But the exercises were strengthening her torn muscles, and that would help support her healing bones. She had metal plates everywhere. Bonnie kept saying she wanted to hug her hard, but she couldn't-a hug would hurt like hell. Bonnie said she was like a poor broken bird one was afraid to pick up, and that had made her tears come in self-pity until she shouted at Bonnie to stop. If Bonnie had a failing, it was too much feeling for others, too much pity.

Bonnie was so much like her father. She had George's way of looking at life just as she had inherited his square, sturdy build, his sandy hair and freckles. She had nothing of Susan's own long, lean body that never seemed to take on weight. Bonnie had always had trouble with weight though she didn't seem to mind. She was always reaching out, as George had, so eager to be with people and to help them.

When Susan came to Casa Capri, Bonnie had been appalled at the sense of depression among the patients. And Bonnie was constitutionally unable to leave any unpleasant situation alone. That, too, had propelled her into organizing the Pet-a-Pet program, though her plan was born primarily so she could bring Lamb to visit. The big, easygoing standard poodle had become as much Susan's dog as Bonnie's. From the day she moved into the hillside apartment, Susan had walked him twice a day, up among the village hills and down among the shops, her pleasure complete at having a dog to walk after so many years in a San Francisco apartment that wouldn't accommodate a big dog. She didn't like little dogs. Might as well have a cat, and her opinion of cats wasn't high.

She loved Lamb's steady, happy disposition. He was such a delightful and handsome dog. Bonnie's downstairs apartment had a nice yard, and Bonnie kept Lamb's chocolate coat clipped short, in a field cut, no ruffles or pompoms, no nonsense. One of the worst things about the aftermath of the accident was not having Lamb warm and pressing against her leg, looking up at her, sharing her lonely moments.

When the pain was at its worst, she kept thinking, Why me? Why did this happen to me. What kind of God would let this happen? But what stupid, pointless questions.

God was not to blame; God had nothing to do with accidents. Things just happened, and no use fretting. If she made the best of it, if she did the painful therapy and got herself back in shape, she'd be out of here.

That was what God looked at, how you responded to the random bad times that might hit. God could see if you were a fighter. He was pleased if you were, and disappointed if you didn't fight back against life's bad luck. She'd always known, ever since she was a little girl, that God didn't like quitters.

And she was tremendously lucky not to be here for good like the other residents. She was only sixty-four and had plenty of plans for her remaining years. She was going to heal herself and be out of this place by the end of summer.

But for now she needed the extra care that the retirement home offered and which Bonnie couldn't manage, working all day. For the first weeks she could hardly move. She'd rather be here with a regular staff who were used to giving care than at home trying to deal with some hired woman. She had spent her first three days in the Nursing wing at the other end of the block-long building, before she was moved over here.

At least in this wing the outer doors weren't kept locked during the day, as they were in Nursing. That had given her the willies. Bonnie had really climbed the fire marshal about that, but he said they had Alzheimer's patients over there and had to keep the doors locked. He swore that every person on duty carried door keys at all times in case of fire or earthquake.

But locked doors or not, there was really no reason why the Nursing unit should be so strict about visitors. What did Adelina Prior think, that someone was going to pull out a sick patient's IV or feed him poison? No wonder little Mae Rose got upset and let her imagination run wild.

Casa Capri was one of those complexes known as three-stage living. Residents could progress from retirement living in a private cottage, to assisted living here in the Care Unit, with twenty-four-hour service available, then on to Nursing, where you retired to your bed for good.

That was fine for some people, though in her view such careful planning for every remaining moment of your life was like living in a cage.

Many of the cottage residents still drove their own cars and jogged and traveled, but wanted the extra security and services such a place offered. They didn't have to cook, didn't have to worry about housecleaning or maintenance. Old Frederick Weems lived over in Cottages, while his wife Eula lived here in the Care Unit. And who could blame him, with Eula's nagging? If they had the money, more power to him.

But maybe she was unfair in her assessment of Casa Capri. The car accident had allowed her no time to work up a mind-set that would help her adapt to these rigid group rules. She was never much for rules; during her years working in retail sales she constantly had to rein in her passions and her temper.

Now she no longer cared if people thought her abrasive-she'd be rude when she chose. That included, to Bonnie's distress, being rude to Adelina Prior.

If she didn't dislike Adelina so deeply, she'd get friendly and try to figure out what made the woman tick. Why would a woman as beautiful, as expensively groomed and elegantly dressed, want to spend her life running a nursing home?

But though the puzzle nagged at her, she didn't have the patience to fake friendliness with Adelina. It was all she could do to deal with the pain; that alone, when it was at its worst, could turn her as short-tempered as a caged tiger. She dreamed of being free of pain and home again in her new apartment, she dreamed of wandering the village, with Lamb walking at heel.

She loved the fact that in Molena Point people shopped with their dogs. Anywhere in the village you might see a patient, obedient dog tied outside a shop in the shadow of an oak tree while his master or mistress did errands. It was such a casual, lovely little town. She burned to know Molena Point better, to discover more of the hidden galleries and boutiques which were tucked away in the alleys, to browse the bookstores and enjoy the many small restaurants. These were her retirement years. What was she doing in a wheelchair? She had been so glad to move away from the heart of San Francisco, from its growing street crime, to a village devoid of that kind of violence. Molena Point was a walking village, a safe and friendly place where one felt nothing bad could happen.

It was their first night out for dinner after the accident, the first night she was able to lift herself from the wheelchair into Bonnie's car, that Bonnie told her about the Pet-a-Pet idea. Sitting in the Windborne at a window table, looking down at the sea breaking on the rocks below, Bonnie said, "You need a friend in that place. You need Lamb."

"I wish. Bring him on over, we can share a room."

But Bonnie laid out her plan with childlike enthusiasm; she had worked out all the details, even to convincing Adelina Prior of the positive public relations and advertising value of such a venture. The owner-manager of Casa Capri was not an animal lover, not that cold-eyed woman. Bonnie promised Adelina she would get articles about Casa Capri's exciting Pet-a-Pet venture in several specialty magazines; she had some connections among the clients of the law firm she worked for that would help. No special favors, just casual networking. There was, at the time, a Pet-a-Pet group based in San Francisco, and a branch in Santa Barbara, making regular visits with their well-mannered animals to local nursing homes, and the local newspapers had done great human-interest articles with lots of pictures.