"Oh?" Jack questioned. He paused, tying his knit tie, and stared at Lou in the mirror.

"She was upset about you guys and got all teary-eyed."

"That's curious, considering she's having a mad, passionate affair with some creep over at the Manhattan General."

"His name is Roger."

"Whatever. Actually, he's not a creep, and that's part of the problem. In fact, he sounds kind of perfect."

"Well, you can relax about that. I definitely didn't get the impression she's so wild about the guy. She even said she wants to talk to you about patching things up."

"Hal" Jack grunted in disbelief. He went back to tying his tie.

Knowing that he was putting words into Laurie's mouth and feeling a little guilty about it, Lou avoided eye contact with Jack while he got his jacket out of the locker and slipped it on. He justified his machinations as a friend helping friends. He used his fingers to comb back his closely cropped hair.

Jack's eyes followed Lou until Lou finally looked at him. Jack then said, "I find it hard to believe she wants to talk about patching things up when a couple of weeks ago, she wouldn't give me the time of day outside of talking about cases here at the morgue. I tried to get together with her a number of nights in a row. She blew me off each time, saying she was busy going to the symphony or to the museum or the ballet or some other disgustingly cultural event. I mean, she was booked up solid and never suggested an alternate date." Like Lou, Jack used his fingers to sweep his Caesar-style hair off his forehead with rapid, irritated strokes.

"Maybe you should try again," Lou suggested. He sensed that he should tread rather softly. "As I told her, you guys are meant for each other."

"I'll think about it," Jack said evasively. "I'm not big on self-humiliation these days."

"She also mentioned her confusion about a series of suspicious deaths over at the Manhattan General. It almost sounded like she was trying to talk herself into them being homicides. She said she'd talked to you about it. What's your take? She said you thought, in her words, she was 'off the wall.' "

"That's a bit strong. I just think she's gotten a little ahead of herself with those four cases."

"Six! She got two more today."

"No kidding?"

"That's what she said. She also admitted she might be using the serial-killer idea as a diversion."

"She said that specifically? I mean, she actually used the word 'diversion'?"

"Scout's honor!"

Jack shook his head with surprise. "I'd say that was a reasonable assessment, considering toxicology has drawn a complete blank. I'd also have to say it was impressively self-aware."

With the March sun still making its diurnal transit in the southern sky, a shaft of midday sunlight that had suddenly knifed through the rapidly moving cloudcover penetrated into the Manhattan General's southerly oriented cafeteria window. It was like a laser beam, and Laurie had to lift her hand to shield her eyes from its sudden intensity. Dr. Susan Passero, who was sitting across from her with her back to the window, became a featureless silhouette against the glare.

Keeping her hand over her forehead, Laurie dropped her eyes to her tray in front of her. She had hardly touched her food. Although her selections sounded appetizing when she got them, once she sat down, she realized she wasn't hungry at all. Having no appetite was not usual for Laurie. She attributed it to the stress she felt about her upcoming meeting with the social worker and the inevitable news she was about to get. In some ways, she felt humiliated about being forced to see a mental-health professional.

When Laurie had arrived at the hospital forty minutes earlier, she'd first gone to Roger's office, but he still wasn't available. One of the secretaries had told her he was closeted with the hospital president. Laurie had then gone to seek out Sue, who was graciously willing to join her for lunch on short notice.

"Getting a call from one of the genetics lab social workers doesn't necessarily mean your test was positive," Sue said.

"Oh, come on," Laurie complained. "I just wish the woman would have told me."

"Actually, by law, they are not supposed to tell you over the phone," Sue said. "With the new Health Information Privacy Act, phone reporting is frowned upon. Laboratory personnel can never be sure exactly with whom they are speaking. They could inadvertently give the information to the wrong person, which is what the new HIPA is supposed to prevent."

"Why haven't they sent you my results?" Laurie asked. "You're my official primary-care physician."

"I wasn't, technically, when the test was ordered. But you're right. I should have heard. At the same time, I'm not surprised. The walk-in genetics lab is just getting their act together. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised they didn't require you to have a session with one of their specially trained social workers before they took your blood. That was my understanding of the proactive way they were going to handle things. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to know that genetic testing is going to be upsetting, no matter the outcome."

Tell me about it, Laurie thought to herself.

"What's wrong with your food?" Sue asked, leaning over to look at it. "You haven't touched a bite. Do I have to take this personally?"

Laurie laughed and gave Sue a dismissive wave of her hand. Laurie confessed to being not hungry with everything going on in her life.

"Listen," Sue said, assuming a more serious tone. "If the BRCA1 test turns out to be positive, which obviously you expect, I want you to come right over to the clinic so I can get you in to see one of our top oncologists. Do we have a deal?"

"We have a deal."

"Good! Meanwhile, what's the scoop with Laura Riley? Did you get set up with a gyno appointment for your routine check?"

"I did. I'm set."

Laurie glanced at her watch. "Oops! I've got to get a move on. I don't want to be late. The social worker might decide I'm being passive-aggressive."

The women parted ways in the hall. As Laurie climbed the stairs up to the second floor, the right lower quadrant discomfort came back, causing her to hesitate. She wondered why stairs tended to aggravate whatever the nuisance was that was bothering her. It was like what she used to call a "stitch" when she ran too much as a child. True to form, it faded after only a minute. Making a fist with her right hand, she tapped against her back. The idea had occurred to her that it might be kidney or ureteral pain, but the tapping did not re-evoke the discomfort. She pushed in on her abdomen but felt nothing abnormal. She shrugged and continued on her way.

The reception room of the genetics diagnostics lab was as serene as it had been on Laurie's previous visit. The same classical music floated out of wall speakers and certainly the same impressionist prints hung from the walls. What was different was Laurie's mind-set. On the first visit, there was more curiosity than trepidation. Now it was the reverse.

"Can I help you?" a pink-smocked receptionist asked.

"My name is Laurie Montgomery, and I have an appointment with Anne Dickson at one o'clock."

"I will let her know you are here."

Laurie sat down and picked up a magazine, flipping through the pages aggressively. She looked at her watch. It was exactly one. She wondered if Ms. Dickson was going to humiliate her further by making her wait.

Time crept forward. Laurie continued flipping through the magazine without concentration. She found herself getting progressively more anxious and more irritated at the same time. She closed the magazine and put it back on the table with the others. Instead of trying to read, she sat back and closed her eyes. By force of will, she calmed herself. She thought about lying on a beach in the hot sun. If she tried, she could almost hear the waves lapping against the shore.