Copyright © 2008 by KG MacGregor

Bella Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 10543

Tallahassee, FL 32302

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper First Edition

Editor: Katherine V. Forrest Cover designer: LA Callaghan

ISBN-10: 1-59493-125-9 ISBN-13: 978-1-59493-125-3

Acknowledgments

It’s so much fun to write suspense, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Luckily, I have friends around who can help with the details. Thanks first of all to Kim for her early ear as I was sounding out the story and for her guidance on the professional issues a psychiatrist might face. Thanks also to Karen, who read the first draft and figured out the ending way too soon; and to Jenny, who helped put the finishing touches on the manuscript.

I’d like to say a special thanks to my editor Katherine V. Forrest. When my publisher came to me a year ago with the offer to work with Katherine, I admit I was intimidated. It isn’t every day one has the opportunity to work with a Lammywinning author of such distinction. But after an assuring chat with Karin Kallmaker in Provincetown, I began to look forward to the process. Katherine did more than help with this book. She put tools in my writer’s toolbox that I will use forever, and I’m immensely grateful.

About the Author

Growing up in the mountains of North Carolina, KG MacGregor dreaded the summer influx of snowbirds escaping the Florida heat. They clogged the roads and restaurants, and drove prices up for the locals. Now older, wiser and intolerant of extreme temperatures, she divides her time between Miami and Blowing Rock, North Carolina. A former teacher, KG earned her PhD in journalism and mass communication, and her writing stripes preparing research reports for commercial clients in the publishing, television and travel industries. In 2002, she tried her hand at lesbian fiction and discovered her bliss. When she isn’t at her computer, you’ll probably find her on a golf course or hiking trail, where she’ll be thinking about what to write next. Please visit her at www.kgmacgregor.com.

Chapter 1

Sal Bailey shuddered with disgust as she recognized the object stretched over the doorknob of her supply closet. The bright blue condom, its sticky contents still oozing, was another typical teenage prank, the kind she saw at least once a week. The boys had probably enjoyed a good laugh at her expense, imagining her shock upon finding it there, or even hoping she might have grasped it before noticing it.

It wasn’t the first time the youngsters at Capital Country Day Academy had made her the butt of their jokes, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. At least this time, the rubber seemed to be filled with glue, and not the real thing. Nonetheless, she wrapped it in a disposable rag and worked it free of the knob, dropping both with a schluck into the plastic garbage bag on her cart. Then she soaked the knob with disinfectant from her spray bottle.

In a way, she felt sorry for the silly lads, sorry to be the only female on campus they could torment with sexual things when their adolescent hormones raged. The way she saw it, these boys needed more social interaction with girls in order to learn how to conduct themselves, but no one ever asked Sal what she thought about their education. She was only the custodian, the one who cleaned up in their wake.

The students here at Capital, the oldest all-boy school in the District of Columbia, were generally good kids, Sal thought, despite their occasional penchant for jokes in bad taste. Many of their fathers ran the country, either from the halls of Congress or from the government institutions that dotted the District. Expectations were high for these young men, the demands to excel passed down from one generation to the next. To Sal, that made their tomfoolery all the more understandable, a release valve for the pressures they likely faced at home. They were respectful to her face, and that’s what mattered most.

Nearing the second-floor restroom with her bucket and mop, she began to have second thoughts about her forgiving nature. The sound of water splashing on the tile likely meant someone had stuffed a sink full of paper towels and left the tap running for the sole purpose of making a ruinous mess, one that would keep her here cleaning long after everyone else had gone home for the weekend. Mischief that caused extra work for her was much harder to dismiss as simply boys being boys.

Gripping her mop handle for support, Sal edged toward the door, careful not to slip in the water that already had begun to trickle from the other side. She felt lucky to have stumbled upon the setup relatively early, before the entire wing had been flooded. When she swung the heavy wooden door inward, she could see the row of sinks, none of which was overflowing. It took stepping all the way inside the restroom to see the source of the spill, a water pipe above that had simply given way, broken neatly in half to pour a nonstop stream into the stall below. Relieved to learn this calamity wasn’t more shenanigans from the boys, Sal started for the door, eager to apprise the headmaster so they could get it fixed before it caused more damage.

Then it struck her that something more was amiss. She sloshed through the water and tried the door to the stall beneath the broken pipe. It was latched from the inside. Squatting as low as her fifty-nine-year-old legs would allow, she made out the crumpled form of a figure askew half on and half off the toilet, his tan pants and navy sport jacket soaked.

Not wasting another moment, she scooted frantically in the water underneath the door for a better look. One end of the boy’s necktie was knotted around the broken pipe. The other looped around his neck in a makeshift noose.

She shook the teenager. “Wake up!” He didn’t yet have the color of death, and his face was still warm. The ancient pipe had saved him from his reckless hand, giving way under his weight.

She fumbled in the pocket of her drenched apron for her cell phone and dialed the main office.

“This is Sal. Put me through to Mr. Harper. It’s an emergency.” As she waited for the headmaster, her fingers worked to loosen the knot where it pinched the boy’s neck. “Mr. Harper, we need an ambulance to the second-floor restroom. It’s the Wright boy. He’s tried to kill himself again.”

“. . . and in the counties where these preschool programs are fully funded, we’ve seen better school attendance, higher test scores and fewer retentions. If our goal is to give these youngsters the best education we—”

“With all due respect, Dr. Harrington, I don’t think we ought to be in the business of providing babysitting services to children not old enough to go to school.”

The C-SPAN cameras in the back of the room swiveled sideways to focus on the new speaker.

From his seat at the center of the semi-circular podium, the Democratic Chairman of the House Appropriations Committee leaned forward to his microphone. “The chair recognizes Congressman Baxter.”

Alvin Baxter, the ranking Republican on the committee, went on, his voice a gravelly monotone. “Seems to me the children would be better served at home with their mothers reading to them and teaching them their colors and alphabet. Isn’t that how your parents got you ready to go to kindergarten?”

Glynn Wright chewed the tip of her pen, effectively suppressing the urge to toss it at her showboating colleague. She had shared these figures in committee already, noting that those most affected were low-income children whose mothers needed to work outside the home to make ends meet. It didn’t take a Nobel economist to see the long-term positive impact of the preschool boost.

“Congressman Baxter, I’m sure for some that setting would be ideal. But what we find—”

“My point, Dr. Harrington, is that children are more likely to succeed if their parents make a commitment to that end and take a more active role. Would you agree with that?”

“Yes, sir, I would.”

Glynn couldn’t allow Dr. Harrington’s important testimony to be squelched. They had worked too hard to bring this important legislation to the committee. Nor could she afford to rankle a senior member of her own party, one whose help she would almost certainly need for another cause down the road. “Excuse me, if I may interject?”

“The chair recognizes Congresswoman Wright.”

“Dr. Harrington, like my colleague, I also advocate parents taking an active role in their child’s preschool education, whether it be a mother or father staying home to provide care, or in those cases where parents are required for financial reasons to work outside the home, to augment other daycare or preschool activities aimed at school preparedness.” Her words were carefully chosen to placate Baxter, but also to open the door to Harrington’s proposal. “Could you elaborate on the long-term findings within these test counties? Was there a discernible impact on the tax base, or perhaps a reduction in the utilization of other public services?”

“We found both, Madam Congresswoman. By the seventh year follow-up, we were able to conclude . . .”

After five-and-a-half terms as a U.S. representative from Indiana, Glynn had learned to play the game, sucking up on some issues and meeting others head on. What mattered most right now was getting the test program’s statistics in front of her colleagues and into the Congressional Record. That would win her the support she needed to get this passed. With her party in the minority, she wasn’t likely to enjoy many victories this term, but this one stood a strong chance of winning the committee’s recommendation and sailing through the House with bipartisan support.

Her longtime friend from the American Institute for Child Studies, Saul Harrington, wrapped up his testimony with a barrage of statistics designed to bury the opposition. The chair then thanked him for his appearance and adjourned.

Glynn pushed past the flurry of congressional aides bursting forth to deliver important messages to their respective bosses. “Saul, wait up. You were terrific.”

