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But something was making her stay put. Pacing back and forth along the corridor outside the nursery, Dolly kept cooing and jostling, talking to Adam as if he really could understand her.

“Oh, I know, I know … you don’t like it one bit, being handed around to this person and the next like a sack of grain. But your mama’s right down the hall, and

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you’ll be on your way home before you know it. In a chauffeured limousine, no less. How’s that for a red carpet send-off? You’re gonna feel like Elvis Presley. Fact is, you look a little like him … all that black hair. Bet if we had some hair grease, we could make a cute little pompadour out of it.” Softly, she began to hum “Love Me Tender.”

Gradually, Adam stopped wailing. And just as Dolly was beginning to feel confident, and actually proud of herself, she heard the baby grunt… and felt something warm and foul-smelling splatter the front of her blouse. She looked down in dismay at a runny mustard-colored bowel movement dribbling from one leg of his loosely-fitted diaper.

The nurse bustled over. “Oops,” she said. “Guess it was more than just gas. Stay right there … I’ll get a washcloth.”

Dolly stood rooted to the spot, feeling like a dog that’s rolled in manure-and probably smelling like one, too. Then she began to chuckle. Staring down into Adam’s dark blue eyes, she whispered, “Okay, short stuff, you’ve shown me your worst, and I’m still crazy about you. So what now? Can you tell me that? What do I tell Henri?”

Annie was on her way back to the nursery when she saw a green light flash on over one of the elevators. A chime sounded, doors slid open, and two nursing students stepped out, followed by a tall, spectacled man wearing faded jeans and a navy wool pullover, his head bent low as if he were used to ducking through doorways. His streaky brown hair was tousled and his face stamped with color, as if he’d run up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. She felt her heart leap.

“Joe,” she called softly.

“Hey, Annie.”

He looks tired, she thought. Even with his glasses partially hiding his eyes, she could see his dark circles.

She wanted to hug him … but she didn’t feel she could. And, dammit, wasn’t she hurting, too?

“How’s Laurey?” he asked.

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“Fine. I was on my way to the nursery to ask one of the nurses to bring Adam to her. She’s taking him home.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here. I was in the neighborhood, and I thought maybe you guys could use a ride.”

“Thanks,” she told him, “But Dolly’s taking us. Joe, I …” She swallowed hard and felt her throat clench, as if she were trying to force down something bitter. “I guess I ought to thank you. For getting Laurey safely through this. If you hadn’t been there …” She couldn’t bring herself to imagine what might have happened. “Anyway, I’m glad you were there.”

He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Any kid in that big a rush to get born doesn’t need much of a hand. One look at him, and you can see he’s a fighter. Cute, too, isn’t he?”

“He doesn’t look a thing like Laurey.”

“The eyes,” he said, solemnly touching the corner of his own eye with his index finger. “They remind me of yours.”

Annie felt herself grow warm. Oh God, did he know what he was doing to her? Why, if he was going to keep his distance, did he have to remind her of what they’d come so close to sharing? She wanted to shout, throw herself at him, force him out of that polite foxhole of his. Even hitting him or having him knock another hole in the wall would be better than this.

But all she could do was smile. “His father is Puerto Rican. Laurey actually knew him in sixth grade back in Brooklyn, it turns out. He was in that school play you once rushed out to pick her up from. Then they met up again at Syracuse. Quite a coincidence, huh?”

Joe flushed, and he looked away, his gaze following a laundry cart piled high with sheets as it was trundled into an elevator by a dark-skinned orderly. But at the same time she thought she had seen something in his eyes … a flash of emotion that came and went so quickly she wasn’t sure whether she’d imagined it or not.

Jealous? Could he be jealous that he’s not the father?

She noticed he was carrying a gift-wrapped package

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under one arm. “Something for Laurey?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could.

He retrieved it from under his arm as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Dr. Spock,” he said. “Everything you ever wanted to know about babies but were afraid to ask.”

Annie didn’t tell him that Laurel already had been given two copies, one from Rivka and one from Dolly.

