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  Vivian was a friend, but they would never be particularly close. All they had in common was their need to live someplace in San Francisco and the fact they were both gay. Vivian's income was a lot higher, but she sent a substantial sum home every month to her elderly parents. That made the amount they could afford to spend on housing just about the same. Vivian was a little too prim for Teresa's tastes. When one of them moved out, Teresa was willing to bet that Vivian wouldn't miss her foul mouth and love of loud action movies. But they got along, which was important between roomies.

  Someone else who liked the things she liked, some¬one just to pal around with, that would be nice. She had wanted to camp out at Crissy Field to watch the Fourth of July fireworks last week, but no one would join her. Vivian didn't like sitting on the ground and other people at work had families. She looked down at her dusty Doc Martens and rumpled slacks. A businesswomen's bar, huh. There wasn't a chance anyone would take any notice of her.

  Vivian had gone all out, which wasn't fair. Teresa almost hated to sit next to her, not for her own sake,

  but because she classed down Vivian's sheer black stockings, high heels and suit cut so short that Ally McBeal would blush.

  Vivian waved with relief, so Teresa pushed her way to the bar. No one seemed to be paying particular attention to Vivian, which in Teresa's opinion made the women in the bar blind. Vivian had definite eye appeal — stylish clothes, tidy brown hair with attrac¬tive wisps around a pretty face. Her mannerisms were always demure, but she could turn on the sex appeal when she wanted to. She was only five-six, which in Teresa's opinion was the perfect height in a room full of women. Much better than her own five-nine. Really, there was nothing wrong with Vivian. Teresa could entertain lascivious thoughts if there was even the least amount of chemistry between them.

  "Took you long enough," Vivian said. She patted the barstool she'd obviously been saving. "I'm getting the new-girl cold shoulder."

  Teresa glanced around. Lots of couples — sheesh — and clusters of women who obviously already knew one another. "Is this where we want to be? A place with Lace in the name?" Over Vivian's shoulder she could see a small cafe, which was separated from the bar by a wall of open lattice. It was sort of cozy, but —

  "What can I get you?"

  Startled, Teresa said, "Um, how about a. . . well, do you have any house specialties?"

  The bartender had wispy gray hair and a million-watt smile. "I make a Manhattan that leaves some women in tears—"

  "Jill, you say that about all your women." The other bartender, who looked seventeen going on thirty,

  f

  scooted past Jill and gave Teresa the once-over with an eyebrow wiggle. "What can I get you, hon?"

  Jill rolled her eyes. "Okay, Sheila, but—" She glanced back at Teresa. "Her Manhattan is not as good as mine."

  "But I make a killer Long Island iced tea." Sheila winked, so flirtatiously obvious that Teresa found it endearing. "Jill and I have an agreement. Under thirty is mine."

  Teresa laughed. "Thank you for the compliment."

  Vivian said, "Now that you're here I can go to the ladies' room and not lose our seats. I'll be right back."

  "I'll take the Long Island iced tea," Teresa said. That appeared to be what Vivian was drinking.

  Sheila was back in a minute with the drink. "I have a confession to make, hon."

  "Yes?" Teresa sipped. Oh, that was tart, but the Triple Sec was so smooth by comparison. "This is great."

  "Told you. Anyway, I'm just flirting with you because I want some inside information."

  "Okay..." What the heck was she talking about?

  "Is your friend, uh, one of us? She doesn't seem really responsive."

  The light dawned. "Yes, most definitely, but she's very proper."

  "Oh." Sheila gave the bar a swipe with the ubiqui¬tous towel. "Maybe I came on a little strong."

  "She has delicate sensibilities. But she is the sweetest person, and you'll always know exactly where you stand with her."

  "She is the hottest woman to walk into this bar in about a year. Who isn't taken, I mean."

  "You go, girl." Teresa sipped her drink again and

  saw Sheila welcome Vivian back with a very warm smile.