“I was worried for a minute there we were going to get sidetracked into a debate on working mothers.”

“Nah, Baxter just does that for C-SPAN so the folks back in Missouri can see him standing up for Ozzie and Harriet. He’ll vote against it, but not because of anything having to do with mothers staying home. He just doesn’t like to give federal money away.”

“Then why is he on the Appropriations Committee?”

“So he can say no.” Her chief of staff, Tina Carlson, was headed toward them, her serious face a contrast to Glynn’s triumphant smile. “By the way, I got you fifteen minutes with the chairman of health and education next Wednesday at nine thirty. He’s expecting to hear all about the top two items on your wish list.”

By his look, Saul was flabbergasted. “You got me fifteen minutes with Senator Culbertson? I’m going to have to send you flowers or something.”

Glynn held up a hand and smiled. “Don’t you dare. That’s an hour of paperwork for me to declare it. Just knock him dead. That’ll be my thanks.”

“I’d kiss you but someone would probably tell my wife.” “No doubt. Tell her hi from me, okay?” She bussed his cheek and turned to greet Tina. “What’s up? You look like—” “Glynn, I have Sebby’s school on the line. You need to take this call.” Tina handed her a cell phone and steered her toward a chair in the corner of the chamber.

Glynn’s stomach dropped with panic at her aide’s urgent tone. “This is Glynn Wright,” she said into the phone.

“. . . then everybody acts like they’re afraid I’ll crumble into a million pieces if they say the wrong thing.” The young woman hugged herself and rocked slightly against the back of the sofa.

“That must be very frustrating.”

“At least I’m spending time with other human beings again,” she said, chuckling. “That’s an improvement.”

“And you’re with them on your own terms, Angie.”

“I guess.”

Charlotte Blue checked her watch and closed the folder. “All in all, it’s been a good week. Wouldn’t you say?”

Her patient nodded.

“You’re back at work full-time—”

“And sometimes I even stay awake all day,” she added cynically.

Charlotte chuckled. “Didn’t I promise not to turn you into a zombie?”

“Yeah, but you also promised to take me off meds completely.”

“Let’s give that a little more time. I like the way things are going, though.”

The woman stood up and pulled on her heavy coat. “You know, five months ago, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to go out again.”

“You’re a lot stronger now than you were.” It was too soon to count Angie as a success story, but Charlotte felt good about her steady progress. There was no easy way to get over a brutal rape by a stranger.

She saw her patient out and returned to her desk to enter her final session notes. As she tucked away the file, there was a light knock at the door. “Come in.”

Joyce, her medical secretary, appeared in the doorway. “Charlotte, Dr. Pierce called from emergency. He needs a psychiatric consult as soon as you can get there.”

“Brandon’s got rotation, not me.”

“He’s not back from Baltimore yet.”

Charlotte groaned and pushed her hands through her hair. Brandon Diaz was giving expert testimony in court, which meant she had to cover for him. That’s how their department worked.

“I’ll go by there on my way out.” Julie wasn’t going to be happy about dinner, but she would understand. “Did he say what kind of case it was?”

“No, but he did say he wanted to take care of this before word got out.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Maybe it involves someone at the hospital.”

That was as good an explanation as any, Charlotte thought. “I guess I’d better get over there.”

“I’ll lock up,” Joyce said.

From her fifth-floor window, Charlotte could see across the quad to the front entrance of the hospital. A media truck was parked nearby, raising another possibility—that the mystery patient was someone of public interest. But the usual media circus that accompanied a famous patient was absent as yet, so whatever was going on was still largely under wraps. She would slip in the side door as always, and leave the same way.

She pulled on the white lab coat she wore for hospital rounds and stuffed a blank tablet and folder into her briefcase. Then she put away her active folders, locked the file cabinet and turned off the desk lamp. Monday morning would come soon enough.

“You’ll need this too,” Joyce said, holding her black overcoat so she could slip her arms through. “They’re calling for six to eight inches of snow tonight.”

Once outside, Charlotte dug out her cell phone. No way would she make it to the restaurant by seven, especially if she had to swing by her town house and change. A typical psych consult and admission took an hour or more under the best of circumstances, and this wasn’t shaping up as a typical case.

“Good afternoon. This is Charlotte Blue. Is Dr. Exner still there?” As much as possible, Charlotte avoided calling Julie at work, since the Department of Agriculture logged every call. “Hi, how’s your day been?” As she walked in the waning daylight, she listened sympathetically to a recap of one boring meeting after another. An expert in food production, Julie Exner toiled in frustration under bureaucratic constraints she said favored business interests over science and humanity.

“As your psychiatrist, I recommend you get out of there before you go crazy.” Julie’s response that she couldn’t wait to see her at the restaurant made her news about missing dinner all the more difficult to deliver. “Yeah, that’s why I was calling, I’m afraid. Something’s come up here at the hospital . . . No, I’m not on call, but Brandon had to testify today in Baltimore and he’s not back yet, so I have to take this one. I can come over later if you like.”

Though she wouldn’t admit it, Charlotte wasn’t particularly disappointed about the change in plans. It was fine to dress up and go out once in a while, but Julie’s idea of a perfect date was an extravagant dinner every single Friday night at whatever restaurant was hip. Charlotte’s tastes ran more toward cooking together at home and talking over wine with soft jazz in the background. They had been dating only four months, long enough to be aware of their differences, but not to have worked them out.

Julie’s apparent ambivalence about getting together later was hard to read. It wasn’t like her to pout, but this was the second week in a row Charlotte had broken their Friday night date because of work.

“I’m sorry about this, Julie. Really, I am . . . What if I call you later and you tell me what you want to do . . . Yes, I think we might be able to arrange a session on the couch.” She grinned at the suggestion. “I told you there were advantages to dating a psychiatrist.”

At the side door, she swiped her ID card over the infrared reader and then wound her way through the maze of hallways until she reached the counter in the emergency room.

A harried nurse looked up. “Hello, Dr. Blue. Dr. Pierce is looking for you.”

Charlotte loosened her overcoat as she walked down the hall. Dr. Pierce was alone in the small conference room, writing notes on a patient chart. “Gary?”

“Charlotte, come in.” He stood up and closed the door behind her. “We got a kid in here a couple of hours ago. A sixteen-yearold from Capital Academy named Sebastian Wright. He tried to hang himself at school with his necktie, but the overhead pipe gave way.”

“Is he all right?”

“He has a badly bruised trachea, but he’s going to be fine . . . physically, at least. He isn’t talking to anyone, though, not even his mother. I don’t want to just turn him loose.”

“Is she with him?”

Pierce nodded. “Yeah, and that’s why I wanted you to come so quickly. She’s Glynn Wright, that congresswoman from Indiana who took over her husband’s seat a few years ago when he got electrocuted in the bathtub. If the TV stations get hold of this, they’re going to be all over it.”

Charlotte vaguely remembered that story. Now the secrecy made perfect sense. This was just the sort of personal drama the media loved. “Where is he?”

She followed the hallway around the corner to a closed exam room where she knocked softly before entering. A woman—in her early forties, she guessed—looked up, her red-rimmed eyes showing both sadness and fear. In her smart brown suit and heels, she appeared to have come straight from the Capitol.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Blue. Is this Sebastian?”

The woman nodded and stood up from her perch on the side of the bed, not letting go of the young man’s hand. “Yes, it is. I’m his mother, Glynn Wright.”

Charlotte extended her hand. “How do you do?” She could see that the boy, clad in a hospital gown, and with a bandage around his throat, had been crying too. “How are you feeling, Sebastian?”

“Okay,” he rasped. “Can I go home?”

“We should talk a bit first before deciding anything, okay?” She looked at the congresswoman, whose face was lined with worry. “Could Sebastian and I have a few minutes alone?”

“Of course.” She squeezed the boy’s hand and kissed him gently on the forehead. “I’ll be right outside if you need me, honey.”

Charlotte walked her to the door. “There’s a small conference room around the corner on the right. I left my coat in there. I’ll come find you in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” It was obvious she hated to leave, but was anxious to have her son treated.

