"I understand," Cassie said.

"You think so, but it can be very difficult. There are many feelings involved-and not least, guilt. Sometimes you think something is best, and later have regrets… I don't want to frighten you. This is down the road."

"Oh, it's okay, scare me to death."

"Come on, I'm being serious."

"So am I."

"You wanted the bottom line. The bottom line is we can't keep him on the respirator forever."

"I thought you said people can stay in a vegetative state for months, even years."

"Yes, I said patients in a vegetative state."

"Isn't Mitch in a vegetative state?"

"Yes. But Mitch is not in a vegetative state on his own. He's got considerable brain damage and he's being sustained. This is the issue."

"Oh, of course." The brain damage helped. And the respirator. How could she forget? "How is the decision made to… um…?"

"Oh, I said that was down the road."

"How far down the road, Mark? Are we talking days, weeks, months. How long?" Cassie coughed to cover her impatience.

"Well, there's nothing written in stone about it. But once the patient is stabilized, and there's been no improvement for a period of time. Well…" Mark looked away, then back. "You won't be alone with this, Cassie."

"His father is gaga. He only has me and the children. What would that period of time be?"

"I meant you have me and the hospital. The hospital is not cold. We like to keep them as long as possible. The insurance companies, as I said, like to move the cases along. Once the patient is stable, they will want him to move to another hospital. Here's the problem. You don't have that kind of coverage. I know Mitch's business is doing very well. There's no doubt you can handle the costs privately for some time, even indefinitely, if you choose that route."

Cassie swallowed. "What would happen if the respirator were turned off right now?" she asked softly.

Mark didn't answer.

"So what do we have-a week, two weeks?"

"Why don't you call Parker? I'm sure you have a power of attorney. You can explore the options with him."

"Yes, I'll call him." Given the situation, Cassie was pretty sure she didn't have a power of attorney. Mitch would not want his life in her hands now or ever.

Then something new and awful occurred to her. Maybe the girlfriend had the power of attorney. She closed her eyes against rage rising in her chest. Whenever Cassie thought about this girlfriend, she could hardly breathe. She told herself she had to snap out of it. Jealousy was a waste of emotion. She had to go find Aunt Edith, get rid of her, call Parker. She needed to get to the warehouse and circle the wagons. She wished her son, Teddy, were a little older and wiser, because she had no idea how to circle those wagons.

Behind her sunglasses, Cassie's eyes closed against the chilly Japanese garden out the window and the pain that roiled like lava in her stomach and her throat. Funny how her heart and lungs worked well, drawing in oxygen, circulating it around her body. Everywhere she was alive with feeling except in her numbed face. Suddenly her stomach did a little flip, heralding another feeling that had been dormant, long dormant. Mark had moved his hand. He'd dropped it to her leg and was rubbing the outside of her thigh in a lazy, but persistent circular motion. Startled, she stood up, her eyes blazing with indignation. He couldn't see them, though. She was wearing those sunglasses. "Mark, I've got to go."

He hauled himself to a standing position. He was smiling. He couldn't read her either. He thought things were going well. "How about lunch tomorrow? We'll talk about it some more then, hmmm?"

"Mitch had a girlfriend. Who is it?"

"Ah, I wouldn't know that." Mark was caught off guard. "He didn't share his private life with me."

"His private life? Come off it." Cassie laughed. "I thought I was his private life."

"You know what I mean." Uncomfortable again.

"No, I don't. He was being audited, did you know that?" Cassie went down the list of things she hadn't known.

"Yes. He talked about that. I suspect that may have contributed to this little event. The stress of having to account for one's life, well…" He spread his arms out. "No one likes having to explain. I'm sorry, Cassie."

"Thanks." She walked quickly through the glass corridor. Mark followed her, trying to catch up without skipping.

"A horrible man came over to assess the house this morning. He was sneaking around, so Edith called the police."

"Really? Who was it?"

"The IRS. It was very humiliating. Why are they doing this?"

"It's rough. Anything I can do to help?" He skipped even with her and tried to take her hand again.

"We have to stop this," she muttered, meaning his attentions.

"You can ask your accountant. Tax audits are not my department."

He didn't get it. "You don't know this woman's name?" she tried again. "I won't be mad if you tell me. It's not your fault."

"Ah, well, I don't know it." He pursed his lips, looking solid and doctorly.

"Why don't I believe you?" She heaved some oxygen into those lungs. Okay, she had the lawyer to talk to, the accountant. She'd find the girlfriend, and maybe murder her for the simple pleasure of it. She had the IRS audit to deal with. Who could she trust? No one. She found Aunt Edith with Mitch, still cajoling him to squeeze her fingers.

CHAPTER 17

CASSIE DROVE HOME SLOWLY, worrying in equal amounts about long-term care, how mu ch it cost, and whether she should come right out and tell Mark not to put his hands all over her. When they were just a few blocks from home, Edith started screaming at her.

"Honey, turn here."

She always turned here. "Here" was the gorgeous Americana, where the North Shore rich went to buy their haute labels. Armani, Prada, Ralph Lauren, Chanel. Hermès. It was just like Beverly Hills or Palm Beach, a mall where shops had awnings, and security guards watched the cars. The Americana was practically her home. The community where Cassie lived was right behind it, hidden by trees. Just driving past it now made her queasy. This was where Mitch's girlfriend did her damage.

"No, don't go straight. Turn left," Edith demanded.

"No, I'm not going shopping now, Aunt Edith. I have to call Mitch's lawyer," Cassie told her.

"I said stop! Can't you hear me?" Aunt Edith didn't like being thwarted.

Her screech was so insistent that Cassie jammed on the brakes when ordinarily she would have kept right on going through the yellow light. The car halted with a jerk, throwing both women forward into their seat belts. There went Cassie's new face.

"What's the matter with you?" Cassie cried, terrified that the staples in the back of her scalp had popped open and blood would soon start pouring out into her hair, down her neck.

"I want to get you a hat," Edith said, all sweetness now. "What's wrong with that?"

"You scared me to death, Edith."

"Well, you need a hat, Cassie, and I'm going to get you one. Come on, turn in. Something soft, you know, with a big brim and maybe a veil. You can't go out looking like that, Cassie, it's upsetting."

"Edith, I don't want a hat."

"You're no Jackie Kennedy, honey. You look dumpy in that scarf."

Cassie glanced at her very heavy aunt bulging in the white jogging suit. Look who was talking about dumpy. "I don't need criticism right now." Cassie tried to ease the hysteria out of her voice. Next to her two children and her sister, Julie, who may or may not have stolen a number of her mother's most valuable possessions, Aunt Edith was about her only living relative.

"Don't get testy with me, young lady. It's not my fault you lost weight and look dumpy in those clothes. You should get a few new things. And a hat. Anybody with a brain would do that."