A strained silence settled between them like a slowly sinking boat. Finally, he gestured toward the drearylooking lounge with its plastic furniture and vending machines. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

Annie thought that if she drank a cup of coffee right now, she could well burn a hole right through her stomach. Nevertheless, she found herself nodding. “Just a quick one. I promised Laurey I’d be right back.”

The visitors’ lounge was empty except for a man with a yarmulke who sat hunched over, forearms resting against his knees. After he’d fished out change for the coffee, Joe led her over to a pair of molded plastic chairs where they sat side by side, knees barely touching, hands folded about the steaming Styrofoam cups. Annie felt like a statue carved out of ice, yet her heart was racing, and she felt out of breath.

Do you know how often I’ve picked up the phone to call you? Do you know that once in the middle of the night I even went to your apartment? I got as far as your door before I turned around.

Annie stared down at Joe’s scuffed Dock-Siders, their leather ringed with stains. Joe had long feet-not big, just long and narrow-with knobby ankles. For some reason she found herself remembering Emmett, that first night in Paris when he’d shucked his boots off before climbing into bed. How odd that, instead of being repulsed, she’d felt such tenderness.

But now it was Joe’s long legs she imagined tangled about hers in bed, his breath in her hair, his hands …

“How’s it going?” he asked. “The business, I mean.”

“Too good,” she told him, imagining him reading her thoughts, and feeling a hot prickle of discomfort.

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“I hired a new girl to help Louise in the kitchen. If it keeps up like this, I’ll have to put on a swing shift. We can barely keep up with all the orders.”

“If you need anything,” he told her, “just let me know. I could spare a couple of the guys for a few days if you’re ever in a real pinch.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” She stared down at her coffee, which had an iridescence to it that made her think of machine oil; then she set her cup down on the small table, its surface charred with cigarette burns. “How are things at the restaurant? I mean, with the new addition and all.”

“Bursting at the seams already.” He smiled. “Thanks, in part, to my parents. Would you Believe they eat dinner there at least once a week? And sometimes Dad shows up for lunch with a bunch of his cronies. I think he’s mellowing with age. Miracles never cease, huh? Actually, I’m sort of getting used to them being around. I like it-a sort of reversal of my childhood, where I get to be the provider.”

She found herself smiling, in spite of her tenseness. “I’m glad.”

Silence fell again, deeper this time. Annie watched a young nun—one of those modern sisters in a knee-length powder-blue habit, with dark hair crinkling out untidily from under her cropped wimple-slide into the empty chair next to the apathetic man in the yarmulke. She was saying something to him, but Annie couldn’t hear the words. They seemed to be an attempt at comforting him.

“Annie.” She felt Joe’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look at him. She didn’t know why, but she sensed he was going to say something she didn’t want to hear.

She concentrated on holding herself very steady, like a too-full vase of water that might tip over.

If I don’t answer, if I pretend I don’t hear, then he won’t say the terrible thing.

“There’s something you should know,” he went on in a quiet, almost hushed voice. “I’m glad I ran into you, but I just want you to know I would have called you any-

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way. I haven’t said anything to Laurey. I wanted to talk to you first.”

She tugged her gaze upward, forcing herself to meet his eyes. And what she saw in them was terrible. Pity. He was sorry for her. God, oh God.

“What is it, Joe?” she demanded. “For God’s sake, what is it?”

“I’m going to ask Laurey to marry me.”

Her mind seemed to separate from the rest of her, and float over her body like some bizarre version of the Holy Spirit. Everything looked strangely distorted; carts and gurneys seemed to rush past like cars on a freeway while a man creeping by on crutches seemed not to move at all. The overhead fluorescents suddenly seemed to be baking the top of her head until she thought her skull might just explode.

She began thinking of this game she and Laurel used to play when they were younger. “What if?” Simple, but gruesome: “If you had to die, how would you want to go?” Usually, she’d pick freezing over fire, because she’d heard it was less painful. But Laurey thought being guillotined like Marie Antoinette, or burned at the stake like Joan of Arc, would be more romantic. Now Annie realized that all those tortures combined couldn’t seem worse than the agonizing pain she felt right now.