  "I bet you came here right from work," Sheila said. "Can I get you something to snack on beyond pretzels? Alcohol on an empty stomach can be disastrous." After protesting it was no trouble, Sheila disappeared in the direction of the kitchen and returned shortly with goat cheese on small rounds of toast and a small plate of strawberries dipped in chocolate.

  "I have to hang out with you more often," Teresa said, her mouth full of the toast. She'd have a strawberry next. They were certainly a direct way to a lesbian's heart, Teresa thought.

  "I don't know what you mean," Vivian retorted, but she lacked conviction, and a smile hovered around her mouth.

  They danced when the floor filled a little — Sheila said she'd hold their barstools for them. She drifted off the floor when Vivian started dancing with a forty-ish size three. Teresa felt like an outsider. She lacked a suit and anything that amounted to cared-for hair, and her nails were down to the quick in several places. The dusty museum and the horrible hand soap had taken their toll.

  She was finishing her drink and wondering if Vivian would kill her if she left when she heard Jill say to Sheila, "I'll be right back." Jill almost vaulted the bar to embrace someone who had just come in.

  Intrigued, Teresa surreptitiously watched as the two women hugged for what seemed like an in¬ordinately long time. When they separated Teresa nearly choked on her drink. It was her. The Queen of Mean. Looking slightly more approachable in slacks

  and what had to be a two-hundred-dollar sweater, she nonetheless still possessed that terrible core of con¬descension. Teresa felt like telling her off. But she hadn't had quite enough to drink and she'd been so much better about keeping her mouth shut lately. She was over it, anyway. She didn't need the satisfaction.

  Jill accompanied Ms. Rayann Germaine, Queen of Mean, to a table in the cafe where a pale-looking woman was waiting. They, too, embraced for what seemed like ages, but Rayann's face was like stone when they parted. Geez, why did anybody waste any affection on this woman?

  Without really deciding to, Teresa sidled up to the lattice wall, just on the other side of the table from where the two women sat. She couldn't help but wonder what Rayann was like when she was with a friend as opposed to a fresh-out-of-school employee she could bully.

  "... close to the end."

  "I'm so sorry, Ray. Can I... tomorrow?"

  The music changed to Randy Crawford's "Street Life" and it was harder to hear.

  "Days, a week, who ..."

  "... Dee wants to . .."

  Well that was frustrating. It wasn't until the song changed to a bluesy version of "Natural Woman" that she could hear again.

  The friend was saying, "What kind of numb? Like anesthesia? Novocaine?"

  "Not Novocaine."

  "Why are you over here?" Vivian said, flushed and glistening — she never perspired, she'd told Teresa.

  Teresa made a "be quiet" face at Vivian.

  Vivian immediately disapproved. "Teresa, let's go

  sit down again." She pulled Teresa away with a stern, "Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves."

  "That's her — the creative director bitch I told you about."

  Vivian looked back. "Which one?"

  "The dark hair."

  "You didn't say how good-looking she is."

  Teresa pronounced in her most prim manner, "Inner beauty is more important."

  Vivian laughed, looking relaxed and happy for the first time in a while. "That's true until you're thirty-five."

  Teresa let Vivian pull her away. "Oh yeah, that's ancient." She ducked Vivian's swat. "I gather you like this place."

  "I do, indeed."

  "The bartender likes you."

  "I noticed. And over there is Kim, who works near me and wou
ld like to have lunch next Monday."

  "You lucky girl. Can I go home now?"

  "Actually, I'll go with you. Mission accomplished."

  Kim and Sheila both waved as they left.

  Teresa tried hard not to feel just a little bit lonely. She didn't want forever after, but a little here and now would be nice.

  Judy's thoughtful gaze never left Rayann's face. "Why not Novocaine?"

  "Novocaine is ... there's no control. I wish I didn't feel anything, but I really don't want to lose control."

  "Control has always been important to you, hasn't it?"

  Rayann didn't want to get into it. There was just so much to explain, and Judy knew it all anyway. Why talk about what they both already knew? Why go into the past? "Let's not do the therapist-patient thing," she said finally.

