Edward stood up. “I’d appreciate whatever you can do.”

Taking a minute to collect herself, Kim raised her gloved hand so that her bare forearm could push her hair off her forehead. It had been a typically busy day in the surgical intensive-care unit, rewarding yet intense. She was exhausted and looking forward to getting off in another twenty minutes. Unfortunately her moment of relaxation was interrupted. Kinnard Monihan came into the unit with a sick patient.

Kim as well as the other nurses who were momentarily free lent a hand getting the new admission settled. Kinnard helped as did an anesthesiologist who’d come in with him.

While they worked, Kim and Kinnard avoided eye contact. But Kim was acutely aware of his presence, especially when their efforts on the patient’s behalf brought them side by side. Kinnard was a tall, wiry man of twenty-eight with sharply angular features. He was light on his feet and agile, more like a boxer in training than a doctor in the middle of a surgical residency.

With the patient settled, Kim headed for the central desk. She felt a hand on her arm, and she turned to look up into Kinnard’s dark, intense eyes.

“You’re not still angry?” Kinnard asked. He had no trouble bringing up sensitive issues right in the middle of the intensive-care unit.

Feeling a wave of anxiety, Kim looked away. Her mind was a muddle of conflicted emotion.

“Don’t tell me you’re not even going to talk to me,” Kinnard said. “Aren’t you carrying your hurt feelings a bit too far?”

“I warned you,” Kim began when she found her voice. “I told you that things would be different if you insisted on going on your fly-fishing trip when we’d planned to go to Martha’s Vineyard.”

“We never made definite plans for the Vineyard,” Kinnard said. “And I hadn’t anticipated Dr. Markey offering to include me on the camping trip.”

“If we hadn’t made plans,” Kim said, “how come I had arranged to have the time off? And how come I’d called my family’s friends and arranged to stay in their bungalow?’ ‘

“We’d only mentioned it once,” Kinnard said.

“Twice,” Kim said. “And the second time I told you about the bungalow.”

“Listen,” Kinnard said. “It was important for me to go on the camping trip. Dr. Markey is the number-two man in the department. Maybe you and I had a little miscommunication, but it shouldn’t cause all this angst.”

“What makes it even worse is that you don’t feel contrite in the slightest,” Kim said. Her face reddened.

“I’m not going to apologize when I don’t think I did anything wrong,” Kinnard said.

“Fine,” Kim said. She started for the central desk again. Kinnard again restrained her.

“I’m sorry you are upset,” Kinnard said. “I really thought you’d have calmed down by now. Let’s talk about it more on Saturday night. I’m not on call. Maybe we could have dinner and see a show.”

“I’m sorry, but I already have plans,” Kim said. It was untrue, and she felt her stomach tighten. She hated confrontations and knew she wasn’t good at them. Any type of discord affected her viscerally.

Kinnard’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, I see,” he said. His eyes narrowed.

Kim swallowed. She could tell he was angry.

“This is a game that two can play,” he said. “There’s someone I’ve been thinking about dating. This is my opportunity.”

“Who?” Kim asked. The second the question came out of her mouth she regretted it.

Kinnard gave her a malicious smile and walked off.

Concerned about losing her composure, Kim retreated to the privacy of the storeroom. She was shaking. After a few deep breaths she felt more in control and ready to get back to work. She was about to return to the unit when the door opened and Marsha Kingsley, her roommate, walked in.

“I happened to overhear that encounter,” Marsha said. She was a petite, spirited woman with a mane of auburn hair which she wore in a bun while working in the surgical intensive-care unit. Not only were Kim and Marsha roommates, they were also SICU colleagues.

“He’s an ass,” Marsha said. She knew the history of Kim’s relationship with Kinnard better than anyone. “Don’t let that egotist get your goat.”. Marsha’s sudden appearance disarmed Kim’s control over her tears. “I hate confrontations,” Kim said.

“I think you handled yourself exemplarily,” Marsha said. She handed Kim a tissue.

“He wouldn’t even apologize,” Kim said. She wiped her eyes.

“He’s an insensitive bum,” Marsha said supportively.

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Kim said. “Up until recently I thought we’d had a good relationship.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Marsha said. “It’s his problem. He’s too selfish. Look at the comparison between his behavior and Edward’s. Edward’s been sending you flowers every day.”

“I don’t need flowers every day,” Kim said.

“Of course not,” Marsha said. “It’s the thought that counts. Kinnard doesn’t think of your feelings. You deserve better.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Kim said. She blew her nose. “Yet one thing is for sure. I have to make some changes in my life. What I’m thinking of doing is to move up to Salem. I’ve got the idea to fix up an old house on the family compound I inherited with my brother.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marsha said. “It will be good for you to have a change of scene, especially with Kinnard living on Beacon Hill.”

“That was my thought,” Kim said. “I’m heading up there right after work. How about coming along? I’d love the company, and maybe you’d have some good ideas about what to do with the place.”

“Give me a rain check,” Marsha said. “I’ve got to meet some people at the apartment.”

After finishing work and giving a report, Kim left the hospital. She climbed into her car and drove out of town. There was a little traffic, but it moved quickly, particularly after she passed over the Tobin Bridge. Her first stop was her childhood home on Marblehead Neck.

“Anybody here?” Kim called out as she entered the foyer of the French château-style home. It was beautifully sited directly on the ocean. There were some superficial similarities between it and the castle, although it was far smaller and more tasteful.

“I’m in the sunroom, dear,” Joyce answered from afar.

Skirting the main stairs, Kim walked down the long central corridor and out into the room in which her mother spent most of her time. It was indeed a sunroom with glass on three sides. It faced south overlooking the terraced lawn, but to the east it had a breathtaking vista over the ocean.

“You’re still in your uniform,” Joyce said. Her tone was deprecatory, as only a daughter could sense.

“I came directly from work,” Kim said. “I wanted to avoid the traffic.”

“Well, I hope you haven’t brought any hospital germs with you,” Joyce said. “That’s all I need right now is to get sick again.”

“I don’t work in infectious disease,” Kim said. “Where I work in the unit there’s probably less bacteria than here.”

“Don’t say that,” Joyce snapped.

The two women didn’t look anything alike. Kim favored her father in terms of facial structure and hair. Joyce’s face was narrow, her eyes deeply set, and her nose slightly aquiline. Her hair had once been brunette but was now mostly gray. She’d never colored it. Her skin was as pale as white marble despite the fact that it was almost midsummer.

“I notice you are still in your dressing gown,” Kim said. She sat on a couch across from her mother’s chaise.

“There was no reason for me to dress,” Joyce said. “Besides, I haven’t been feeling well.”

“I suppose that means that Dad is not here,” Kim said. Over the years she’d learned the pattern.

“Your father left last evening on a short business trip to London,” Joyce said.

“I’m sorry,” Kim said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Joyce said. “When he’s here, he ignores me anyway. Did you want to see him?”