The boy eyed Charlotte warily as she returned to stand by his bedside. “You’re a shrink, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“That means people think I’m crazy.”

She chuckled lightly. “You know, sometimes I feel like the hardest part of my job is convincing people it’s okay to need my help once in a while. That’s all I’m here for, Sebastian.”

“So does that mean I’m crazy or not?” he asked defiantly, his voice still a rough whisper from the damage to his throat.

“That’s not a word I like to use about people . . . even crazy people,” she added with a wink he didn’t seem to notice. She studied his youthful face. He had light brown hair like his mother’s and her blue eyes as well. “Can you talk about what happened this afternoon?”

“I did something stupid.”

“What were you thinking about when you did that?”

He didn’t answer.

“Your mother’s really upset. Did you know she would be?”

Tears pooled in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt Mom. I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

“Are you afraid of something happening to your mom?” It wasn’t unusual for children who had lost one parent to develop irrational fears about losing the other one.

He looked away.

“Sebastian?”

“It’s hard to talk about.”

“I know.” Getting new patients to open up was a slow process. The most important thing after an incident like this one was getting the patient stabilized and out of immediate danger. “I tell you what. I’ll keep the questions easy for now, okay? Did something happen today that made you want to hurt yourself?”

He shook his head.

“Have you been thinking about this for a while?”

His lack of response probably meant yes.

“Dr. Pierce said you tried to hang yourself in the bathroom at your school, but the pipe broke and you fell. Is that the way you remember it?”

He nodded.

“Are you glad the pipe broke, Sebastian?”

The tears that had been building broke free and ran down his face, and he rolled away from her without answering. Whatever turmoil had triggered his suicide attempt was deep and pervasive, causing a pain he couldn’t bear to confront.

“I can see how much it all hurts, son. But we can make it better if you’ll let us help.” She gently stroked his shoulder. If his mother agreed, she would get him admitted and moved up to a room on the second floor.

She pressed the buzzer by the door, prompting a nurse to appear.

“Would you sit with this young man while I go over some things with his mother?”

“Of course, Doctor.”

Charlotte returned to the conference room to find Glynn Wright slouched forward in a chair, her head in her hands. She looked up when Charlotte cleared her throat. “How is he?” “He’s under a lot of stress right now. I’m sure he’s embarrassed about all the attention, and he seems very concerned about how worried you are.”

“Of course I’m worried. He could have died.” She choked back a sob and started for the door. “He shouldn’t be by himself.” “He’s all right. I left a nurse with him.” She steered the congresswoman back to her chair. “I’d like your permission to admit your son for observation and evaluation. I can give him a mild sedative to help him rest tonight.”

“Is he out of danger?”

“I believe so, but I want to do a full assessment on him when he’s ready to talk.”

She turned away and wiped her tears. “He won’t talk to me. I hate it when he shuts me out.”

“Does he do that a lot?”

She shook her head.

“Then he’ll probably open up soon. Right now, he’s overwhelmed with everything, trying to sort it all out in his head.” She pulled a chair over and sat facing the congresswoman. “He seems to be very worried about something happening to you.” The mother gasped and covered her mouth with her fist, as though realizing something terrible. “I should have known.” “How could you possibly know your son would try to hang himself?”

“He’s afraid for me, and he’d rather die than go through this again.”

“Because of what happened to his father?”

She turned back and met Charlotte’s eye. “He told you about that?”

“No, Dr. Pierce told me. And I recall a little bit from the papers. Your son must have been very young at the time.”

“Sebby was the one who found him. That isn’t something even a kid forgets.”

“That’s true. And even if he forgot the details, he would probably remember the emotions surrounding the event.”

“He just has a hard time dealing with things . . . tough things.”

“Everyone has that.”

“But he tried to do this before, about four years ago. He said it was an accident, but no one really believed him.”

“He tried to hurt himself?”

She nodded. “He had trouble adjusting when I got involved with someone. He drank a whole bottle of cold medicine and took a bunch of aspirin. They found him passed out in the locker room at his school. He had to have his stomach pumped.”

“It’s not unusual for kids to have problems when their parents start dating. They can be jealous, or threatened by the change. Or they act out just to prove they can still command your attention. Are you involved with someone else again? Is that why you think he’s acting out?”

“No, this time it’s something else.” She touched her jacket, just above her left breast, and winced. “I had a routine mammogram a couple of weeks ago and they found a calcification. It was just a small one, and they did a lumpectomy, but he’s been frantic about it ever since.”

“Anyone would be frantic about that. Did they make a determination?”

“Stage one, but contained. We’re proceeding with radiation just to be safe. I started on Monday.”

The revelation stirred a well of compassion in Charlotte. Glynn Wright had more than her share of challenges to deal with. “I’m sure you’re doing the right thing. And I know success rates are very high for stage one. You were lucky to have caught it so soon.”

“That’s what my doctor said. But I should have realized Sebby would be worried.”

“This isn’t your fault. We just have to get your son past his fears.” Charlotte needed more information directly from Sebastian, but it certainly sounded as if he suffered extreme anxiety at the notion of being separated from his mother. “Has he been under another doctor’s care?”

“No. I got him to see a therapist for a while after the other incident just to make sure there was nothing wrong, but Sebby wouldn’t talk to him very much. Then things calmed down when the relationship ended and he got better.”

“We need to get all this out on the table, and I’ll probably need your help to get Sebby to open up.”

“I’ll do anything. My son is the only thing that matters to me.”

“I believe that.” Charlotte patted her on the shoulder. “Let me get the paperwork started and we can get him moved upstairs to a private room. Will you be around to sign a release?”

“Of course. Can I stay with him tonight?”

“I’m sure they’ll let you, but after the sedative, he’ll sleep until morning. Maybe you should go home and do the same. You shouldn’t let yourself get worn down, especially with your treatments.”

She shook her head. “I know, but I need to be with him.”

Charlotte understood the sense of panic. Glynn Wright needed to be here for herself. She had nearly lost her son and now she didn’t want him out of her sight. “If you think that’s best, it’s fine.”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

Chapter 2

Charlotte stirred beneath the sheets, waking suddenly at the recognition she was alone in Julie’s bed—as usual. The clock beside her read 2:20 a.m. and the television played faintly in the next room.

This was only the fourth time they had made love, and it was becoming apparent that sharing a bed wasn’t something Julie found easy to do. She had said she was a night owl, but that didn’t explain her penchant for falling asleep on the couch once she rose from bed after making love.

Charlotte turned on the bedside lamp and searched the unfamiliar room for her things. She figured she might as well get dressed and go home so both of them could get a good night’s sleep.

Sure enough, Julie was tucked under an afghan on the couch, sound asleep. Charlotte shook her gently. “Hey, you should go back to bed. I’m going to head on home.”

“Charlotte?” Julie fought to open her eyes. “You don’t have to go.”

She shook her head. “No, this doesn’t work for either of us.”

Julie frowned and sighed. “I’m sorry. I just . . .”

“It’s okay. It’s not a big deal.”

“I hate that you’re going out in the middle of the night.”

“It’s all right. I have an early day at the hospital. This’ll be better.”

Julie sat up from the couch and stretched. “Have you diagnosed me yet, Dr. Blue?”

“I don’t do that sort of thing to my friends.”

“But I bet you think I’m weird as shit.”

“No, I don’t. You just aren’t used to sleeping with someone.”

Julie leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. “Be patient with me, okay? I might just be worth it.”

Charlotte smiled. If the companionship they usually enjoyed was any indication, they seemed to be headed toward something significant. Working out these small issues was a necessary step. “Go back to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She let herself out and walked briskly to her car. True to Joyce’s prediction, it had started snowing after dark, accumulating up to four inches already. It was tempting to go back and knock on Julie’s door, but the lure of her own bed was too strong.

Her manual-shift Saab handled well on the slushy roads, so the trip home across the Key Bridge wasn’t as treacherous as she feared. That wouldn’t be true come morning, she thought, pulling into the garage of her town house in Glover Park. Getting to the hospital tomorrow would be an adventure if this kept up.

