drank.
“How’s the orange juice?” Sara asked.
“Tastes like paint thinner,” he replied. “What time is it?”
“Seven a.m. Did you sleep well?”
“Not really,” he said. “I don’t like sleeping in separate beds.”
“Neither do I,” Sara said, “but my bed is only a yard away.”
“Makes it worse. Sort of like being able to see the Holy Grail and not grasp it.”
“How poetic.”
“To put it somewhat less poetically, I want your bod.”
“And I yours,” Sara said. “Every time you stand up I see your cute little ass hanging out the back of your hospital gown. It drives me crazy.”
“I know. I’m such a tease.” He pushed the orange juice away and glanced up. “So tell me, how’s the story on Harv’s clinic going?”
“We start shooting the interviews later today. It’ll be hectic as all hell, so I may not be able to stop in as much.”
“Good. I’ll be able to get a little peace and quiet.”
“Not so fast, handsome. I’ll still be able to come by around lunch and dinner. And I’ll still be sleeping in that bed come this evening.”
He grabbed her and they kissed. “Can’t get rid of you, huh?”
“Never.”
They kissed again.
Behind them, the door opened. Sara turned and watched Harvey and Eric enter. Their grim expressions seemed to magnify into looks of tremendous pain when they saw Michael and Sara embracing. Sara took a second look at their faces, at the way they held their heads, at the way their hands stayed still in their pockets. And she knew. She knew without question or hesitation. It was over. Everything was over. She held Michael closely, feeling his muscles stiffen. She wanted very much to scream.
Harvey stepped forward and closed the door. “We need to talk.”
10
Jennifer Riker lifted her face toward the sun, enjoying the feel of the warm rays against her skin. She passed a store window, stopped, took two steps backward, and examined her reflection. The late forties, she thought, had not been particularly easy on her looks. Her petite figure was beginning to spread a little. The small lines around her eyes were deepening into full-fledged (no sense denying it) wrinkles. Her neck was starting to crease. She looked again and wondered for the millionth time if she had done the right thing, if she had not, as so many had warned her, jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.
She thought about it a moment before acknowledging that, in truth, there had been no choice. To stay with Harvey would have meant to wither away in a world of watching too many soap operas and feeling utterly worthless. To remain married would have meant playing the dutiful wife to a man who had dedicated his life to a cause and assumed those around him had chosen to do the same. Just looking at Harvey on those rare nights when he’d come home from the clinic, exhaustion blanketing his face and posture, made Jennifer feel inadequate and selfish. She had to get out.
And so she left. She made her escape before the weight of her depression had a chance to squash her spirit completely. She moved to Los Angeles, where she now lived (quite happily, thank you) with her sister, Susan, and her young nephew, Tommy. During her twenty-six years of marriage to Harvey, Jennifer had rarely ventured off the East Coast, never visiting California, not even going as far west as Chicago. She and Harvey had been snobbish Northeasterners, believing that the only cultural life of the country bloomed within the boundaries of the original thirteen colonies.
But Los Angeles had its advantages over New York, albeit they were mostly the obvious. The warmer climate, for one; the warmer attitude, for another. Jennifer enjoyed the laid-back California lifestyle — especially after the pressure of the last few years. And living with Susan had ended up being fun, almost like reliving her childhood in certain respects. Jennifer and Susan had always been close, confiding in each other even as small children. As they grew older, both sisters decided that they would always live near each other. Jennifer, older than Susan by two years, had gotten married first, to a doctor named Harvey Riker. Almost in a rush not to be left behind, Susan married another doctor, Bruce Grey, a year and a half later. Harvey and Bruce quickly became friends and even medical partners while Jennifer and Susan continued to grow closer and closer. Everything was moving along perfectly until one minor problem began to snag up the works.
Bruce and Susan started drifting apart.
After a few futile attempts to save a dying marriage, Susan left Bruce, moving to Los Angeles and taking their seven-year-old son, Tommy, with her. Jennifer and Harvey had been horrified when they heard. They started to feel isolated and afraid, and for the first time, Harvey and Jennifer began to question their own happiness and examine their own relationship. From then on, it had been only a question of time.
Jennifer closed her eyes and sighed. She took out a key, opened the door, and stepped inside the apartment. Almost immediately the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Is this Mrs. Susan Grey?”
“She’s not here at the moment. May I ask who’s calling?”
“Is this Mrs. Jennifer Riker?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Riker. This is Terence Lebrock.”
“Oh, you’re the executor of Bruce’s will.”
“That’s correct. I just wanted to let you know that I sent a post office box key via overnight mail yesterday. You should be receiving it today.”
“A post office box key? I’m not sure I understand.”
“Dr. Grey kept a post office box in the main branch of the Los Angeles post office. I think it would be best if somebody clears out that box right away. There might be important papers in there.”
Jennifer thought for a moment. Odd that Bruce had a post office box in Los Angeles. Of course it could be the same one he had used during his two-year stint in the research department at UCLA, but why would he have saved it? She shrugged. It was probably another example of Bruce’s compulsive personality.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Lebrock. I’ll clear it out today.”
The silence was staggering. It filled the room, expanding, growing larger and larger until Sara was sure the walls around them were about to give way. First, there had been denial. How could it be? Michael had never
