“I see,” said Mr. McGuire. “But I can assure you that we are interested in you and not your father. Now, I would like to hear about your schooling and work experience.”

Crossing his legs, Adam began from the beginning, starting with grammar school and leading up to medical school. He described all his summer jobs. It took about fifteen minutes.

“Very good,” said Mr. McGuire when Adam had finished. “If you’ll wait outside for a few minutes, I’ll be out shortly.” As soon as the door closed, McGuire picked up the phone and called his boss, William Shelly. Shelly’s secretary answered, and McGuire told Joyce to put the VP on the line.

“What is it?” asked Bill Shelly, his voice crisp and commanding.

“I just finished interviewing Adam Schonberg,” said Mr. McGuire, “and you were right. He is David Schonberg’s son, and he’s also one of the best candidates I’ve seen in five years. He’s perfect Arolen executive material, right down to his philosophies about current medical practice.”

“Sounds good,” agreed Bill. “If he works out, you’ll get a bonus.”

“I’m afraid I can’t take credit for finding him,” said Clarence. “The kid called me.”

“You’ll get the bonus just the same,” said Bill. “Give him some lunch and then bring him up to my office. I’d like to talk with him myself.”

Clarence hung up the phone and returned to the waiting area outside his office. “I just spoke with the vice-president in charge of marketing who is my boss and he’d like to talk with you after lunch. What do you say?”

“I’m flattered,” said Adam.

Jennifer turned away from the window in Cheryl’s room and looked at her friend. She seemed almost angelic with her white skin and freshly washed blond hair. The tranquilizer that she’d been given had obviously taken effect. Cheryl was asleep, her head comfortably elevated on a pillow.

Jennifer didn’t know what to do. Cheryl had been brought back from the treatment room and told about Dr. Foley’s death. Marlene Polaski had tried to convince Cheryl that Dr. Stephenson was as good a doctor as Dr. Foley and that Cheryl should go ahead and have the procedure done. She reminded Cheryl that every day that passed made the abortion more risky.

Jennifer eventually had agreed with Marlene and had tried to change Cheryl’s mind, but the girl continued to insist that no one was going to touch her except Dr. Foley. It was as if she refused to believe the man had committed suicide.

Staring at the still form on the bed, Jennifer noticed that her friend’s eyes were slowly opening.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine,” said Cheryl sleepily.

“I think I should be going,” said Jennifer. “I’ve got to get dinner ready before Adam gets home. I’ll give you a call later. I can come back tomorrow if you’d like. Are you sure you don’t want Dr. Stephenson to do the procedure?”

Cheryl’s head lolled to the side. When she spoke, her words were slurred. “What did you say? I didn’t hear you exactly.”

“I said I think I’ll be going,” said Jennifer, smiling in spite of herself. “Did they give you some champagne before they brought you back here? You sound drunk.”

“No champagne,” murmured Cheryl as she fumbled with the bed covers. “I’ll walk you to the elevator.” Cheryl threw back the blanket, inadvertently jerking the IV line that was still attached to her left arm.

“I think you’d better stay where you are,” said Jennifer. Her smile disappeared, and she felt the initial stirring of fear. She reached out to restrain Cheryl.

But Cheryl already had her legs over the side of the bed and was pushing herself up into a shaky sitting position. At that point she noticed that she had pulled out her IV and was bleeding from the spot where the tube had entered her arm.

“Look what I did,” Cheryl said. She pointed to the IV and in doing so, lost her balance.

Jennifer tried to grab her shoulders, but in a limp, fluid movement, Cheryl slipped off the bed onto the floor. All Jennifer could do was to ease her down. She ended up bent double, her face resting on her knees.

Jennifer didn’t know what to do: call for help or lift Cheryl. Since Cheryl was in such an unnatural position, she decided to help her back to bed and then get the nurses, but when she raised Cheryl’s arms, all she saw was blood.

“Oh God!” she cried. Blood was pouring from Cheryl’s nose and mouth. Jennifer turned her on her back and noted that the skin around her eyes was black and blue, as if she’d been beaten. There was more blood on her legs, coming from beneath the hospital gown.

For a few seconds Jennifer was paralyzed. Then she lunged for the nurse’s call button and pressed it repeatedly. Cheryl still had not moved. Abandoning the call button, Jennifer dashed to the door and frantically called for help. Marlene appeared almost immediately and pushed past Jennifer, who flattened herself against the wall of the corridor, her hands pressed to her mouth. Several other hospital nurses rushed into the room. Then someone ran out and issued an emergency page over the previously silent PA system.

Jennifer felt someone take her arm. “Mrs. Schonberg. Can you tell us what happened?”

Jennifer turned to face Marlene. There was blood on the side of the nurse’s cheek. Jennifer peered into the room. They were giving Cheryl mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

“We were talking,” said Jennifer. “She didn’t complain about anything. She just sounded drunk. When she tried to get out of bed, she collapsed and then there was all that blood.”

Several doctors, including Dr. Stephenson, ran down the hallway and into Cheryl’s room. Soon another doctor arrived with what looked like an anesthesia machine. Marlene helped him maneuver it into the room, leaving Jennifer alone. Jennifer leaned against the wall, feeling dizzy. She was vaguely aware of other patients standing in the doorways of their rooms.

Two orderlies appeared with a gurney. A moment later Jennifer saw Cheryl for the last time as she was taken back to the treatment room. She had a black anesthesia mask clasped over her shockingly pale face. At least a dozen people were grouped around her shouting orders.

“Are you all right?” asked Marlene, suddenly appearing in front of Jennifer.

“I think so,” said Jennifer. Her voice was flat, like Dr. Stephenson’s. “What’s wrong with Cheryl?”

“I don’t think anybody knows yet,” said Marlene.

“She’ll be all right,” said Jennifer, more as a statement than a question.

“Dr. Stephenson is one of the very best,” said Marlene. “Why don’t you come to the lounge across from the nurses’ station. I don’t want you sitting by yourself.”

“My bag is in Cheryl’s room,” said Jennifer.

“You wait here. I’ll get it,” said Marlene.

After retrieving it, Marlene took Jennifer to the lounge and offered her something to drink, but Jennifer assured her that she was fine.

“Do you know what they’re going to do?” asked Jennifer, not certain she wanted to hear the answer.

“That’s up to the doctors,” said Marlene. “They’ll certainly take out the fetus. Other than that, I don’t know.”

“Is the baby causing this bleeding?”

“Most likely. Both the bleeding and the shock. That’s why they have to get it out.”

Making Jennifer promise to call if she needed anything, Marlene went back to work. Every few minutes, though, she would wave to Jennifer and Jennifer would wave back.

Jennifer had never liked hospitals, and this present experience confirmed her long-standing aversion. She checked her watch. It was three-twenty.

Almost an hour passed before Dr. Stephenson reappeared. His hair was matted across his forehead, his face drawn. Jennifer’s heart skipped a beat.

“We did the best we could,” he said, sitting opposite her.

“Is she…” began Jennifer, feeling as if she were watching a soap opera.