But now was not the time to raise these issues. Six weeks after Alex’s death and Peter’s grief was still as raw as an open wound. His office at Kruger-Brent headquarters remained empty. Not that he’d ever done much there anyway. When Peter first married Alexandra, he’d insisted to Kate Blackwell that he would never go into the family business.

“I’ll stick with my psychiatry practice, Mrs. Blackwell, if that’s okay with you. I’m a doctor, not a businessman.”

But in the years that followed, the old woman had ground him down. Kate Blackwell expected the men in her family to contribute to “the firm,” as she called it. And what Kate Blackwell wanted, Kate Blackwell always got in the end.

But now Kate, like Alexandra, was gone. There was no one to stop Peter from spending entire days holed up in his study with the phone unplugged, staring mindlessly out of the window.

The true tragedy of Alexandra’s death, however, was not Peter’s retreat from life. It was the wedge that it had driven between Peter and his son, Robert.

Robbie Templeton was Barney Hunt’s godson. Having known him since birth, Barney had seen firsthand the unusually close bond between Robbie and Alexandra. As a psychiatrist, he knew better than most how devastating it could be for a boy of ten to lose his mother. If not handled correctly, it was the sort of event that could fatally alter someone’s personality. Dead mothers and estranged fathers: two of the key ingredients for psychopathic behavior. This was the stuff that serial killers, rapists and suicide bombers were made of. The danger for Robbie was very real. But Peter point-blank refused to see it. “He’s fine, Barney. Leave it alone.”

Barney’s theory was that because the child had internalized his grief (Robbie hadn’t cried once since Alex’s death, an immensely worrying sign), Peter had convinced himself that his son was okay. Of course, the psychiatrist in him knew better. But Peter Templeton the Psychiatrist seemed to have shut down for the moment, overwhelmed by the pain of Peter Templeton the Man.

Barney Hunt, on the other hand, was still very much a psychiatrist and he could see the truth all too clearly. Robbie was screaming out for his father. Screaming for help, for love, for comfort.

Unfortunately his screams were silent.

While Peter and Robbie drifted past each other like two ruined ghosts, one member of the Templeton household provided a tiny, flickering light of hope. Named Alexandra, after her mother, but referred to from the start as Lexi, the baby that Alex had lost her life delivering was already an utter delight.

No one had told Lexi she was supposed to be in mourning for her mother. As a result, she yelled, gurgled, smiled and shook her little fists with happy abandon, blissfully ignorant of the tragic events surrounding her arrival into the world. Barney Hunt had never been big on babies-a confirmed bachelor, and closet homosexual, psychiatry was his life-but he made an exception for Lexi. She was quite the sunniest creature he had ever encountered. Blond-haired and fine-featured even at six weeks, with her mother’s searching gray eyes, she “smiled whene’er you passed her,” like Robert Browning’s “Last Duchess,” as content to be held by strangers as by her doting nurse.

She reserved her broadest grins for her brother, however. Robbie was entranced by his baby sister from the moment she arrived home from the hospital, rushing to greet her as soon as he got back from school, irritating the maternity nurse by dashing straight to her crib whenever she cried, even in the middle of the night.

“You mustn’t panic so, Master Robert.”

The nurse tried to be patient. The boy had just lost his mother, after all.

“Babies cry. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with her.”

Robbie scowled at the woman, full of contempt.

“Oh, really? How do you know?”

Peeling back the soft cashmere blankets, he lifted his sister to his chest, rocking her softly till her cries subsided. It was two in the morning, and outside the nursery window a full moon illuminated the Manhattan sky.

Are you out there, Mom? Can you see me? Can you see how good I’m taking care of her?

Everyone, including Barney, had been worried that Robbie might have very conflicted feelings toward the baby. He might even become violent toward her, “blaming” Lexi in some simple, childish way for their mother’s death. But Robbie had confounded them all with an outpouring of brotherly love that was as unexpected as it was clearly genuine.

Lexi was Robbie’s therapy-Lexi and his beloved piano. Whenever he felt the smooth, cool ivory beneath his fingers, Robbie was transported to another time and place. Every other sense shut down and he became one with the instrument, body and soul. At those times he knew his mother was with him. He just knew it.

“Robert, darling, don’t lurk. Come in.”

The forced cheeriness in Peter’s voice made Barney Hunt wince. He turned and saw his young godson hovering in the doorway.

“Uncle Barney’s here. Come and say hello.”

Robbie smiled nervously.

“Hi, Uncle Barney.”

He never used to be nervous, thought Barney. Who’s he afraid of? His dad?

Standing up, he clapped Robbie on the back.

“Hey, sport. How you doing?”

“Good.”

Liar.

“Your dad and I were just talking about you. We were wondering how things were going at school.”

Robbie looked surprised. “School?”

“Yeah, you know. Have the other kids been giving you a hard time? About the stuff in the newspapers?”

“No, not at all. School’s great. I love it there.”

He likes school because it’s an escape from this place. An escape from grief.

“Did you want to ask me something, Robert?”

Peter’s tone was tense, his speech clipped. He’d remained seated behind the desk since his son came in, rigid-backed, his whole body clenched, like a prisoner on his way to the firing squad. He wished Robbie would go away.

Peter Templeton loved his son. He was aware that he was failing him. But every time he looked at the boy, he felt overcome by a wave of anger so violent he could hardly breathe. Suddenly the bond that Robbie and Alexandra had shared in life, the love between mother and son that had once been Peter’s greatest delight, left him consumed with jealous rage. It was as if Robbie had stolen those hours from him, those countless, loving moments with Alex. Now she was gone forever. And Peter wanted those moments back.

He knew it was crazy. None of this was Robbie’s fault. But still the fury corroded his chest like battery acid. The irony was that Peter felt nothing but love for Lexi, the baby who had “caused” Alex’s death. In his grief-addled mind, Lexi was a victim, like himself. She had never even known her mother, poor darling. But Robert? Robert was a thief. He had stolen Alexandra from Peter. Peter couldn’t forgive him for that.

Even now, Peter sometimes overheard the boy talking to her.

Mommy, are you there? Mommy, it’s me.

Robbie would sit at the piano, a beatific smile on his face, and Peter knew that Alex was with him, comforting him, loving him, holding him. But when Peter woke in the night, screaming Alex’s name, there was nothing. Nothing but the blackness and silence of the grave.

“No, Dad.” Robert’s voice was barely a whisper. “I didn’t want to ask anything. I…I was going to play the piano. But I can come back another time.”

At the mention of the word piano, a nerve in Peter’s jaw began to twitch. He’d been idly tapping a pencil on the desk. Now he gripped it so hard it snapped in his hand.

Barney Hunt frowned. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

But Peter wasn’t fine. His hand was bleeding. One by one, slow, heavy drips of blood splashed onto the polished wood of the desk.

Barney smiled reassuringly at his godson. “We won’t be long. Five minutes and then I’ll come and find you. We can play some catch, how’s that sound?”