“What?” she heard herself say, but the words seemed not to be connected to her; they might have been flies buzzing against a windowpane.

“Annie …“He tried to take her hand, but she whipped back so violently she banged her elbow against the back of her chair. Pain shot up her arm, bright-hot, bracing.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she said. “Please, don’t make me listen to this.” She had an intense desire to cover her ears, the way a child would have.

Carefully, he removed his glasses and took the bridge of his nose, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. In spite of herself, she marvelled at his lashes, how long and thick they were. His green-brown eyes were bloodshot,

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as if he hadn’t slept in days. He had to be suffering too.

She hated him for that; she hated him for making her feel sorry for him when what she really wanted to do was hurt him as much as he was hurting her.

“Are you in love with her?” she forced herself to ask. “Is that what this is all about?”

He paused.

She felt a piece of her injured heart rejoice. How much could he love her if he had to stop and think about it?

“You could say that,” he responded, seeming to choose his words carefully. “I’ll spare you the two-dollar speech. Annie, I don’t want to hurt you, or insult you. But let me say this: There really are more than one or two kinds of loving, and there’s a whole lot of gray shading in between.”

“I hope you’re not planning to put it to Laurey that way,” she said bitterly. “And I hope you’re not asking me to give you my Good Housekeeping seal of approval. You’re not doing Laurey any favors, you know.”

“It’s more complicated than that, don’t you see? Damn it, I wish it weren’t!” He crumpled his empty cup, and flung it against the wall. “I wish I could say I was just being Joe Samaritan, and then let you talk me out of it.”

“Do you want me to talk you out of it?” She stared at him.

He didn’t answer. “I don’t know,” he said. “What I do know is that what I feel for you hasn’t changed.”

Annie struggled against the tears swelling at the back of her throat. She should tell him how she felt, she thought. She should beg him not to do this thing. But something was holding her back. It was as if her mouth was sealed tight. No, she couldn’t do it … she couldn’t.

Pride? She didn’t know. All she knew at this moment was that she hated the man sitting beside her, hated him and loved him with all her heart and soul.

Annie saw that the man in the yarmulke had begun to weep, and now the young sister was putting her arms around him, rocking him a little. Had his wife died? God,

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what an awful thought. She watched the nun help the sobbing man to his feet. He stumbled a little, and his yarmulke fell askew, dangling from a bobby pin clipped to his thinning gray hair, so that when he reached up to straighten it, he looked, comically, as if he were tipping his hat at her. She imagined the poor man eating alone tonight, leftovers from a meal prepared by his dead wife.

Annie’s heart ached for him, and for herself. But she knew that she’d reached a point where if she tried to cry, no tears would come. They were frozen inside her. And if she touched herself, her skin would feel cold. She’d felt this way once before, the gray afternoon she’d stood in the cemetery, watching Dearie’s coffin being lowered into the ground. Except that this time, it was worse. The person who had died was herself.

“Go,” she told him, her voice flat. “Go to Laurey.”

Later that day, Dolly dialled the Lancaster Hotel, and waited patiently while the line beeped and buzzed its way to Paris. It was four in the afternoon, ten in France, and Henri should have had his dinner by now. She was in her office, upstairs at Girod’s, where she felt more in control, more in charge of herself than at home. Even so, she felt sick at the thought of what lay ahead.

Finally it began to ring, and was answered by a telephoniste who put her through to Henri’s room. She prayed he wouldn’t be in; suddenly, she wanted to put this off.

But tomorrow, and the next day, she knew that her decision would be the same. She had to do this now.

“Henri?”

“Ah! Ch้rie, you must have been reading into my thoughts. I could not wait any longer. I was just now going to call you.”

The sound of his voice caused her to grow lightheaded, as if she’d drunk champagne on an empty stomach. How, in the few hours since they’d spoken, could she have forgotten the effect his voice had on her?

Dolly faltered. But then she remembered how that little baby had felt in her arms. She could feel the warm