“Michael, it’s Ashley.”

“Where have you been?”

“I had some out-of-town business.”

“What kind of business?”

“The kind we should talk about. Why didn’t you meet me at the museum the other day?”

“I didn’t like the setup. And I didn’t want to hear what you were going to say. Ashley, I really believe we’ve got a good thing going here.”

“If you believe that, then meet me for dinner tonight. Same place we went for our first and only date. Okay?”

“Only,” he had said. “But only if you promise it’s not going to be the big kiss-off. I need you, Ashley. And you need me. I know it.”

He had sounded small. Almost childlike. It had thrown her into some confusion.

She’d hesitated. “Okay, I promise. Eight tonight, okay?”

“That would be great. We’ve got lots to talk about. Like, the future.”

“Great,” she had breezily lied. She had hung up, and without saying a word about how scared she’d been when he’d followed her through the rain to the T. Not a word about dead flowers. Not a word about anything that truly chilled her.

Now, she made a conscious effort to keep her eyes off her father at the bar, watching the doorway, aware that it was nearly eight, and hoping that there wouldn’t be a replay of the other day. The plan she had worked out with her father was simple: Get to the restaurant early, sit in a booth, so that when O’Connell came in, he would be trapped in his seat by Scott’s sudden appearance, unable to walk out before they’d had a chance to speak to him. The two of them would be like a tag team, forcing him to agree to leave her alone. Strength in numbers. Strength in the public place. Psychologically, her father had insisted, they were more than a match for him, and they were going to control the situation from start to finish. Just be strong. Be firm. Be explicit. Leave no room for doubt. Scott had been decisive as he’d described what would happen. Remember: There are two of us. We’re smarter. We’re better educated. We have greater financial resources. End of story. She reached out and took a sip of water from the glass in front of her. Her lips were dry and parched. She suddenly felt as if she were adrift on a life raft.

As she placed the glass down, she saw O’Connell come through the door. She half-lifted herself up in her seat and waved to him. She saw him quickly sweep his eyes across the room, but she wasn’t sure whether he’d seen Scott at the bar. She stole a quick look in her father’s direction and saw that he had visibly stiffened.

She took a deep breath and whispered to herself, “Okay, Ashley. Up curtain. Cue music. Showtime.”

O’Connell moved rapidly across the room and quickly slid into the seat across from her in the booth.

“Hey, Ashley,” he said briskly. “Boy, it’s great to see you.”

She was unable to control herself. “Why didn’t you come to lunch like we agreed? And then, when you tailed me…”

“Did it scare you?” he responded, as if he were listening to her tell a small joke.

“Yes. If you say you love me, why would you do something like that?”

He merely smiled, and it occurred to Ashley that she might not want to know the answer to that question. Michael O’Connell tossed his head back a little way, then bent forward. He tried to reach across the table and take her hand, but she swiftly put them under the table on her lap. She didn’t want him to touch her. He half-snorted, half-laughed, and leaned back.

“So, I guess this really isn’t a nice romantic dinner for two, is it?”

“No.”

“And I guess you were lying to me when you said this wasn’t going to be the big kiss-off, weren’t you?”

“Michael, I-”

“I don’t like it when people I love don’t tell me the truth. Makes me angry.”

“I’ve been trying to-”

“I don’t think you fully understand me, Ashley,” he said calmly. No raised voice. No indication that they were speaking of anything more complex than the weather. “Don’t you think I have feelings, too?”

He said this in a flat, almost matter-of-fact voice. No, I don’t, flashed through her head, but instead, she said, “Look, Michael, why does this have to be harder than it already is?”

He smiled again. “I don’t think it is hard at all. Because it’s not going to happen. I love you, Ashley. And you love me. You just don’t know it yet. But you will, soon enough.”

“No, I don’t, Michael.” As soon as she spoke, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. She was being concrete, and at the same time talking about the wrong thing, which was love, when she needed to be saying something far different.

“Don’t you believe in love at first sight?” he asked almost playfully.

“Michael, please. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

He hesitated and she saw a small smile flit across his face, and she had the horrible thought, He’s enjoying this.

“It seems to me that I’m going to have to prove my love to you,” he said. Still smiling, almost grinning.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

His voice sounded smug. “You’re wrong. Completely wrong. I might even say dead wrong, but I wouldn’t want to give you an inaccurate impression.”

Ashley took a sharp, deep breath and realized nothing was going the way she’d hoped it would, then lifted her right hand to her hair, pushing it back from her face twice. This was the signal for her father to inject himself. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him bolt from his seat at the bar and cross the small restaurant in three huge strides. As planned, he stood at the table, blocking O’Connell from rising from the booth.

“I don’t think you are listening to her,” Scott said. He spoke quietly, but with a cold forcefulness that he used on reluctant students.

O’Connell kept his eyes on Ashley.

“So, you thought you needed help?” he asked.

She nodded.

He slowly pivoted in his seat and looked up at Scott, as if measuring him.

“Hello, Professor,” he said calmly. “Won’t you have a seat?”

Hope quietly watched Sally as she worked on the New York Times crossword puzzle left over from the previous Sunday. She never worked in pencil, tapping her pen against her front teeth, before finally committing letters to blocks and slowly, steadily filling in the blank spaces. The silences that she had become accustomed to, Hope thought, were growing even more frequent. She looked over at Sally and wondered what was making her so unhappy.

“Sally, don’t you think we should talk about this guy that Ashley seems to have taken up with?”

Sally lifted her head when she heard Hope’s question. She had been about to write down the answer to 7 ACROSS, four letters, the clue being Murderous Clown and the word being Gacy. She hesitated. “I don’t know what there is to talk about. Scott should be able to handle this with Ashley. I’m hoping that he’ll call sometime this evening and say it’s all straightened out. Finito. Kaput. On with everything else. We’re just out our share of the five grand.”

“You’re not afraid that this guy might be worse than we think?”

Sally shrugged. “He sounds to me like a nasty guy, sure. But Scott is pretty capable at dealing with college students, so my guess is, he’s out of Ashley’s life any minute now.”

Hope framed her next question carefully. “In your experience, like in divorce cases and domestic disputes, are people bought off that easily?”

She knew that the answer was no and that on far more than a few occasions she had listened to Sally as she had vented at the dinner table, or even in bed later, over the pigheadedness of clients and their families.

“Well,” Sally said with a lack of urgency that infuriated Hope, “I think we should just wait and see. No use in preparing for a problem that we don’t know exists.”

Hope shook her head. She couldn’t help herself. “That’s the damn stupidest thing I’ve heard in some time,” she replied, her voice rising slightly. “We don’t know if a storm is going to hit, so why buy candles, batteries, and extra food? We don’t know that we’re going to get the flu, so why get a shot?”