

Stacey glanced at her watch. Okay, so she was going to be a little late. What was more important, getting to the office or having a few more words with her son?
Jim won, hands down.
It was no contest, even if there was a sliver of guilt attached. But then, she was raised Catholic and the blood of both Italians and Jews flowed through her veins. There was always a sliver of guilt attached. To everything.
Crossing to the threshold that led out into the hallway, she called after Jim. "You're going to miss these long, lengthy talks when you move out."
Jim had just gotten to the foot of the stairs and he turned to look at her. He knew what she was really saying, no matter how much humor she laced around her tone. She didn't want him moving out. He'd come home every weekend while attending UCLA. And only gotten more estranged from the rest of the family during those years.
It was time for him to fly the coop for good. Way past time.
"Forget it, Mom." He grinned as he proclaimed, "I'm not staying. The end of the week, I'm gone." And then, because at bottom he didn't like being the source of hurt for her, he added, "There's always the telephone."
She looked at him knowingly. "Which you won't use."
He shrugged. "You never know, maybe I don't have any of Dad in me at all." He stuffed the remainder of the French toast piece into his mouth. Powdered sugar rained from both corners of his lips.
His comment was a not-too-veiled remark about all the times she'd waited in vain for a call from Brad, telling her he was delayed, or had an emergency surgery. All the times dinner got cold and carefully made plans got canceled.
It was all true, but she still didn't like the stance Jim had taken against his father. Despite all his rhetoric explaining his attitude, she still didn't understand, still couldn't reconcile the loving boy she'd known to the cynically combative one she found herself confronting over and over again.
"Jim---"
Jim held up hands that were dusty with sugar, stopping her before she went any further. "I can't stay here. He hates me."
"He doesn't hate you," she insisted with feeling. "He's your father, he loves you."
Standing on the second step of the staircase, he towered over her. And used the image to his advantage as he looked down at her with a masterful sneer. "The two aren't a set."
A part of her wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him. "In this case, they are. He does love you, Jim, he just doesn't understand you." And neither do I, she added silently.
The look in Jim's eyes had a hint of contempt in it. "That makes two of us."
She jumped at the first thing that struck her. Because she could vividly remember how unsure of herself, of her choices she'd been when she was only a little younger than he was. "You don't understand do you? That's only natural at this point in your life."
Jim was quick to set her straight. "Him, Mom, him. I don't understand him. Me, I understand." The affirmation was made so casually and comfortably, Stacey realized that her son actually meant it. "I just want to make music. My music, my way."
His way.
The words echoed in her head. And how often had she heard that, in one form or another? Silent or implied. Brad's mantra. "There's more of your father in you than you think."
She saw the annoyed frown and knew how much he hated being compared to the man he was trying so hard not to be. The man he so often so closely resembled in looks and in spirit. But there were times she just couldn't keep quiet, couldn't refrain from pointing out the obvious. And hope that she could get through to Jim. And he would stop thinking of himself as some sort of an island and realize that he was part of the family.
Stacey glanced at her watch again and winced inwardly. She should have already been behind the wheel of her car, stuck in traffic for the past ten minutes.
"To be continued," she promised.
Jim spread his hands before him, giving her a little bow like the performer he felt destined to be. "I'll be here all week, folks. Till Friday. And then I shall be liberated."
She shook her head. "I have no idea how you managed to survive all this cruelty heaped on your head all these years," she remarked as she hurried back to the kitchen to get her purse.
Jim raised his voice so that it would follow her into the next room. "Me, neither."
"Well, you certainly don't look like a happy camper. The new software giving you trouble?"
Kathy Conners's new perfume preceded her as she leaned over Stacey's shoulder to glance at a screen that made absolutely no sense to her. Although she was better at it than the doctors she worked for, the computer was definitely not her best friend.
Stacey was.
Ten pounds heavier and two shades lighter blond than she had been in her wedding pictures, Kathy Conners was just half an inch over five feet. It was a fact that had annoyed her no end until Stacey had convinced her that petite was a far better description for her than "runt of the litter," which was the way her older brother used to refer to her. She had known Stacey even longer than Brad had and it was Kathy who had gotten this job for her.
Stacey turned away from the screen. Despite her late start, she'd gotten to the office half an hour before everyone else. Early enough to begin installing the new program without having a gaggle of well-meaning but computer-illiterate doctors hovering over her shoulder, asking questions that only impeded her progress. Once patients began showing up for their appointments, the new software was put on hold.
"The software is being software," Stacey replied. "Resisting having its code cracked at first go-round." She shrugged. Since she'd become office manager, she'd learned a great deal about computers and software, all out of necessity. Trial by fire, so to speak. "But that's nothing new. Shouldn't take long to have everything up and running."
Kathy shed the sweater she'd thrown over her shoulders and held tightly to her cup of coffee. "So why the frown?" She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise?"
Stacey laughed softly to herself. "Today, playing the part of paradise will be hell." The second the words were out, a faint, rueful smile gave the slightest curve to her lips. "Actually, that's not fair."
