Though her voice was calm, the underlying urgency was communicating to him. Tess leaned forward, hoping to take it to the next step. “Mr. Monroe, I can’t stress how vital it is that Joey begin structured, intensified treatment. You trusted me enough to bring him here, to allow me to treat him. You have to trust me enough to believe me when I say I’m not enough for him. I have information here on the clinic.” She pushed a folder across the desk. “Please discuss this with your wife, ask her to come in and talk it over with me. I’ll rearrange my schedule so that we can meet any time it’s convenient. But, please, make it soon. Joey needs this, and he needs it now, before something pushes him over.”

He took the folder, but didn’t open it. “You want us to. send Joey to a place like this, but you didn’t want us to have him change schools.”

“No, I didn’t.” She wanted to pull the pins out of her hair, run her hands through it until the pressure at her temples was gone. “At that time I felt, I hoped, I could still reach him. Since September Joey’s been pulling away more and more.”

“He saw the change in schools as another failure, didn’t he?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“I knew it was a mistake.” He let out a long breath. “When Lois was making the arrangements to transfer him, he looked at me. It was as if he was saying, please, give me a chance. I could almost hear him. But I backed her up.”

“There’s no blame here, Mr. Monroe. You and your wife are dealing with a situation where there are no easy answers. There is no absolute right or wrong.”

“I’ll take the papers home.” He rose then, slowly, as though the folder in his hand were weighty and leaden. “Dr. Court, Lois is pregnant. We haven’t told Joey.”

“Congratulations.” She offered her hand while her mind weighed how this news might affect her patient. “I think it would be nice if you told him together, making it a family affair. The three of you are expecting a baby. It would be very important to Joey to be made to feel included rather than replaced. A baby, the anticipation of a baby, can bring a great deal of love into a family.”

“We’ve been afraid he might resent it-us.”

“He might.” Timing, she thought-emotional survival could so often depend on timing. “The more he’s brought into the process, into the planning, the more he’ll feel a part of it. Do you have a nursery?”

“We have a spare bedroom we thought we might redecorate.”

“I imagine Joey would be pretty good with a paintbrush, given the chance. Please call me after you’ve discussed the clinic. I’d like to go over it with Joey myself, perhaps take him there so that he can see it.”

“All right. Thank you, Doctor.”

Tess closed the door behind him, then pulled out the pins in her hair. The band of tension eased, leaving only a dull ache. She wasn’t sure she could rest easy until Joey was being treated in the clinic. At least they were turning in the right direction, she told her-self. Monroe hadn’t been enthusiastic about her suggestion, but she believed he would push for it.

Tess locked away Joey’s file and his tapes, holding on to the cassette from their last session a moment longer. He’d spoken of death twice during the session, both times in a matter-of-fact way. He hadn’t termed it as dying but as opting out. Death as a choice. She kept the last tape out, and decided to phone the director of the clinic in the morning.

When her phone rang she nearly groaned. She could leave it. Her answering service would pick it up after the fourth ring and contact her if it was important. Then she changed her mind, holding Joey’s tape in her hand as she crossed over and picked it up.

“Hello, Dr. Court.”

In the silence that followed she heard labored breathing and the sounds of traffic. Automatically she pulled a pad over and picked up a pencil.

“This is Dr. Court. Can I help you?”

“Can you?”

The voice was only a whisper. She heard not the panic she was half expecting, but despair. “I can try. Would you like me to?”

“You weren’t there. If you’d been there, it might have been different.”

“I’m here now. Would you like to see me?”

“Can’t.” She heard the deep, gulping sob. “You’d know.”

“I can come to you. Why don’t you tell me your name and where you are?” She heard the click.

Less than a block away, the man in the dark coat leaned against the pay phone and wept in pain and confusion.

“Damn.” Tess glanced down at the notes she’d made of the conversation. If he’d been a patient, she hadn’t recognized his voice. On the off chance that the phone would ring again, she stayed another fifteen minutes, then gathered up her work and left the office.

Frank Fuller was waiting in the hall. -

“Well, there she is.” He slipped his breath spray back into his pocket. “I was beginning to think you’d moved out of the building.”

Tess glanced back at her door. Her name and profession were neatly printed on it. “No, not yet. Working a bit late tonight, Frank?”

“Oh, you know how it goes.” Actually, he’d spent the last hour trying to drum up a date. He hadn’t been successful. “Apparently this police-consultant business has kept you pretty tied up.”

“Apparently.” Even for someone whose manners were as ingrained as Tess’s, small talk after the day she’d put in was stretching things. Her thoughts drifted back to the phone call as she waited for the elevator.

“You know, Tess…” He used his old trick of resting his hand against the wall and surrounding her. “You might find it beneficial, professionally speaking, to consult with a colleague on this. I’d be glad to make some room on my calendar.”

“I appreciate that, Frank, but I know how busy you are.” When the elevator doors slid open, she stepped inside. She pressed the button for the ground floor and shifted her briefcase as he stepped in beside her.

“Never too busy for you, Tess, professionally or otherwise. Why don’t we discuss it over drinks?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss it at all.”

“We can find something else to discuss then. I have this bottle of wine, a cocky little Zinfandel I’ve been saving for the right occasion. Why don’t we go back to my place, pop the cork, and put up our feet?”

So he could start nibbling her toes, Tess thought, and sent up a quiet prayer of thanksgiving when the doors opened again. “No thanks, Frank.”

She made tracks across the lobby, but didn’t shake him.

“Why don’t we stop in at the Mayflower, then, a quiet drink, a little music, and no shop talk?”

Champagne cocktails at the Mayflower. Ben had told her that was her style. Perhaps it was time to prove to him, and Frank Fuller, that it wasn’t. “The Mayflowers a bit staid for my taste, Frank.” She flipped up her collar as they stepped into the chilly darkness of the parking lot. “But in any case, I haven’t the time for socializing. You should try that new club around the corner, Zeedo’s. From what I hear, it’s almost impossible not to score if you dig in for the evening.” She pulled out her keys and slipped one into the lock of her car door.

“How do you know about-”

“Frank.” She clucked her tongue then patted his cheek. “Grow up.” Delighted with herself and his astounded expression, she slid into the car. She glanced over her shoulder as she reversed, but barely spared a glance at the man standing in the shadows at the edge of the lot.

She’d hardly gotten through the door and shed her coat and shoes, when someone knocked. If it was Frank, she’d stop being polite, Tess promised herself, and give it to him right between the eyes.

Senator Jonathan Writemore stood in his Saville Row overcoat, holding a red cardboard box of chicken and a slim paper bag.

“Grandpa.” Most of the tension Tess hadn’t been aware of having slipped away. She drew a deep breath and all but tasted the spices. “I hope you’re not on your way to a hot date.”