“Jeff?” Becky asked.

“Jeff McCutchen, Andre’s best friend. I dated him for a while before I got together with Andre. Up until the end, Jeff thought the world of Andre.”

“I remember Jeff,” Becky said. “But it must have been before you were dating him. Sort of a loner. I think Andre was his only-no, wait-Lucas Monroe knew him, too, didn’t he?”

Ivy nodded. “After I started dating Andre, Lucas and Jeff used to go drinking together. Jeff did a lot of drugs, too, but Lucas was never into that scene.”

The news that Jeff McCutchen and Lucas Monroe were friends shouldn’t have surprised me-at one time, Lucas had thought the world of Andre, too.

Frank was watching me, and I could see 100 percent unadulterated curiosity on his face. I wanted to talk this over with him, but it would have to wait.

“Lucas was the one who brought Jeff to the hospital the night he died,” Ivy said. “I wasn’t with Andre or Jeff by then. It was about a month after Andre and I split up. Jeff came by to see me one night; he looked like hell, as if he hadn’t shaved or showered or slept in days. He asked me if I was ever going to get back together with Andre.”

She looked away from us, talked as if she saw some other listener.

“I said no, but then I added that I wasn’t going to get back together with him, either. He said he didn’t blame me for that, he just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going back to Andre. He made me promise it was true. It wasn’t a difficult promise to give. He smiled, gave me a hug, and said that was all he asked of me. He went home and killed himself.”

“Oh God,” Becky said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that Jeff had died. I must have been at med school when this happened. I’m sorry, Ivy.”

Ivy looked at her, as if surprised to hear another voice, then said, “Don’t feel badly about what you said. As I told Irene, it was a long time ago. I wonder now if Jeff really knew what was going on when he acted as Andre’s messenger. It’s hard for me to believe he did. I don’t know…He left a note for me and one for Lucas. I never saw Lucas’s. Mine just said, ‘If you ever loved me, keep your promise.’ I felt incredibly guilty. Andre felt left out, I guess. In fact, the cruelest thing Andre ever said to me was that I caused Jeff to kill himself.”

“That son of a bitch,” Becky said. “Pure projection on his part. Ask Roberta.”

The minute she said it, she clasped her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she said, “I’ll check on her,” and left.

Frank stood up and stretched. “Thanks for telling me about Selman,” he said to Ivy. “I know it wasn’t easy for you and Becky to dredge up the past.”

“No problem,” Ivy said. “If I hadn’t moved on with my life, I suppose it would all be very painful. But if you look at the women in SOS, you’ll see that we all kept going. We survived, we learned, we went on to better things.” She smiled. “And in Irene’s case, definitely on to a better man.”

He actually blushed. “Well, I think I’ll get a drink of water,” he mumbled.

Ivy watched him as he walked off, and I could tell that she was eyeing his really great ass.

Well, I didn’t care if she looked at the menu, as long as she didn’t ask to be served.

“I have that information on Nadine for you,” Ivy said, jolting me out of my own appreciation of his physique.

“Here?”

“No. At home. My friend just made a printout of her computer records. Should I fax it to you at work?”

I thought about this. “Sure, but call first so that I can pick it up as soon as it comes over. God knows what obscure corner of theExpress it will end up in otherwise.”

“Okay.”

I thought about Roberta. “Ivy, did you know that Lucas died?”

She nodded. “Roberta told me.”

I told her about the plans for Lucas’s funeral, then added, “I’m going to say something that will sound a little strange, but it’s really important. I think Lucas was murdered.”

She drew in a breath, but didn’t interrupt.

“I think he was murdered and I don’t think Roberta was attacked by a burglar. Not a run-of-the-mill thief, anyway. Today my car window was bashed in, and the more I think about it, the more I’m sure it was by someone who hoped I’d left information in my car. There are other things I’m starting to wonder about, too, but-listen, what I’m saying is, be careful, okay? And don’t tellanyone -and I do meananyone -that you’re helping me out with this, okay?”

She nodded, her eyes wide and fearful.

Frank came back and saw that look, and was about to ask something when Becky called to us. “She’s in a room. Sorry, but the neurosurgeon will only give us a few minutes with her.”

Frank took my hand as we walked to the intensive care unit, but said, “I’ll wait here for you,” when we reached the door.

29

AT FIRST, the being on the bed-if it was a being-didn’t seem to be Roberta. Her face was ash gray, relieved only by the black stitches on her lower lip and left eyebrow. The left side of her face was swollen. Her head was swathed in a white bandage. Tubes led in and out of her. An ICU nurse-calm, busy, the one to whom that burden of “intensive care” would fall-was making an adjustment to an IV. A man whom Becky was introducing as the neurosurgeon stood nearby, watching monitors. In the midst of all of this, Roberta seemed little and far too still.

I felt sick to my stomach.

“Only a few minutes, please,” the neurosurgeon was saying.

A few minutes. How were we to take this in-to begin to believe what we were seeing-in a few minutes? What could I give her in that amount of time? I looked at her misshapen face.

Roberta?

I heard Becky saying it aloud. Becky the emergency physician. She was better at this than we were. She saw people who might be mistaken for dead all the time, right?

“Roberta, it’s Becky. Ivy and Irene are here with me.”

Nothing.

“Well, I guess I’ll call Lisa and tell her we’ll have to rent that movie on videotape, since you insist on lying around here,” Ivy said. “Wonder if they’ll let me bring popcorn into the ICU?”

Roberta’s hand twitched. Becky looked over at the neurosurgeon, who seemed interested, but said nothing.

“I’m going to stay nearby, Roberta,” Ivy said, her voice shaking as she added, “Here’s Irene.”

Here’s Irene. Irene’s tongue is cleaving to the roof of her mouth.

Find some way to encourage her, I told myself. Shouldn’t be tough. What wouldshe say? I suddenly remembered her office.

“Hello, Robbie,” I said, and the hand twitched again. “There are all of these little strays that are going to be worried about you. Who else can they confide in? Just Robbie. There isn’t any room in here to hang their artwork. Shall I tell them you’ll be back soon?”

Her eyes flickered open, just for the briefest moment. I hoped she didn’t really see me in that moment, hated to think my terrified face would follow her into unconsciousness. But the neurosurgeon made some kind of sound that I took to mean “good.”

I told her that she was missing a chance to meet Frank, and that Ivy had already been caught staring at his buns when he went to get a drink of water, but outside of a laugh from Becky and Ivy, there was no response. I stepped back, and Becky took over. She was calling her Robbie, too.

The neurosurgeon smiled at Ivy and me, then made a shooing sign at us. We stepped out into the hallway, leaving Becky behind.

“I’M GOING TO STICKaround here as long as possible,” Ivy said, tears welling up. “God, she looks awful!”

No argument from me. Ivy walked with us as far as the front doors of the hospital. It was dark outside.

“Anything we can do for you?” Frank asked.

She shook her head. “I’ll fax that stuff on Nadine to you tomorrow, Irene.”