Kathy stopped sipping her giant-size iced coffee. "That's your problem, Stacey, you're always thinking about being fair. Stop that," she chided. "Nobody else is thinking about being fair. Life isn't fair. The world isn't fair," she insisted heatedly. "Why should you be so concerned about always being fair?"
Something was up, Stacey thought, studying her friend. Kathy sounded way too bitter. "It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it. Besides, I'm not nearly as pessimistic as you."
"Don't see why not." Kathy took another long sip through her straw. "You're married, too."
Stacey debated asking what was wrong or waiting until whatever was bothering Kathy came pouring out of her. "Marriage is not the end of the dream, Kathy."
"It certainly isn't the beginning of it."
Stacey turned in her chair, her eyes following Kathy as the latter moved around the office. Were those tears shimmering in her eyes, or just a trick played by the lighting? "You seem unusually bitter this morning."
"Thanks for noticing." After dragging the last bit of coffee down her throat, Kathy crushed her cup before throwing it into the trash with enough force to slam dunk a basketball in a championship game. "Ethan wants a divorce."
Stacey looked at the calendar on the side of her desk. "It's the middle of the month. Doesn't he usually ask for a divorce around now? You get the end of the month, he gets the middle. You both realize you can't live without each other around the first?"
Her words didn't evoke a smile from Kathy the way they usually did. "This time, I think he's serious."
On her feet, Stacey drew closer to her. Her voice was soft, compassionate. "Why?"
Kathy raised her head, shaking it a little like a kewpie doll about to stonewall anyone offering the slightest bit of sympathy. Her eyes were even brighter with tears.
"Because he didn't shout it. He just said it. Quietly. Like he'd been thinking about it and just said it out loud to see how it sounded."
Stacey slipped her arm around the woman's shoulders. "Do you want to divorce him?"
This time, the tears became a reality. "Of course I don't. I'm forty-eight years old," she snapped, pulling away. Wishing she had something to punch that wouldn't hurt her knuckles. Like Ethan's soft midsection. "I don't want to have to start over again with someone else."
"There has to be a better reason to stay in a marriage than that," Stacey told her kindly. This wasn't the first time she'd heard Kathy bandying the word divorce about. But before, it was Kathy who was vocal about leaving Ethan.
"Maybe." She brushed the back of her hand against her damp cheek. There was a smudge of mascara across the skin. She murmured a curse. She was going to look like a bat and it was all Ethan's fault. "But that's all I got."
Stacey didn't believe it for a minute. Taking her best friend by the shoulders, she forced Kathy to look at her. "And you don't love him?"
Kathy tossed her head. "What's love got to do with it?"
"Everything, Tina Turner." Stacey laughed. "Everything."
Kathy went on the offensive---or thought she did. "After all this time, you still love Brad."
There wasn't a single moment's hesitation on her part. "Yes."
"Even though living with him is like being stuck in a reenactment of Where's Waldo?"
It was second nature for Stacey to defend her own, no matter what she felt to the contrary. "I see him more often than that."
"This is me you're talking to, Stacey, the woman you've poured your heart out to."
Stacey laughed softly to herself. Served her right for talking. "My bad."
Kathy looked at her, confused. "What?"
She'd forgotten. Kathy and Ethan had three dogs and no children. Popular slang bypassed them all the time. "Something Jim says. It means my mistake. My error."
"The error," Kathy said with feeling, "is that God didn't make disposable men. You know, like disposable cameras. You get what you want out of them, then throw them away." The thought really pleased her as she rolled it around in her head, picturing Ethan in a giant wastepaper basket. "Kind of like the Amazons. Those Amazons, boy, they had the right idea when it came to men. You fool around with them, and then you kill them. Neat, clean. No muss, no fuss."
Stacey smiled. She knew Kathy inside and out. Knew what was behind this display of anger. Coming up behind her, she whispered in her friend's ear. "He doesn't want a divorce, Kathy."
Kathy gave up the ruse. Turning, she covered her mouth with both hands. "Oh, God, I hope not."
"Why don't you go home early today?" she suggested. Granted, this was Monday, which was always busy, but this was an emergency. She could cover for Kathy as long as no one wanted her to give a shot. Besides, there were two other nurses to take up the slack, provided there was any. "Make something special for dinner, put on something sexy, lower the lights---"
A self-deprecating snort escaped her lips. "The way I cook, I'll have to lower the lights so he doesn't see what he's eating."
"Then bring home takeout and warm it up. The meal isn't the main thing. You are." Stacey squeezed her hand. "It'll be all right."
Kathy raised her chin a little, half hopeful, half pugnacious. "Thanks, Dear Abby." And then her smile softened. "I hope you're right," she all but whispered.
Me, too, Stacey thought. Me, too.
"I've got to get back to this before the patients start coming," she said, sitting down at her desk.
The front door opened and a child was heard wailing.
"Too late," Kathy announced.
The words sounded more like a prophesy.
Stacey held back a shiver. God, I hope not.