Thoughts of the hospital brought Glynn Wright to mind. Charlotte wondered if she was able to sleep in the chair beside her son’s bed. She couldn’t help but worry about her given the radiation treatments. Most people struggled when faced with only one enormous challenge. Glynn had two, and so did Sebby.

• • •

Glynn shifted onto her hip, her back stiff and sore. Even with the pillow and blanket a kindly nurse had delivered to her in the night, a chair was still a chair. It didn’t help that she had skipped dinner and was now almost too tired to move.

As Dr. Blue had promised, Sebastian had slept peacefully all night, not even waking long enough to know she was there. But at least she had peace of mind that his had been a restful night.

She had awakened two hours earlier to overhear several of the nurses complaining they wouldn’t be able to drive home in the snow at their shift’s end. From Sebastian’s window, she could see it drifting against the building and the cars at the curb, one of which was hers. For that, she was glad to have stayed the night, because she would never have gotten back here this morning.

Glynn was looking forward to seeing Dr. Blue again so they could get Sebby’s evaluation and treatment underway. Charlotte, as one of the nurses had called her, had an air of authority about her, one that gave Glynn confidence she could get through to Sebby and help him put this horrible fear behind him. She had decided in the night that she needed to come clean with the doctor about everything that might be affecting his state of mind, including personal information hardly anyone knew. Everything was up for sacrifice—her privacy, and even her constituency—if it meant a cure for her son.

“Good morning,” a young nurse whispered as she tiptoed into the room. “Were you able to sleep?”

“A little. The blanket and pillow helped. Thank you.”

“Thank Dr. Blue. She called about three o’clock and asked us to check on you and make sure you were comfortable.”

“Dr. Blue was calling in at three a.m.?”

The nurse shrugged. “They all keep strange hours. I think that’s left over from those forty-eight-hour shifts they pulled in medical school.”

That explanation might fly for an emergency room physician, but Glynn couldn’t imagine a psychiatrist pulling an all-nighter. “What time does she usually see patients?”

“Rounds usually start at six thirty during the week, but weekends vary. It’s hard to say for sure if she’ll even be here today. Sometimes she just calls in her orders.”

Glynn hoped that wasn’t the case. She had gotten the distinct impression that Dr. Blue would see Sebby today. But no matter what the schedule was, she needed a plan for getting home for a shower. Tina would probably come for her if she called, but she hated to ask anyone to drive in weather like this.

The nurse opened the curtains to let in the gray light of dawn. “I’m going to get him up in about fifteen minutes and get his vitals. This might be a good time for you to go down to the cafeteria and grab some breakfast.”

“I think I should be here when he wakes up.”

“He’ll be fine. I’ll tell him where you are and that you’ll be back soon.”

This was possibly the only window she would get for several hours, so Glynn decided to take it. She smoothed her rumpled suit, then rummaged in her purse for a hairbrush and pushed it through her short graying hair.

“You look fine. No one’s awake down there anyway. They’re just going through the motions.”

She smiled her appreciation. “I won’t be long.”

Glynn took the elevator to the first floor and followed the signs to the cafeteria. As the nurse had suggested, the crowd milling about the breakfast island and refrigerated display cases was subdued, as if not quite awake. The line at the coffee machine confirmed this.

“Stay away from the melon. It’s out of season,” a voice from behind her said.

She spun and found herself face to face with Charlotte Blue, who looked surprisingly chipper for someone making telephone rounds at three a.m. “Good morning.”

“Were you able to sleep last night?”

“Yes . . . no, not really. But thank you for sending in the pillow and blanket. That helped.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Did Sebastian have a good night?” “He slept like a baby, just as you said he would.”

“I could have given you something too, but that probably wouldn’t have been a good idea with you under another doctor’s care right now.”

Glynn appreciated that she spoke softly, careful not to let anyone overhear. The fewer people who knew about her breast cancer right now, the better. “Will you do your assessment today?”

She nodded, grabbing a low-fat yogurt to go along with the banana on her tray. “I thought we’d give it a try, if he’s willing to talk.”

“If I know my son, he’ll talk your ear off if he thinks it will get him out of here sooner.”

Charlotte laughed. “He’s thinking rationally then. That’s a good sign.” She went through the line and paid, waiting on the other side while Glynn did the same. “Would you like to sit for a few minutes, or were you headed back upstairs?”

“Sitting somewhere different would be good. Who knew that chair would be so exhausting?”

“That may be your treatments, you know. You really should try to get home today and sleep.”

“I don’t want to leave Sebby.”

They sat alone at the end of a long table.

“Look, Mrs. Wright—”

“Please call me Glynn.”

“Glynn . . . a full assessment will probably take about four hours. If we get started around eight, I’ll have him back in his room for lunch. He’ll be tired and bored and ready to nap. Why don’t you go home for a while?”

“I can’t. My car’s snowed in at the curb.”

“Call a taxi then. You really need to be watching out for yourself, or Sebastian’s just going to worry even more.”

She had a point there. “What time would I need to come back?”

“Why don’t you plan on five o’clock? You can bring him a burger for dinner and go back home for the night.”

“You don’t think there’s a chance of him coming home with me?”

Charlotte stopped eating and looked at her seriously. “Your son tried to kill himself yesterday. I don’t want to release him from a suicide watch until we’re absolutely certain the danger has passed. It’s too soon to know that.”

Glynn shuddered at the dramatic summary. “Of course, you’re right. It’s wishful thinking.” She pushed her fruit bowl aside.

“I understand.” Charlotte nudged the bowl back in front of her. “And you need to eat the rest of that.”

She reluctantly took another bite. With Sebby’s evaluation looming, this was probably as good a time as any to share her other concern. “I need to tell you something in absolute confidence, something you should know before talking to Sebby.”

Charlotte set down her spoon and leaned forward slightly, keeping her voice low. “I can’t promise confidence if what you tell me involves abuse. Do you understand that?”

Glynn nodded. The notion of abusing her child was the furthest thing from her mind.

“I’m worried about something that might be bothering him, something he won’t tell you.”

“You’d be surprised how much I learn in my diagnostic interview.”

“I don’t think you’ll learn this from Sebby, because he won’t talk about it, even with me.”

“Okay.”

She pushed her bowl away again, this time crumpling her napkin inside to indicate she was through. “That relationship I told you about . . . I became involved with someone who worked on the Hill. We kept our relationship secret because it had ramifications for our jobs. I even kept it secret from Sebby at first, because he was only twelve. I didn’t think he’d understand. But I told him eventually, and he said he didn’t care. He really seemed okay with it.” She stopped herself. Once the words were said, they could never be taken back. She blurted, “I was seeing another woman.”

If the doctor was surprised, she didn’t show it at all. “You think that bothered him?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, he seemed fine, but everything changed when Stephanie and I told him he shouldn’t say anything to anyone about us, because it would only cause problems. I think that made him think it was bad. He just shut down after that. He wouldn’t talk to her, wouldn’t do things with us.”

“Stephanie was the woman you were involved with?”

Glynn nodded, looking around to make sure no one had overheard.

“Are you still in this relationship?”

“No. We broke things off not long after that. She moved back to her home state when the senator she worked for ran for governor.”

“Why do you think it might be bothering him now?”

“I don’t know. But I called her last week to tell her about my treatments. Sebby asked who was on the phone and I told him. He didn’t even say anything. He just went in his room and shut the door.”

“So you think he has a problem with Stephanie?”

“I never thought it was that bad. Now I’m worried because of the timing.”

“I can explore it when I do my diagnostic interview. It wouldn’t be unusual for a teenager to have problems with that. Sexuality can be very complicated for some kids.”

Glynn cleared her throat and looked around. “And do you see that my being in a relationship with a woman is a secret that needs to be guarded very carefully? I don’t have the hypocritical voting record of some of my Republican colleagues, but too many people would make it into a political weapon that would undermine everything I try to do.”

“Relax, Glynn. Did you happen to read any of those forms before you signed them last night?”

Glynn was surprised to see what looked like a twinkle in the doctor’s hazel eyes.

