"So your dad had all the opinions in the family," I said.

"Dad and Eric."

"Not you?"

Smile. "Oh, I have a few, too, but I tend to keep them to myself."

"Why's that?"

"I've found that a good strategy."

"For what?"

"A pleasant life."

"Do Eric and your father exclude you?"

"No, not at all-not consciously, anyway. It's just that the two of them have this… let's just call it a big male thing. Two major brains speeding along. Jumping in would be like hopping on a moving train-good metaphor, huh? Maybe I should use it in English class. My teacher's a real pretentious snot, loves metaphors."

"So joining in's dangerous," I said.

She pressed a finger to her lower lip. "It's not that they put me down… I guess I don't want them to think I'm stupid… They're just… they're a pair, Dr. Delaware. When Eric's home, sometimes it's like having Dad in duplicate."

"And when Eric's not home?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you and your father interact?"

"We get along, it's just that he travels and we have different interests. He's into collecting, I couldn't care less about accumulating stuff."

"Collecting what?"

"First it was paintings-California art. Then he sold those for a giant profit and got into Chinese porcelain. The house is filled with walls and walls of the stuff. Han dynasty, Sung dynasty, Ming dynasty, whatever. I appreciate it. It's beautiful. I just can't get into accumulating. I guess he's an optimist, buying porcelain in earthquake country. He putties it down with this wax the museums use, but still. If the Big One comes, our house will be one big crockery disaster zone."

"How did it fare during the last quake?"

"He didn't have it back then. He got into it when Mom started to get sick."

"Do you think there's a connection?" I said.

"Between what?"

"Getting into porcelain and your mother becoming ill."

"Why should there be-oh I see. She couldn't do things with him anymore, so he learned to amuse himself. Yes, maybe. Like I said, he knows how to adapt.

What did your mom think about the porcelain?

She didn't think anything, that I saw. She didn't think much about anything-Eric likes the porcelain. He can inherit it, I couldn't care less." Sudden smile. "I'm the Queen of Apathy."

At the end of the sixth session, she said, "Sometimes I wonder what kind of guy I'll marry. I mean, will it be someone dominant like Dad or Eric, because that's what I'm used to, or will I go in a totally opposite direction- not that I'm thinking about that. It's just that Eric was down for the weekend and the two of them went off to some Asian art auction and I watched them leave the house-like twins. That's basically what I know of men."

She shook her head. "Dad keeps buying stuff. Sometimes I think that's what he's all about-expansion. As if one world's not big enough for him-Eric was thinking of coming with me today to meet you.

Why?"

"He doesn't have classes till tomorrow, asked me if I wanted to hang out before he flies up tonight. Kind of sweet, don't you think? He really is a good brother. I told him I had to see you first. He didn't know about you, Dad makes a big thing about confidentiality. Gave me this whole big speech about even though I was under eighteen, as far as he was concerned I had full rights. Like he was giving me a big gift, but I think he's kind of embarrassed about it. Once, when I brought up Becky's therapy, he changed the subject really fast… Anyway, Eric hadn't known about you and it surprised him. He started asking me all these questions, wanting to know if you were smart, where you got your degree. I realized I didn't know."

I pointed to my diplomas.

She said, "The good old U. Not Stanford or the Ivys, but it'll probably satisfy him."

"Do you feel you need to satisfy Eric?"

"Sure, he's the smart one… No, he's entitled to his opinions, but they don't influence mine. He decided not to come, took a bike ride instead. Maybe one day you'll get to meet him."

"If I behave myself?"

She laughed. "Yes, absolutely. Meeting Eric is a reward of the highest order."

I'd thought a lot about Eric. About the hellish Po-laroids he'd shot of his mother. Standing at the foot of the bed, highlighting her misery in cold, unforgiving light. His father considered them trophies, carried them around in that little purse.

How badly had Richard Doss hated his wife?

I said, "How did Eric react to your mother's death?"

"Silence. Silent anger. He'd already dropped out of school to be with her, maybe that did it for him. Because right after, he returned to Stanford." Sudden chill in her voice. She picked at her cuticles, stared down into her lap.

Bad move, bringing up her brother. Keep the focus on her, always on her.

But I wondered if she'd ever seen the snapshots.

"So," I said.

"So." She looked at her watch.

Ten minutes to go. She frowned. I tried to reel her back in: "A couple of weeks ago, we were discussing how expressing opinions can be tricky in your family. How did your mother-"

"By having none. By turning herself into a nothing.

A nothing," I said.

"Exactly. That's why I wasn't surprised when I found out what she did-with Mate. I mean I was, when I heard about it on the news. But after the shock wore off, I realized it made sense: the ultimate passivity.

So you had no warning-"

"None. She never said a word to me. Never said goodbye. That morning she had called me in to say hi before I went to school. Told me I looked pretty. She did that sometimes, there was nothing different. She looked the way she always did. Erased-the truth is she'd already rubbed herself out by the time Mate got involved. The media always make it out like he's doing something but he isn't. Not if the other people were like my mom. He didn't do a damn thing. There was nothing left for him to do. She didn't want to be."

I readied my hand for a dive toward the tissue box. Stacy straightened, placed her feet on the floor, sat up straight.

"The whole thing's an incredible pity, Dr. Delaware." Back to the clinical detachment of the first session. "Yes, it is."

"She was brilliant, two PhDs, she could've won the Nobel Prize if she'd wanted to. That's where Eric got his smarts. My father's a bright man, but she was a genius. Her parents were brilliant, too. Librarians, they never made much money, but they were brilliant. Both died young. Cancer. Maybe my mother was afraid of dying young. Of cancer, I don't know. She brought Becky Manitow from a D to a B in algebra. When Becky stopped seeing her, she dropped down to a D again."

"Becky stopped because your mother was ill?"

"I suppose."

Long silence. A minute to go.

She said, "Our time's up, isn't it."

"In a moment," I said.

"No. Rules are rules. Thanks for all your help, I'm dealing with stuff pretty well. All things considered." She picked up her books.

"All things considered?"

"One never knows," she said. Then she laughed. "Oh, don't worry about me. I'm fine. What's the choice?"

During the last few sessions, she entered ready to talk about her grief. Dry-eyed, solemn, no changes of subject or digressions to trivia or laughing dance-aways.

Trying.

Yearning to understand why her mother had left her without saying good-bye. Knowing some questions could never be answered.

Asking them anyway. Why her family? Why her?

Had her mother even been sick? Had it all been psychosomatic, the way Dr. Manitow said it was-she'd heard him say so to Judge Manitow when the two of them didn't know she was in earshot. Judge Manitow saying, Oh, I don't know, Bob. He replying, Trust me, Judy, there's nothing physically wrong with her-it's slow suicide.

Stacy, listening from the bathroom next to the kitchen, had been angry at him, really furious, what a bastard, how could he say something like that.