  Judy's look said, "You need help," but all she said was, "I'll try to remember that. We are supposed to be catching a bite to eat, after all."

  Rayann wanted to say that she didn't need a therapist, she just needed her friends — Judy in par¬ticular— to know she was fine being left alone right now.

  Lou, this is really shitty.

  I know, came the reply.

  She realized that Judy was watching her, the usual wrinkled frown creasing her forehead.

  She wanted to say, "I'm okay," but Judy would not believe her. "So what's new with you?"

  A vivid smile broke from Judy's worried face, catching Rayann by surprise. "Well, it's been thirteen weeks —"

  "Has it? Thirteen weeks?" It was unthinkable that Louisa had been lying in that bed for thirteen weeks.

  The smile disappeared, and Judy reached over to pat her hand. "It's weird, Ray. Remember when you called and I wasn't home? The day that — that Louisa was in the accident."

  She would never forget. "Yeah?"

  "Dee and I were at the clinic. You were so dis¬tracted I didn't want to bother you with the details of our latest attempt at fertility. And it's been thirteen weeks." Then Judy began to smile, and she nodded. "Yep."

  "Oh my God. Finally!"

  "Fourteen tries and I am due in the middle of January."

  "Dee must be walking on air." Guilt stabbed at her for being so self-centered. Judy looked happy, but a little ashen around the edges. She should have noticed.

  "I hope she is." Judy's therapist face was gone and it was just Judy, looking hurt and puzzled. "She's hardly said."

  "But she was with you every step of the way. It was practically her idea."

  "I know. But when that little stick turned blue she hardly reacted. I was so excited and she just froze. I've never seen her like this."

  Rayann had. She'd been shopping with Dedric when Dedric had chased down a purse snatcher. "Cop face. She's scared shitless so she's got on her cop face."

  Judy looked at her as if she'd grown a second head. "Good God. Out of the mouths of babes."

  "I'm older than you, missy."

  "I should have said amateurs. Good God, I never thought of that. She's afraid to show me she's scared."

  "That's a butch for you."

  "Tell me about it."

  "I am so happy for you. I know it's been a real roller-coaster ride."

  "I thought I was too old. Thirty-eight is late. Not too late, but late."

  "And what's the significance of thirteen weeks?"

  "The chance of spontaneous abortion drops signifi¬cantly. The fetus has survived past the body's own DNA check, so to speak, and all systems are go."

  "Jesus. A baby. Who'd have thunk it?"

  "It's incredible, just incredible." Judy's expression

  was positively beatific. "It won't be long until I feel it moving."

  They managed to talk of inconsequential things after that, or the baby. Rayann was content to let the conversation drift just as long as they didn't talk about Louisa. Rayann had refused to leave the hospital for anything during visiting hours until Louisa had insisted with an emphatic "go" whispered through her aching throat.

  Rayann knew they all just wanted her to have a little break, but even as they ate dessert she could feel the time slipping away. Time that would never come again, at no one's bidding. Every breath she took was a breath she didn't watch Louisa take. The beating of her own heart without the accompaniment of Louisa's monitor was solitary and meaningless, like one drum in the middle of the desert.

  She drove Judy home, insisting that while a preg¬nant woman was not sick, she was a fool for turning down a ride. By the time she got to the hospital, visiting hours were almost over.

  Her mother was in the chair next to Louisa's bed, reading aloud from Pride and Prejudice, Louisa's latest request. Rayann had a moment of vertigo, for she had not recognized her mother right away. How long had she looked so tired and strained? She knew she felt as if she'd aged a year for every week since the accident, but she had utterly failed to notice the effect on everyone else. Her mother looked ... awful.

  Her kiss of greeting was all the warmer. "Thanks for being here."

  "You know you can't keep me away."

  It was true. Her mother had been a daily visitor. Her mother's unique pain washed over her — she was

  losing not just her daughter's well-liked lover and partner, a daughter-in-law of sorts. She was also losing someone she'd come to regard as one of her dearest friends, a woman of nearly her own age with many similar likes and dislikes. She and Louisa had vacationed with her mother and second husband, Jim, several times. They'd seen Greece and Scotland together and been to countless concerts and plays. Watching her mother with Louisa had given Rayann new insights into her mother's character. She'd come to realize that she actually liked her mother and admired her devotion to friends and her ability to enjoy life.