“We really shouldn’t ask people to sign those things when they’re under so much stress. One of those forms explained that all information shared with your doctor—in this case, with your son’s doctor, me—will be kept in strict confidence. The only exceptions are, like I said, in instances of abuse, or if I feel that Sebastian presents a danger to himself or others. Your relationship with a woman just doesn’t meet that threshold.”

Glynn blew out a deep breath. “Thank you. Now I feel ridiculous.” She was surprised when the doctor’s hand came to rest on her forearm.

“You don’t have to, Glynn. I understand how it is about secrets.”

“I hate that I have to do this. I feel like half my life is a lie.”

“It’s a tough decision for anyone. I don’t usually tell my patients this, because it isn’t relevant to their treatment, but maybe it would help you to know I went through it myself when I came out in college.”

“You’re . . . a lesbian?” The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind.

“That’s right. And like I said, that’s not really relevant information, but I wouldn’t want you to discover it later and feel as if I betrayed you in any way by not telling you.”

Glynn felt her respect for Charlotte Blue surge, not only as a professional, but as a fellow human being. “I appreciate you telling me that. I promise to treat it in complete confidence as well.”

“It isn’t a big deal for me. I’m out with everyone that matters.”

That was a foreign attitude for Glynn, thanks to her party’s outward stance on homosexuality and her family’s dictums on how she should live her life. She usually told herself that Sebby was the only one whose opinion of her truly meant anything. If it was bothering him in any way, she would put that part of her life on hold until he was older and better able to cope with it. After all, it wasn’t as if she had a busy social life.

Charlotte knocked gently before pushing open the door. “Hi, Sebastian. How are you feeling this morning?”

He was sitting up in bed, flipping through the channels on his muted television. “Fine, I guess.”

“I bet you’re getting tired of everybody asking that every time they come in here.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If you ever say something besides fine, you’ll have the whole staff in here in two seconds. Not that I’d recommend it, mind you.” She took a seat in the chair where his mother had spent the previous night. It was important to feel out his mood in order to decide whether or not to proceed with the assessment. In other circumstances, she might have postponed everything until Monday, but something about this boy and his mother told her they wouldn’t welcome the participation of a dozen residents and interns during rounds. That was especially true in light of the conversation with Glynn Wright over breakfast. “How was your breakfast?”

“Disgusting.”

“Well, it’s nice to know you’ve recovered your better judgment.” She was pleased to see a smirk in response to her goodnatured rib. “I wondered if you’d be interested in talking with me today.”

“What about?” He crossed his arms.

“A lot of things, actually. When people end up here the way you did yesterday, we need to do a full assessment to see where things stand. It’s kind of a big deal, but I don’t want to start on it until you’re sure you feel like talking.”

“Will my mom need to be with us? She went home.”

“No, this part would be just you and me. But I saw your mom this morning and explained how it works. I told her that all of the things you say in our sessions are private, and I have to keep it that way unless I feel you might try to hurt yourself again, or if you told me you were being abused.”

“I’m not being abused,” he said, sighing as if embarrassed.

“Okay, that’s always good to know.” She was curious about where he had filed away the bit about hurting himself again. “But I would like you to consider agreeing to let me share things with your mom if I think it would help your treatment. What would you think about that?”

“I don’t care. We already talk about everything.”

“That’s nice. You’re lucky you can do that.” It was becoming increasingly likely that Sebastian’s problems were simply things he didn’t really understand well enough to articulate, but they were serious enough to threaten his life. “I notice your mother calls you Sebby. Do you like that name?”

“It’s okay. Most of my friends call me that too. Or Bas . . . that was my dad’s nickname.”

It hadn’t occurred to Charlotte until just that moment that Bas was also short for Sebastian. “Would it be all right for me to call you Sebby, like your mom?”

“Whatever.”

“Okay.” It sounded as if the boy might be ready to talk to her, so she pushed ahead. “I thought we might go into one of the conference rooms. Would you like a change of scenery?”

“Do I have to wear this stupid gown?”

She got up and opened his closet. “You’ve got some pants and a shirt in here. You can change if you like.”

“Mom said they were wet.”

She ran her hands up and down the cloth. “They feel pretty dry to me.” She wished they could go to her office, but eight inches of snow made the trip across the quad impossible for a kid without a coat. “Why don’t you get dressed while I get the room ready? I’ll come back for you in about ten minutes.”

“Works for me.”

Charlotte couldn’t help but feel encouraged. She liked the idea that getting Sebastian on the road to recovery would free Glynn Wright to do the same for herself.

Glynn turned underneath the needle-like spray, dialing back both the force and the heat that beat upon her tender left breast. They had told her to expect the redness and sensitivity. It was a small price to pay for peace of mind, but she would be glad when this five-week regimen was behind her.

The shower felt great, but not as great as the sleep she had planned for the next eight hours. Sebby had seemed fine about her leaving, and had even hinted that he was eager to talk with Dr. Blue and get the evaluation over with. Coming home was all he could think about, and it was all she wanted too.

She had put off returning the messages on her cell phone, but decided it might be a good idea to check in with Tina before going to sleep. Tina was the one person she could trust with information on Sebby or her doctor visits. As a congressional aide, Tina was politically savvy and well-seasoned. And she was as loyal as they came.

Wrapped in a thick terry-cloth robe, Glynn pulled back the comforter on her bed and picked up the phone. She dialed Tina by rote and settled back against the pillows, physically comfortable for the first time in more than a day.

“Hi, Tina. Remember me?” She smiled to herself as Tina regaled her with twenty questions all at once. “He’s okay. Just a bad bruise on his neck. We’re far from out of the woods about why he did this, but I think he might actually be ready to talk about it this time. I told him not dealing with it wasn’t going to be an option.”

Tina told her about deflecting questions from the curious regarding why Glynn had dashed out so suddenly after yesterday’s hearing. Congressman Baxter’s aide had sought her out with an offer to trade his support for the preschool measure for hers against a military base closure in his district.

“He’s such an ass, Tina. He’d never send his aide to broker support from a male colleague, but that’s how he treats all of us in the women’s caucus . . . Yeah, I’m just now figuring that out. Did I tell you about the psychiatrist that came to see Sebby last night?” No matter how much she tried to focus on the matter of Baxter, her subconscious never strayed from the issue of her son.

“Her name is Charlotte Blue.” She was also conscious of the fact that Dr. Blue was probably talking with Sebby right that moment. “Sebby seems to like her okay. I had breakfast with her and you’re not going to believe this. I told her about Stephanie . . . that I was a deep-in-the-closet evil Republican lesbian, and you’d never guess what she said. So is she. Not the evil Republican part, or even the closet part, but she said she’s a lesbian too.” Glynn couldn’t get over how pleased she was to know that. “No, but you remember the last time Sebby did this. I thought it was because of Stephanie. If that’s what’s bothering him now and he just isn’t telling me about it, then maybe she can find out . . . Yeah, I know. It never really seemed like a problem until we made it a big, bad secret. I guess that’s when he started thinking there must be something wrong with it.”

Glynn was struck with a sudden wave of fatigue and she settled lower onto the bed. “I need to get some sleep. Last night was awful . . . No, I’m okay otherwise. My breast is a little sore, but they told me to expect that.” She loosened the robe and worked her arms free. Then she slipped nude beneath the comforter. She almost always wore flannel pajamas, but this felt smooth to her tender skin. “Thanks for everything, Tina. I’ll call you later and let you know how things go.”

She was too tired to return the phone to its cradle, dropping it limply beside her instead. She was asleep in moments.

Chapter 3

In a small conference room on the third floor of the hospital, Charlotte studied her patient. Not only did Sebby share his mother’s coloring and slight build, he had several of her mannerisms, such as running his fingertips against the grain of his short hair. As with Glynn, it had the effect of making him appear momentarily disheveled, until he became aware of it and smoothed it back into place.

He was studying the “no secrets” form she had asked him to sign before they began their talk.

“I really want you to think that over before you sign it, Sebby. Your mother and I will probably want to talk about some of the things you tell me. If there are things you don’t want her to know about, you need to tell me what they are so we can keep those between us. But I don’t want you to hold back from me. It’s very important that you be as honest as you can be.”

