"He's been telling everyone it was business."

She gave a miserable look. Covered her face. Exposed it. "Yes, he sold. Once in a while. Only to get his own stash. I know it's wrong, and I'm sure in some part of his brain he does too. But he felt he had no choice. He was broke, and he wouldn't give him more than pennies. I tried to help him, but most of the time he wouldn't take anything from me- not unless he was hurting really bad. He's the one who suffers… the way he lives- a hole over a hairdresser's."

She looked out at the landscaped yard.

"It's not like he sold to little kids or anything like that. Just to junkies, and they'd have to get it one way or the other… It's the heroin. All this talk about crack, and heroin goes on eating people up."

She began to cry.

I patted her shoulder.

"So many times I offered to have him come live with me. To try another program. He said he was beyond hope and didn't want to drag me down. Didn't want treatment- he liked junk, it was his lover, he'd never give it up. But still he was always there for me. If I called him to talk about something, he'd always listen. Even if he was stoned, he'd try. Sitting there, pretending to be normal- he'd be here now if he wasn't in some kind of major trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

She squeezed her hands together. "The people he hung out with."

"Who are they?"

"That's the thing, I don't know. He made a point about shielding me. Whenever I came over, he rushed around, cleaning up, putting his kit away. Lately, he didn't even want me over at his place- too depressing, he said. So we had coffee in restaurants. He'd come in looking half dead, trying so hard to act okay. I know he sounds like just another stupid junkie, but he really is a wonderful brother."

I nodded, thinking of Puck's dinner date with Ken, how an addict might have viewed the sudden appearance of a wealthy half brother. Yet he hadn't shown up.

"Milo's not going to call the police in Taos or anything like that, is he? I don't want to put him in any more danger."

"No," I said. "Milo's main concern is you."

"Yes, I can't believe all he's done. You, too. And now Ken."

She wiped her eyes.

"I must bring it out in people, like a wounded bird. Puck told me that, once. That he'd always seen me as wounded. I didn't like that. I wanted him to perceive me as strong."

"You are strong."

She spread her fingers on the glass. Looked through the tabletop, studying the pattern of the bricks. "Milo told me, you know. About being gay. It shocked me… Now I understand the position you were in. I really put you in the middle. I'm sorry."

"It was one of those things that couldn't be helped."

She shook her head. "I'd never have suspected it. A big, burly guy like that- that's stupid, of course, but still, it was the last thing I'd have guessed. It must be so hard for him. The job."

"How did finding out affect you?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do you feel about his being gay?"

"How do I feel about it? Well… I'm certainly glad I know the truth now."

She looked away.

"Anything else?" I said.

"I guess- on a selfish level- I guess I'm disappointed."

She shook her head.

"Maybe it was just a stupid crush, but it sure- I mean, the feelings are still there. How can you kill feelings, right?"

I nodded.

She stood and walked up and down the patio.

"He and I both do this," she said. "Pace when we're nervous. We found out when we were at the hotel. All of a sudden, we started doing it simultaneously; it was a riot."

She looked at me. "You know how I feel? Cheated. But I'll get over it. And I'm still grateful to have him as a friend. Don't worry about me, I may look wounded but it's an illusion. All done with mirrors." Smile.

She sat down. "Now let's talk about the Great Man. What does he want, all of a sudden? What's his game?"

"I don't know, Lucy. Maybe to connect with you, somehow."

"No," she said angrily. "No way. He's up to something, believe me. He's a master manipulator, you have no idea. He loved hitting Puck when he was down."

"Puck went to him for money?"

"After he cut off the trust fund."

"He has that power?"

"Not officially, but the lawyers work for the family trust, and they do. One call from him." Snapping her fingers. "They invoked some sort of spendthrift clause. After that, Puck had to go to him. Only a few times, as a last resort. And of course he demeaned Puck and made him beg for every penny. Lectured him about financial responsibility, as if he's some expert. He lives off a trust fund, too. His mother's father owned textile mills all over New York and New Jersey, made a fortune before income taxes. He's never had to work a day in his life. If he did, he'd be sunk. He hasn't published or sold a painting in years."

She slammed a fist into a palm. "Forget him. Forget whoever played around with my undies and hung up on me and wrote that stupid note. No more fear, no more bullshit. I'm evicting it all from my mind. I don't care what it looks like, I never tried to kill myself. I love life. And I want a real life- a regular, boring, ordinary life. This is a nice place, but in a few days I'm out of here."

"Where to?"

"I don't know. Somewhere on my own. I'm not going to spend my life looking over my shoulder."

She got up again. "Had the dream again last night. Ken came in, said he'd heard me crying out. I was sweating. It's as if that damned incubus is sitting back there, just waiting to torment me. As if there's a big pile of garbage stuck in my memory banks. I want to evict that, too. Get my head clear. How do I do that?"

I considered my answer. The delay brought panic to her eyes.

"What is it? Is there something wrong with me- did they find something on those tests in the hospital?"

"No," I said. "You're perfectly healthy."

"Then what?"

Timing: the art of therapy.

Mine was off. I felt out of balance.

Her nails scraped the table.

"The dream," I said. "Has it changed in any way?"

"No. What are you holding back from me?"

"What makes you think I'm holding back?"

"Please, Dr. Delaware, I know your intentions are good, but I'm tired of being protected."

I thought of her head in the oven.

"Sometimes there's nothing wrong with being protected."

"Please. I'm not crazy- or do you think I am?"

"No," I said.

"Then what is it? What aren't you telling me?"

I continued to deliberate. She looked ready to jump out of her skin.

Feeling like a first-time skydiver about to step into space, I said, "Some things have come up. They may be related to your dream, or they may mean nothing. Given all your stress, I'm not comfortable dropping them on you, unless you can promise you'll take them calmly."

"What things?"

"Can you promise me?"

"Yes, yes, what?" Her hands were flexing. She stilled them. Forced a smile. Sat.

Waiting, like a child not knowing if candy was coming or the strap.

"You don't remember any contact with Lowell," I said. "But Ken says you spent a summer with him at Sanctum. All four of you did: you, Ken, Puck, and Jo."

"What? When?"

"The summer the retreat opened. You were four years old."

"How could- when did he tell you this?"

"The night he brought you into the hospital. I asked him not to discuss it with you. I wanted to pace things."

"Four years old? How can that be? I'd remember that!"

"Your Aunt Kate had just gotten married and gone on her honeymoon. Does the time frame fit?"

She stared at the lawn. Slumped low in her chair.

"I-" she said, very softly. "I still can't see how I couldn't remember something like that."