And Marsha! Well, Marsha was under some kind of constant advisory alert with Dr. Thomas Wellfleet-thirty-two, unmarried, and definitely on the prowl. They had called each other on the phone. They had met for a consultation in the hospital. Afterward, they had sipped a not very good Merlot and talked on Saturday evening about the case in a very pleasant restaurant on the Miracle Mile, the posh shopping mall near their house. While their father was in intensive care, her two children were having fun. They were going out, were dating. At home, they were talking together, whispering. They became instantly quiet whenever she walked into the room. In just one weekend they had become allies. Clearly, they were hatching some plot to take over her life. Cassie dreamed that they were four again and swept away in a giant flood that covered the whole North Shore of Long Island, sparing absolutely no one but her.

During the many hours that Cassie waited in the visitors' lounge expecting Mitch to come out of his coma and return to normal any second, dozens of other patients' relatives schooled in and out, eating, drinking, telling one another their stories, and visiting their stricken family members who were usually too sick to recognize them.

Dr. Mark Cohen came to see Mitch several times, and each time he stayed for a few minutes to comfort Cassie. He'd sit down next to her on one of the leatherette sofas for two and talk about the past, about the changes in their lives since they'd known each other. Having children, raising them, getting busier and busier. Mitch's phenomenal success, and his own lesser one. Each time Mark settled on the sofa, he leaned close to her and examined her face carefully with caressing fingers. It never seemed to bother him that other visitors were around or the TV set was on. He must be used to them, Cassie thought.

After the first time he saw her on Friday, he arranged for a nurse to bring gel packs for her face every few hours. After that he had an investment in her convalescence and came to check on the results. He must have wanted a good result with at least one person in the family. On Sunday morning Mark took her for a short walk. On Sunday afternoon he took her for coffee in the hospital cafeteria. She had hers with hazelnut creamer and toyed with the spoon. She wondered how much he knew about her husband and family that she didn't know. Mitch had been a phenomenal success?

"Thanks for the gel packs," she began.

"Oh, forget it. It's nothing. You're looking much better today. Are you using those creams I suggested?"

"Yes, Marsha got them for me." She got the feeling that Mark, like Mitch, was avoiding all the meaningful subjects.

"Your doctor probably didn't tell you to, but just between you and me, it doesn't hurt at this point to start softening up the stitches. When are they coming out?" he asked, sticking to her face.

"I'm not sure. Maybe Thursday."

"You're looking very good, really." Then he gave her a frankly admiring nod that made her think he'd lost his mind.

"Thanks, Mark, tell me about Mitch."

"Honey, he's holding his own. That's all I can say for now. Have you checked into his arrangements for a catastrophic event?"

Cassie stirred her coffee. "I don't want to go into the files just yet."

Mark gave her an incredulous look. "That's not like you, Cassie. You've always been a practical girl. Don't you want to know what his wishes are should his body fail him?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"He's on a respirator," he said gently.

Cassie blinked. Of course she knew that.

"Does Mitch have a living will? I'm not sure he would want extraordinary measures to keep him alive in this condition forever."

"Forever?" Cassie blinked again.

"Look, maybe I'm speaking out of turn. But we're old friends, Cassie. I don't want to hide anything from you."

"Forever? He could live like this forever?"

"Well, not forever, but for a long time. People can hang on for years."

"Years? Like this?" Cassie knew Mark intended to be kind, but his raising such a possibility felt somehow like an assault. She started shredding her paper napkin. Just two days seemed an eternity.

"I told you, he made it through the first forty-eight hours, but that's about it." He shrugged. "We'll have a better picture in the next few days, and we have to be hopeful, of course. But…"

"I'm very hopeful," Cassie said. Today was only Sunday. Hard to believe.

"But Cassie, you have to be your practical self, too. You need to look into the arrangements he's made for a major event like this. I'm assuming you've checked and made sure Mitch has provisions in his health insurance for all the long-term care he's going to need when he comes out of intensive care."

Cassie didn't want to tell her doctor and old friend that her kids were plotting against her, and she wanted them to leave the house before she started investigating those arrangements.

"What are the odds he'll recover?" she asked again. He'd told her already, but she couldn't take it in. She just couldn't absorb the alternatives: death or a partial recovery.

"Oh, I don't want to go there, Cassie. A lot of people do very well." Mark was distracted by a dapper man in a sports jacket at the coffee machines far away. He waved.

"But you don't think Mitch will do very well, do you?" she pressed. "You told me that yesterday."

"They can surprise you," he said, vague again.

"I'll say," she murmured. She'd had about as many surprises as she could take. As far as she was concerned, Mitch should just make up his mind: Walk into that heavenly light, or return to the chaos of life. Right now, if she were in his situation, she wasn't sure which she would choose herself.

She sighed, and Mark refocused on her. His round face was pink and healthy. He was overweight, but had a nice smile. He smelled of soap and fruity cologne. He was a man who liked women. She could feel it in his touch as he patted her hand. Mark, who'd always been so brisk and professional, was acting like a real friend. It made her feel important for a moment, and she realized that she'd forgotten what a man's comfort felt like. She enjoyed the warmth of his hand as it rested on top of hers. Her heart beat a little faster. A real friend.

Mark shifted a little in his chair, giving her a knowing smile that she felt all the way down to the tips of her toes. What was this? She withdrew her hand, ostensibly to adjust the scarf on her head. "How's Sondra?" she asked suddenly.

"Still very short. She's concerned about Mitch, of course, and sends her best," he replied, wry for a second, then casual again with the doctor voice she knew so well.

"It was nice of her to call." Cassie kept adjusting her scarf.

"Well, she's a very nice woman," he said without conviction. "Cassie, has anyone else called, been to visit? Any of your friends? You need a lot of support right now. Family and friends help."

"Oh, I totally agree." Cassie nodded. If there was one thing she didn't want, it was support. Mitch would hate having people know, having people see him like this, gossip about and pity him. She couldn't talk to anyone until things were more settled. It was a family thing. She had to handle it herself. And there was the little thing of her face-lift.

"Mark, what is this long-term health care you're asking me about? Why is it so important?" she asked. She just didn't get it.

"Oh, you know. When Mitch comes out of this, he may need to go to another facility for aftercare. We don't keep patients here long-term."

"Another hospital?" she said faintly.

"For rehabilitation, therapy. It can take a long time. But let's not talk about that now." He reached out and squeezed her hand one last time, then ended the conversation. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Just before noon is when I make my rounds during the week. But I'm in constant touch with the staff here. And you can call me on my cell anytime, night or day. You keep that pretty chin of yours up, okay?" He chucked her under the chin.