"I have to stay with him. I feel so responsible for this."

"What are you talking about? You're not responsible. He had a stroke."

"No, you don't understand. He saw me like this. He took one look at me and just… Mark, he keeled over!"

"Well, it is a surprise." Mark pulled back the scarf and turned her head this way and that. A doctor can never resist examining. "I'm surprised myself. We go back a long way, Cassie. You might have told me you were planning this. We could have consulted. I know the best people. But it's not bad," he admitted grudgingly. "Whose work is this?"

"Who cares, it caused a stroke."

"No, Cassie. Don't think like that. You know Mitch had dangerously high blood pressure. I told him months ago he needed medication. He was in denial. That's not your fault."

"High blood pressure?" Cassie tried to frown but couldn't.

Mark frowned for her. His forehead creased like an accordion. "Didn't he tell you?" he asked.

"Oh, you know Mitch and the privacy thing. He may have mentioned something a few years ago," Cassie said vaguely, trying to defend the indefensible. Her husband was sick and hadn't told her.

"No, no. This is not years ago. This is recent. I warned him a month ago. I gave him some medicine, but he wouldn't take it. He said it killed his libido." Mark smiled. That man thing.

Cassie stared at him. Mitch was worried about his libido? What libido? She blew air out of her mouth. Mitch had some ego. He didn't want his own doctor to know he hadn't been interested in sex in years.

"I'm sorry, Cassie. Mitch called me yesterday from Paris and told me he felt funny. Didn't he tell you he was coming back?"

"No, I guess he didn't want to worry me." Cassie didn't know he was in Paris. She defended him some more. It probably would never in a million years occur to Mitch that she might not be in any condition to care for him. Paris? She'd thought he was in Rome.

Mark gave her a funny look. "Is everything in order? You're going to have to take over now, you know."

"What?" The look on his face puzzled her. What else was she missing here?

"You know, the insurance-the paperwork, his will… We don't want to be premature. But just to be on the safe side, you might check and see if he has a living will."

"Oh that," she said vaguely.

Mark took both her hands in his. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this. But you have to be prepared. In case his heart fails." He squeezed her hands.

She was puzzled by the warmth with which he was speaking and squeezing her. But he was an old friend, as well as their doctor. Why not? He was talking more, and she tried to listen.

"It could happen, you know. And you have a power of attorney, right? You need that."

"Is it that serious?" Cassie whispered.

"I don't want to alarm you. But yes, it's that serious. You know I'll always be there for you, Cassie. But you're going to have to make the decisions now. I'll be frank with you. Mitch may have a partial recovery, but not for a long time. You're a strong and beautiful woman. And you never know. This may all be for the best." He stared into her bruised face and squeezed her hands one last time. "Go home now. I'll see you back here in the morning."

It was ten-thirty on a Friday night. Cassie was reeling with the things Mark had told her. She didn't know what to think about it. Mitch was so stubborn. He'd come home because he was sick? He'd never breathed a word about it to her. He was being audited? He'd never breathed a word about that, either. She needed a painkiller badly. She was deeply hurt that he'd been hiding these things from her, but no matter what had been in his mind about it, she couldn't imagine why an old friend like Mark Cohen could think a disaster like this could possibly be for the best. She was still thinking about it when she found Marsha and pried her away from the neurologist. The two of them located Teddy in the lobby talking to a zaftig nurse with orange hair. For the first time in years, his face, too, was full of hope.

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, when Teddy pulled into the driveway of the family house , he still had that happy grin on his face. Cassie went right inside through the garage. Teddy started to follow her, then saw the Volvo station wagon in its usual spot in the driveway. Marsha watched him stop and circle it curiously. "What's the matter, bro?" she asked.

He came into the garage where the Mercedes and Porche sat companionably side by side, then circled both of them with a dawning comprehension. "Mom wasn't in a car crash," he said.

"Of course she was. Don't make a big thing of it." Marsha draped an arm around his shoulder. "Look, idiot. We're going to have to stick together now. Dad isn't going to get better."

Teddy was a big boy, twenty-three and a half, but he looked about ten now, stricken by two felled parents in one day. "How do you know? Daddy's real tough. Maybe he'll get better."

"Tom said he's pretty much brain-dead. We're going to have to close ranks and help Mom," Marsha said.

Teddy shrugged off the diagnosis. "Well, Lorraine told me they do wonders with stroke victims these days. I'm not writing him off."

"You didn't see him, Teddy. He's nonresponsive. He's in a deep coma. Face it, he's not coming out of this."

"Well, you don't know him. He's a tough guy. He's not toppling."

"You didn't see him," Marsha repeated. "It was awful…" She shook her head. "I almost felt sorry for him."

Teddy snorted derisively. "Well, I'm sure you'll get over it."

Marsha gave him a sharp look. "What is that supposed to mean? Who's Lorraine?"

Teddy's mood suddenly lifted. "Isn't she great? She's the nurse I was talking to. She gave me her number and everything. She told me to call anytime. She never sleeps."

"What is she, a hooker?"

"Bitch," Teddy spat at her.

"Teddy, you're disgusting. Your father had a stroke and you're flirting with nurses." Marsha turned her back on him.

"Well, who the fuck is Tom?" he mimicked her.

"Tom is Daddy's doctor. I was talking to his doctor! Don't you have any brains at all?"

"He looked like a little runt to me," Teddy muttered.

"You're such a jerk," Marsha replied loftily.

The door to the house opened. "What's the matter with you two? I could hear you arguing all the way in the living room," Cassie cried. The sequined scarf was gone, and her garish yellow hair stood out in the halo of light from the kitchen.

"Why hurt each other like that?"

Teddy stared at her, as if he hadn't seen her bad dye job before. "Mom, you dyed your hair."

"Yes, I did," she said quietly.

"I bet you had your face lifted, too. Oh God, it's gross!"

Marsha let her breath out explosively. "What a jerk! Teddy! How can you be so mean?"

"She had her face lifted. What did she do that for? It looks terrible."

"Teddy!" Marsha screamed loud enough to rouse the entire neighborhood. She was known for being something of a hysteric.

Cassie pushed the button to close the garage door and waved them inside. "Stop, Marsha. It doesn't matter. The only thing I care about is peace."

"What are you mad at me for? I'm the good one," Marsha complained.

"I'm not mad at anybody." Cassie threw up her hands and disappeared into the house.

"Watch out, the shit's hitting the fan," Teddy warned.

Marsha spun around and caught his arm. "What's going on, Teddy?"

"I don't want to go into it," he said.

"Give, asshole. What's going on?"

He shook his head. "Uh-uh. I'm sick of your calling me an asshole."

"Oh Jesus! You're something." Marsha followed her mother into the house and slammed the door. She found Cassie in the kitchen, sitting at the kitchen table, shredding a used paper napkin.