“I don’t care what you tell her,” he said, scribbling his name on the bottom of the form.

“Okay, but if you change your mind, just say so and I’ll turn the tape recorder off.”

He nodded and leaned back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest.

Charlotte arranged her papers on the conference table, opting to start with a blank notepad, and then asked Sebby to talk a bit about his life.

“I was born in Indiana,” he replied, “but we moved to Washington when I was a baby because my dad got elected to the House. I don’t really remember much about back then except for when my mom left.”

Charlotte stopped writing and looked up in surprise. “Your mom left when you were little?”

“Yeah, she got sent to Bosnia. She was doing something for the United Nations, and they asked her to set up a program for the kids that got moved into the refugee camps or something. You’ll have to ask her exactly what it was.”

“When was that? Do you remember?”

“I was four or five.”

Charlotte had gone to Macedonia herself in the mid-Nineties to work with displaced victims of the war. That Glynn had also gone to the region struck her as an amazing coincidence. “Tell me about when your mother left.”

Sebby was clearly bothered by the memory, as evidenced by the way he frowned and scrunched his lips. “I went to stay with Grandma at the farm over the summer. Then I came back to start school and it was just Dad and me.”

“Do you remember much about that? The time with just your dad, I mean.”

“I remember sitting behind him on the airplane. With Roy, I think. Dad always took his staff back to Indiana when he went. Mom doesn’t do that.”

“Who’s Roy?”

“He’s a good friend of ours. He was one of Dad’s aides, but he works for Mom now.”

“So you remember sitting behind your dad on the plane. Was he sitting with someone else?”

“I guess.”

“You don’t remember who?”

“Just somebody else on his staff. He was always busy.”

Charlotte made a few notes on her tablet. It was normal for kids to have murky images of some people, but distinct memories of those who played significant roles in their lives. Roy seemed to be in the latter group. “Anything else you remember about when your mom was gone?”

He shrugged. “It’s too confusing. I don’t remember.”

“Do you remember doing things with both your mom and dad?”

“Not much. I remember when we all used to go to Grandma’s farm, and one time when we went to the Orioles game in Baltimore. Dad got me a baseball signed by Cal Ripken, Jr. We both got really excited about it. Every time Mom looks at that ball, she says it was like having two little boys.”

“That’s nice you have those memories, Sebby.”

“Yeah.”

She regretted having to spoil his mood with tough questions about his father’s death. “Do you remember much about the last few times you saw your dad?”

“Just being at the airport when Mom got home. He was holding me up so I could see her coming up the ramp. And then he put me down so I could run to her.”

“I bet that was great.”

“Yeah.” He picked up a loose paperclip and began to twist it.

Charlotte waited, hoping he would offer more information without her having to probe. Finally, she forged ahead. “Anything else?”

“No. He died a couple of days after that. Mom says I came in the room to get her, but that’s too confusing. I don’t remember that part.”

“You don’t remember finding your father?”

“No, but I guess I did.”

An event like that would certainly be traumatizing for a child, enough that he might push the memories deep into his psyche. “Do you remember how it made you feel, Sebby?”

He shrugged. “I was sad, I guess. We went back to Grandma’s in Indiana for a while. Then Mom was appointed to fill Dad’s term and we moved back to Washington, just her and me.”

“What do you remember about that time?”

“It was okay. I remember going to work with her some, but mostly I was at school. I had a babysitter after school named Patty. She was nice.”

It was an extraordinary start in life. No wonder mother and son were so close. “Did you miss your father?”

“I guess so. I think Mom missed him for a while, but then she got really busy with all the politics.”

“Sebby, is there anything that stands out about that time or any other time when you were little? Anything you find yourself thinking about sometimes?”

“I try not to think about it.” He continued to twist the paperclip, not looking up.

“So the memories come back and you push them away?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you remember anything else about the time with just your mom and dad when you were little? Times you were scared?”

“No, not at all. Just that it was better when she came back home.”

Better without his father? Or better because he was more attached to his mother. “Why was it better, Sebby?”

“I don’t know. It just was.”

Charlotte couldn’t decide if he was just trying to reconstruct the time for her benefit, or if he actually had specific, but vague memories of feeling that it wasn’t as good without his mother there. It was possible he harbored resentment about her leaving, but he didn’t seem to be in touch with it if he did.

“You’ve always been close to your mother, I take it?” “Yeah.”

“What about your childhood after you moved back to Washington? Tell me some more about that.”

“I remember when we moved into the house where we live now. I started going to Capital Academy then.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixth grade. That’s where the Academy starts.”

“You like it there?”

“It’s okay.”

“A lot of friends?”

“A few.”

“Sebby, your mom wanted me to ask how you felt about her friend Stephanie. Can we talk about that?”

He shrugged. “Not much to say.”

“Did it bother you that your mom was having a relationship with another woman?”

“No.” His answer was surprisingly emphatic.

“Not many teenagers are as accepting as you about things like that. But you’re sure it was okay with you?”

“My cousin’s gay. It’s no big deal.”

“That’s good you feel that way . . . very mature.” She sighed, hoping it would encourage him to open up a little more. “It’s just that your mom said she thought you might have had a problem with it because you started staying in your room a lot whenever Stephanie came over. And you didn’t want to do things with them after a while.”

“I don’t remember that. It’s too confusing.”

“Did you like Stephanie?”

“Yes!” She could tell by his voice he was growing exasperated by the questions. “I liked her fine. She was nice.”

“Okay, I think I’ve badgered you enough about that.” She was glad to see him smile, albeit sheepishly. “Have you been worried about your mom lately?”

“Some.”

“Would you say you’re more worried about her now than when she first told you about having breast cancer?” If his mother was right that he was afraid of losing her, his rising anxiety might have been what triggered his suicide attempt.

“I don’t know.”

“I just wondered if it helped to know she was getting treatments, or if maybe that made you worry even more.”

“I get confused when I think about it. I want her to be okay.”

Confusion wasn’t the reaction she expected, but it was a word he used often to describe feelings he couldn’t otherwise articulate. “What is it that confuses you, Sebby?”

His only response was a shrug.

“Cancer can be a scary thing, but she seems to be getting good advice about how to beat it.”

“I hope so.” He frowned and started playing with his hair again.

“You know, Sebby, your mother thinks part of what’s bothering you is that you’re worried about something bad happening to her. Is she right?”

“I guess.”

It was time to start peeling back the layers. Charlotte picked up the structured diagnostic interview packet and opened it to page one. The next two hours would be grueling.

As she approached the double glass doors, Glynn caught her reflection and automatically reached to smooth her hair. She felt like a new woman after her rest, and was thrilled to discover that Tina’s husband had dug her Camry out of the snow and deposited it in her driveway while she slept.

A call from Sebby had brought more good news. Dr. Blue had finished her assessment and would contact her about setting up a time on Monday to talk about the results. He was bored, he said, with nothing to do but watch college basketball on TV all afternoon. Her heart had nearly burst at the sound of his laugh when he admitted he probably would have been doing that even at home.

The hospital lobby was quiet tonight, relative to its bustle the day before. Most people had better things to do on a Saturday night than—

“Congresswoman Wright, is your son going to be all right?” The question, shouted by a woman from across the lobby, nearly stole Glynn’s breath. She turned to see a reporter from a local television station heading toward her, a cameraman in tow already filming her reaction.

Her eleven-year career in politics, plus the years she had campaigned alongside her husband, had prepared her for being in the public eye, even during trying emotional times. But this wasn’t an outpouring of sympathy for the loss of her husband. This was a fishing expedition on the mental state of her son.

“My son is fine. Thank you so much for asking.” She looked away and stepped up her gait toward the elevator.

“Is it true he tried to hang himself at school yesterday?”

She stopped and collected herself before turning and glaring icily at the reporter. “I’m sure your viewers can appreciate what an incredibly personal time this is for my son and me. Please thank them for their thoughts and prayers.”

Ignoring the follow-up, she bypassed the elevator and banged through the door to the stairwell. By the time she reached her son’s room on the second floor, she was shaking with anger.