  She'd respected her mother's expertise in adver¬tising so much that she'd decided to go back to the field. Ricki, a favorite customer at the bookstore, had eagerly agreed to part-time work, and Rayann's salary and bonuses had rapidly dispensed with the remaining mortgage, leaving Louisa with the best cash flow The Common Reader had ever had. After three years the bank balance was great, Ricki wanted more hours than ever and Louisa had finally admitted that she could relax a little.

  Less time at the bookstore for Louisa was an impossibility when they lived right over it. It wasn't until Rayann found a suitable house within walking distance that Louisa had agreed to moving out of the only home she'd known for more than half her life. All that upheaval and mess — if they'd known they'd only share the new house for two months they would never have moved. If they'd never moved, Louisa's path to her favorite walk wouldn't have been altered. She would never have been on that street corner at that moment.

  Rayann could not let go of the fact that moving had been her idea. She pushed back her turmoil and tried for a bright smile. "I have great news. Judy's pregnant," she told Louisa after she bent low to kiss her forehead.

  She took one look at Louisa's drawn face and asked, "Have they been in to up your night dose?" Even as she asked the door opened and the nurse entered.

  "I know I'm early," she said cheerily, "but doctor approved moving up the time a little." She glanced meaningfully at Rayann, then adjusted the IV drip.

  It was the second time this week they'd moved back the timing of the morphine. The doctors were loath to increase the dosage because it virtually guaranteed that Louisa would become borderline comatose. She struggled so hard to communicate, to make the most of the times when she could listen and respond. But every window of lucidity was a journey in pain.

  Someday it wasn't going to be worth it to Louisa anymore. And what will I do then'? What am I going to do when this is over? Just as quickly, Rayann's guilty conscience demanded how she could even be thinking about that.

  Her biggest enemy was guilt — guilt for not hoping, guilt for even thinking about a time after Louisa was gone. Guilt for believing the evidence the doctors shared with her regularly. After three months of hanging between better and worse, Louisa had finally turned the corner
to worse. The lab tests showed that Louisa was wasting away every day, that kidney failure was imminent, that her damaged liver was producing an increasing level of toxins into her

  bloodstream. Finger pricks proved her pancreas was secreting insufficient insulin and Rayann believed the results. All of the medical science was at odds with any hope that she might have clung to, but she wasn't clinging, and for that she would never forgive herself.

  Any one of Louisa's physical problems by itself might be overcome; combined they were devastating. Louisa had refused the transplants and various organ removals because they virtually assured her of spending the rest of her days tied to machines and bags that would prevent her from receiving the physical therapy and bone replacements she would need if she ever wanted to walk again.

  Rayann believed that the end was near — she'd believed it from the start of these horrible months. Three months and counting. No one deserved this, she thought. She'd known it could be any day now every day since the accident, and her lack of faith ate at her.

  The nurse and her mother were making small talk. There had been a time when she'd resented her mother's easy manner with just about everyone she met. When the nurse left, Rayann went back to her original news.

  "Judy's baby is due in January and apparently Dee is really freaked out."

  Louisa's fingers moved across the card, then she set it aside. Drawing a shallow breath, she whispered, "Happy for them. Kiss it for me. Don't think I'll be here."

  "No, Lou," Rayann managed with a slight quaver. "Probably not. Jill sends her love."

  Louisa smiled and her eyelids fluttered. The mor¬phine had kicked in. "Tell Jill . . . same." She drew another shallow breath. "Ann?"

  Her mother leaned into Louisa's line of sight. "I'm just going."

  "Mr. Darcy is a fool," Louisa managed, then coughed.

  "I can't wait to start the next chapter," her mother said with the flash of eagerness she showed when she and Louisa discussed anything. "I wish I'd read it before."