Suddenly it was midnight and the cafe was closing.

“My God,” she said. “Where did the time go?”

“It went,” said Pierre, “into the past — and I enjoyed every moment of it.”

He shook his head. “I haven’t taken a break like this for weeks.” His eyes met hers. “Merci beaucoup.”

Molly smiled.

“At this time of night, surely you should be escorted safely to your car or home,” said Pierre. “May I walk you there?”

Molly smiled again. “That would be nice. I live just a few blocks from here.” They left the cafe. Pierre walked with his hands clasped behind his back. Molly wondered if he was going to try to hold her hand, but he didn’t.

“I really need to see more of this area,” said Pierre. “I’ve been thinking about going over to San Francisco tomorrow, do a little sight-seeing.”

“Would you like company?”

They had arrived at the entrance to her apartment building. “I’d love that,” said Pierre. “Thank you.”

There was a moment of silence. Molly was thinking, well, of course, we’d have to meet up again in the morning, unless — the thought, or maybe just the nighttime breeze, made her shiver — unless he spent the night. But what Pierre was thinking was a complete mystery. “Perhaps we could meet for brunch at eleven,” he said.

“Sure. That place right across the street is great,” Molly said, pointing.

She wondered if he was going to kiss her. It was exciting not knowing what he was thinking of doing. The moment stretched. He didn’t make his move — and that was exciting, too.

“Till tomorrow, then,” he said. “Au revoir.”

Molly went inside. She was grinning from ear to ear.

Pierre and Molly’s relationship had been building nicely. He had been to Molly’s apartment three times now, but she had yet to see his place.

Tonight was the night, though: A E was showing another Cracker made-for-TV movie with Robbie Coltrane, and they both loved that series.

But Molly only had a thirteen-inch TV, and Pierre had a twenty-seven-inch set — you needed a decent size to properly follow a hockey game.

He’d cleaned up some, gathering the socks and underwear from the living-room floor, getting the newspapers off his green-and-orange couch, and doing what he considered to be a decent job of dusting — wiping the sleeve of the Montreal Canadiens jersey he was wearing across the top of the TV and stereo cabinet.

They ordered a La Val’s pizza during the final commercial break, and, after the movie was over, they chatted about it while waiting for the pizza to arrive. Molly loved the use of psychology in Cracker; Coltrane’s character, Fitz, was a forensic psychologist who worked with the Manchester police.

“He is an amazing fellow,” agreed Pierre.

“And,” said Molly, “he’s sexy.”

“Who?” asked Pierre, puzzled. “Not Fitz?”

“Yes.”

“But he’s a hundred pounds overweight, an alcoholic, a compulsive gambler, and he smokes like a chimney.”

“But that mind,” said Molly. “That intensity.”

“He’s going to end up in a hospital with a heart attack.”

“I know,” sighed Molly. “I hope he has decent health insurance.”

“Britain is like Canada — socialized medicine.”

“ ‘Socialized’ is kind of an ugly word here,” said Molly. “But I must say the idea of universal health care is appealing. It’s too bad Hillary didn’t get her way.” A pause. “I guess it was a shock for you to have to start paying for your health insurance.”

“I’m sure it will be. I haven’t got around to it yet.”

Molly’s jaw dropped. “You don’t have any health insurance?”

“Well… no.”

“Are you covered under the faculty-association group plan?”

“No. I’m not faculty, after all; I’m just a postdoc.”

“Gee, Pierre, you really should have some medical insurance. What would you do if you were in an accident?”

“I hadn’t thought about that, I guess. I’m so used to the Canadian system, which covered me automatically, that I hadn’t thought about having to actually do something to get insurance.”

“Are you still covered under the Canadian plan?”

“It’s actually a provincial plan — the Quebec plan. But I won’t meet the residency requirements this year, which means, no, I’m not really covered.”

“You better do something soon. You could be wiped out financially if you had an accident.”

“Can you recommend somebody?”

“Me? I have no idea. I’m under the faculty-association plan. That’s with Sequoia Health, I think. But for individual insurance, I haven’t a clue who’s got the best rates. I’ve seen ads for a company called Bay Area Health, and another called — oh, what is it? — Condor, I think.”

“I’ll call them up.”

“Tomorrow. Do it tomorrow. I had an uncle who broke his leg once and had to be put in traction. He didn’t have any insurance, and the total bill was thirty-five thousand dollars. He had to sell his house to pay for it.”

Pierre patted her hand. “All right already. I’ll do it first thing.”

Their pizza arrived. Pierre carried the box to the dining-room table and opened it up. Molly ate her pieces directly from the box, but Pierre liked his to be burn-the-roof-of-your-mouth hot, so he nuked each of his slices for thirty seconds before eating them. The kitchen smelled of cheese and pepperoni, plus an aroma of slightly moist cardboard coming from the box.

After she’d finished her third slice, Molly asked, out of the blue, “What do you think about kids?”

Pierre helped himself to a fourth piece. “I like them.”

“Me, too,” said Molly. “I’ve always wanted to be a mother.”

Pierre nodded, not knowing exactly what he was supposed to say.

“I mean,” continued Molly, “getting my Ph.D. took a lot of time and, well, I never met the right person.”

“That happens sometimes,” said Pierre, smiling.

Molly nibbled at her pizza. “Oh, yes. ‘Course, it’s hardly an insurmountable problem — not having a husband, I mean. I have lots of friends who are single moms. Sure, for most of them that wasn’t the way they planned it, but they’re doing fine. In fact, I…”

“What?”

She looked away. “No, nothing.”

Pierre’s curiosity was aroused. “Tell me.”

Molly considered for a time, then: “I did something pretty stupid — oh, six years ago now, I guess it was.”

Pierre raised his eyebrows.

“I was twenty-five, and, well, frankly, I’d given up any hope of finding a man I could have a long-term relationship with.” She raised a hand. “I know twenty-five sounds young, but I was already six years older than my mom was when she’d had me, and — well, I don’t want to go into the reasons right now, but I’d been having a terrible time with guys, and I didn’t see that that was likely to ever change. But I did want to have a child, and so I… well, I picked up some men — four or five different one-night stands.” She held up a hand again, as if feeling a need to make it all seem somewhat less sordid. “They were all medical students; I was trying to choose carefully. Each time I did it was at the right point in my cycle; I was hoping to get pregnant off one of them. I wasn’t looking for a husband, you understand — just for, well, just for some sperm.”

Pierre had his head tilted to one side. He clearly didn’t know how to respond.

Molly shrugged. “Anyway, it didn’t work; I didn’t get pregnant.” She looked at the ceiling for a few moments, and drew in breath. “What I got instead was gonorrhea.” She exhaled noisily. “I suppose I’m lucky I didn’t get AIDS. God, it was a stupid thing to do.”

Pierre’s face must have shown his shock; they’d slept together several times now.

“Don’t worry,” said Molly, seeing his expression. “I’m completely over it, thank God. I had all the follow-up tests after the penicillin treatment. I’m totally clean. Like I said, it was a stupid thing to do, but — well, I did want a baby.”