“Mom, what—”

“Someone at your school has a big mouth.”

He sat up in bed and swung his legs to the side. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a TV camera downstairs, and they know what happened yesterday.” Glynn peeled off her gloves and slapped them into the chair. “We need to get you out of here. I’m not going to have this turn into a circus.”

She threw her coat over the chair and walked back out the door, making a beeline for the nurses’ station. “I need an emergency number for Dr. Blue.”

The lone nurse at the desk jumped up. “Is something wrong with Sebastian?”

“No. He’s fine and I want to take him home.”

“Mrs. Wright, it would be best if you waited for a formal discharge. That way, Dr. Blue can go over instructions for—” “I want to leave now. Tonight. Will you call her, please?” “I’ll certainly try, but we’ll probably reach her answering service.”

“Tell her it’s an emergency. If she doesn’t come to sign the discharge papers, we’ll leave without them.” Glynn hated how rude she sounded, but her decision wasn’t up for debate. It was only a matter of time before the reporters downstairs talked to someone on staff, or, God forbid, before they found Sebastian and shoved a camera in his face.

Charlotte plucked an array of flowers and greenery from the vase on her counter and arranged them on the tissue paper. Julie would appreciate the thought, and didn’t need to know they weren’t bought especially for her.

It wouldn’t hurt to smooth things over from last night, but she doubted it was necessary. If she was reading things right, her guilt about having missed dinner was offset by Julie’s at leaving her on her own in bed again. Charlotte insisted it was forgiven, but was pleased at Julie’s determination to try again.

Tonight was like a reset for them, but without the dreaded dinner out in a crowded restaurant. Julie was making something in a wok, and she had two movies picked out to watch afterward. That was Charlotte’s idea of a perfect night, especially if they forgot all about the movies.

She checked herself in the full-length mirror by the door. Julie made no secret of preferring her in a cocktail dress, but Saturday night at home called for jeans, and that’s what Charlotte wore. The ivory cashmere V-neck dressed her up a bit, as did her gold hoops and bracelet.

On her way out the door, she grabbed a bottle of Bordeaux from the rack in her kitchen and tucked it under her arm. As she backed out of the garage, her cell phone chirped. She answered through the Bluetooth in her car.

“I hear you got suckered into an emergency last night,” said Brandon Diaz, her colleague, his voice giving away a teasing grin.

“You suck, dude. No way did that trial last all day.” She listened skeptically to Brandon’s feeble excuse about getting stuck in Beltway traffic. “Yeah, I took the call, so you owe me big. And I was there all day today doing a diagnostic and writing it up.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to pay me back. At least it was fairly easy, right?”

Though she complained on principle about having to pull her colleague’s duty, she hadn’t minded at all being drawn into the Wright case. If the involvement of a congresswoman wasn’t enough to make it intriguing, treating Sebastian Wright was shaping up as one of the more intellectually challenging cases she had handled since coming to the department six years ago. “No, it’s not actually as straightforward as I thought it would be. It’s too easy in a way . . . makes me think there’s something else going on. I stayed at it for about four and a half hours but I couldn’t quite tease it out.”

Her conjecture served the dual purpose of making Brandon professionally jealous and confirming her intention of holding onto the case, even though technically she could have handed it off. She merged into traffic for the quick trip over to Rosslyn, where Julie lived.

“Does that mean you’ll take this call tonight? The mother’s throwing a fit at the hospital and demanding her kid be released.”

“What do you mean?” she asked in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Nobody knows for sure. They’ve convinced her to wait for a discharge but I don’t think she’ll hang out long. Her kid’s really agitated.”

Charlotte braked and squeezed over to the exit lane. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

“You don’t have to do this, Charlotte. If they walk out against orders, we aren’t liable for anything.”

Her sense of urgency had nothing to do with liability. Sebby had been perfectly calm this afternoon. This outburst didn’t make sense. “I just want to see for myself. I’ll call you in the morning.” She needed to cancel her date with Julie. What fun that would be.

“Shhh, try to calm down, honey.” Glynn perched on the edge of the hospital bed, gently stroking her son’s hair. This was her fault. She should have realized he was too fragile right now to cope with seeing her out of control and upset. She needed to get him home and settled in his own bed, away from the prying questions and speculation of strangers.

The door opened and in walked Charlotte Blue, absent her usual lab coat. She obviously had been called away from a night out with her friends.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“Didn’t you see them downstairs? Television reporters, all wanting the scoop on Sebby for their evening news. They’re like jackals.” She scooted back to the window and counted the vans, now numbering four.

“I came in the side door. How did they know he was here?” Charlotte walked over to the bed and nudged Sebastian onto his back.

“Someone at his school must have called it in.”

“Are you all right, Sebby? Did they bother you?”

“No, they haven’t found his room yet,” Glynn answered. “But it’s just a matter of time. That’s why we need to get out of here.”

Charlotte looked at her and tilted her head toward the door. “Can I get you to wait outside for a couple of minutes?”

Glynn felt her face grow hot with embarrassment. She had been ranting like a lunatic ever since Charlotte had walked through the door. “Of course.”

Outside the door, she leaned against the wall, a suspicious eye on everyone moving about in the hallway. After a few minutes, Charlotte came out, closing the door behind her.

“Sebby could use a little something to calm him down. I’d like to prescribe the same sedative he took last night.”

“Can he take it when he gets home?”

Charlotte took her elbow and led her to the end of the hall, the most private place she could find. “Glynn, I really don’t think he should be released. He just isn’t able to cope with things right now.”

“But this is my fault. He was fine until I got here. He’s only upset now because he knows how pissed I am. Once we get home, he’ll be all right.”

“I’m not so sure about that. And besides, what if someone is waiting for you there?”

Glynn was flooded with a sudden sense of helplessness, just like the one that had gripped her the day before when Sebby had regained consciousness and cried at what he had done. “I can’t let them torment my son that way.”

“I understand. But the answer isn’t to try to run from them. He’s safe here.” Charlotte stepped close and placed both hands on Glynn’s shoulders. “I’ll move him to a room upstairs and get more security on the floor. Then you need to get out of here. Go stay with a friend or something until they get bored and go home.”

“I can’t leave him.”

“He’ll sleep just like he did last night. I promise. You have to take care of yourself now. Please trust me.”

Glynn knew she was right. If she let herself get run down and sick, Sebby might lose it completely. “I do trust you, Dr. Blue. Just help my son.”

“I’m going to do everything I can.” Charlotte patted her shoulders. “Now let’s get Sebby moved.”

For the first time since the reporter had shouted her name, Glynn felt her insides begin to relax. If only someone like Charlotte Blue had taken charge of Sebby’s treatment four years ago, this relapse might never have happened.

Charlotte directed his move to a room in the cardiac wing— where no one would think to look for a teenage boy—along with the assignment of a security guard to patrol the floor. Then she gave Sebby a shot that sent him down for the night.

“Okay, that’s it. Now follow me.” She led the way down a back staircase and through an unmarked door that deposited them on the quad, well out of sight of the vultures waiting at the hospital entrance.

“My car’s on the street in front.”

“I’ll take you around to it. They’ll never see us.”

Glynn got a warm feeling as they quietly walked across the quad, making a wide circle that ended in the parking lot. “You’re making a habit of coming to my rescue, Dr. Blue.”

“Call me Charlotte,” she said, clicking a key fob that caused the lights to flash on a car parked near the entrance to the office building.

“Okay. Thank you.” Feeling more at ease with every step, she followed Charlotte to a green Saab. Drawing closer, she saw it had a convertible top. The sporty model conformed perfectly to the image Glynn had unconsciously drawn in her mind of the doctor. Charlotte Blue was stylish and pretty, her dark brown hair cut very short in wispy spikes. She looked great in the casual jeans and V-neck sweater she wore tonight, along with the light makeup that accentuated her eyes. She seemed like a person who had lots of friends . . . probably Democrats.

“I have a few things on the front seat. Let me get them out of your way,” Charlotte said, sliding into the driver’s seat.

Glynn opened the passenger door and waited as Charlotte gathered up a wine bottle and a wrapped cluster of what appeared to be wildflowers. From the look of things, she had been on her way to meet someone special.

“I’m sorry about interrupting your evening,” Glynn said as she got in and closed the door.

Charlotte started the car and immediately lowered the volume on her stereo. “Don’t worry about it. Comes with the territory.”

Glynn had recognized the voice of Billie Holiday, and added that information to her portrait of Charlotte. “Still, you must get tired of the disruptions in your personal life.”

“The way I see it, being a doctor is just as much a part of my personal life as everything else I do. I know it’s important to my patients, and that makes it worthwhile to me.”

Glynn couldn’t help the faint feeling of guilt for ruining Charlotte’s date. “Sebby and I are very lucky you were the one that happened to be on duty last night.”

Chapter 4

Charlotte checked that her feet were inside the painted rectangle. It was never wise to get in the way of Brandon’s serve, especially as his partner. When they first began playing racquetball together, she had been pleasantly surprised at how his doubles game elevated hers. She was a far better player now than four years ago, and it showed in their domination of opponents.

The ball whizzed within inches of her knees, her signal to lunge across the court. Even one second could mean the difference between being in position for the next shot and getting smacked in the ass by their opponent’s return. The latter option was motivation to hustle.

The return by Damon Thornton, a radiologist Brandon had known since medical school, went high off the wall crosscourt. Charlotte leapt for the backhand overhead, sending the ball hard against the front wall so it ricocheted low in the corner and dribbled off, unplayable by her opponent.

“Damn it, Charlotte. You weren’t supposed to get that,”

Damon whined.

“It was self-defense. Brandon was still stuck to the floor ad

miring his serve.”

Damon’s partner Steve slapped the ball against the back wall

so it carried to the front. “Go again?”

“That’s enough for me,” Brandon said. “I’m supposed to be

at my sister’s for lunch in an hour.” They said good-bye to their

friends, and then walked through the small door and picked up

their gear. “You’re invited too, by the way,” he added, nudging

Charlotte’s shoulder.

“I bet I am.” The Diaz family gatherings were lively affairs

featuring island music and lots of their native Puerto Rican

rum.

Brandon had been trying for years to fix her up with his sister,

a special investigator for the IRS. Charlotte had met her a few

times, but knew her better by reputation in the lesbian community. When it came to women, Elena Diaz bounced around like

a pinball. She was certainly lust-worthy, but it wasn’t worth it to

Charlotte to take a chance on screwing up her working relationship with Brandon by becoming a notch on his sister’s bedpost. “She’s got a new girlfriend, some woman from the FBI.

They’ve been seeing each other for three or four months.” “Good. That means the rest of us are safe.” Elena wasn’t the

sort one took home to Warwick, Rhode Island, to meet the folks.

Julie Exner, on the other hand, might be.

Brandon seemed to be reading her mind. “How are things

with Julie?”

“Not bad, if you don’t count the fact that I stood her up two

nights in a row for dinner.”

“Uh-oh, that was my fault, wasn’t it?”

“Everything is your fault. Don’t you know that by now?”

They reached the parking lot, where she tossed her gym bag into

the passenger seat of her Saab. “I was going to head over there

today, but she’s got some reading to do to get ready for more

meetings next week.”

“You should come with Cindy and me to Elena’s. Seriously.” “Nah, I need to spend some more time looking at this kid’s file.

I haven’t decided yet what to recommend for the next step.” “Is he a candidate for meds?”

“Maybe for the short term, but it won’t get at the source of

what’s bugging him.”

“Sometimes the short term is all we can fix, Charlotte.” “I know, but this kid’s sixteen. He’s got his whole life in front

of him. I’d hate to see him fucked up over this for a long time.”

She shivered as the wind cooled her sweat. “I’m thinking about

recommending a short-term residential placement.” “How short term?”

“Four weeks.”

“That sounds fine. What’s your reservation?”

“The usual. Once you get that stigma of being institutionalized, you don’t ever shake it.”

“Yeah, but the same goes for trying to kill yourself.” “True, and it turns out, this is his second attempt.” “Then I don’t see that you have any choice.”

Charlotte saw it the same way, but getting Brandon’s agreement put the stamp on it as the right thing to do. She rarely made

a tough decision without talking it over with him first. “What do

you know about the Rawlings Center?”

“In Hyattsville?”

“Yeah, they’ve got that adolescent program.”

“Right, that’s Mark McKee. We interned together. He does

good work.”

“Is he discreet?”

“Aren’t we all?”

“You know what I mean. If he gets a famous patient, is he going to want to blow his own horn?”

Brandon leaned against his car and folded his arms, his interest piqued. “A famous patient?”

“The kid’s mother’s a congresswoman, Glynn Wright.” “Wright . . . I know that name. Where’s she from?” “Indiana. Her husband was a congressman when he died.” “Yes, Bas Wright. She took over his seat. Does his death have

anything to do with what’s going on with this kid?”

“I’m not sure. He may be blocking some of it, but there’s also

the possibility he’s deliberately hiding something about it.” “Either way, it sounds like he needs some intensive therapy.” “That’s what I think. I’ll give McKee a call tomorrow.” “You should ride up there and check it out. I can call Mark

and let him know you’re coming.”

“I don’t have time. I’ve got rotation this week. I know it’s

going to be a tough sell, though. His mother wants him back at

home.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Gives us something to aim

for.”

Definitely, Charlotte thought. Sebastian was lucky to have his

mother on his side.

Glynn took off her glasses and dropped the memo on the coffee table. “I don’t think this is anybody’s business, and I fail to see why I have to issue a statement.”

Tina picked up the memo and made a couple of notes in the margin. “You have to say something, Glynn. I doubt more than six people you know saw that clip on the news, but it’s bound to be in the Post tomorrow.”

“I’d like to get hold of the little twerp that tipped them off.”

Tina had called a strategy meeting of Glynn’s top aides at the brownstone, a rarity in a nonelection year, and especially on a Sunday afternoon. Her aides were seated around her in the living room.

Roy Baker, a longtime Republican policy wonk, spearheaded Glynn’s issue research and handled some of her negotiations with colleagues. An African-American built more like a bodyguard than a political advisor, Roy had played football at Indiana with Bas, and had gone on to become one of his top aides. Glynn knew she was lucky he had stayed on, especially since her legislative priorities differed markedly from her husband’s. His loyalty to Bas—and now to her—was even more special because he had taken a fatherly interest in Sebby.

Chip Cichetti, the newest hire on her Capitol staff, was also present. Fresh out of Princeton with a gift for incorporating new media into political strategy, Chip would be a star in the party some day, and Glynn didn’t expect to keep him long before someone higher up in the food chain stole him away. His father, Don, represented the industrial part of Indiana.

“Why don’t we just keep it simple? I’ll say that Sebby had an unfortunate mishap and he’s getting the best care possible. What’s important to both of us right now, as it would be for any family, is our privacy.”

“I don’t think you’ll get away with glossing over a suicide attempt by calling it an unfortunate mishap, Glynn.” Roy had made some notes in a folder. “If you don’t use the words, they will.”

That much was already true, as evidenced on the short clip from the hospital that had run on the local television station last night.

“Roy, with all due respect, I’m not going to stand out there in front of everybody and announce that my son tried to kill himself.”

“Maybe you should,” Tina said tentatively. “This is a very tragic issue for many families, and it needs a voice. You can be that voice by meeting it head-on.”

That wasn’t how Glynn operated at all. “I’m not going to use my son for political posturing. Chip, is there anything on the blogs?”

“A few letters to the station, mostly ragging on the reporter for the way she ambushed you.”

“Good. At least some people know the difference between sensationalism and journalism.”

“There was one note talking about all your work in children’s issues. The writer wondered what kind of mother you were.”

“What the hell?”

Chip held up his hands. “I’m just the messenger, Glynn. But this letter writer was making the point that some people do a lot for other people’s children, but don’t pay enough attention to their own.”

“That’s just not true.”

“No, but you should listen to what he’s saying and fight that, Glynn,” Roy said. “You have to get out in front of this. Make sure people don’t think your primary concern is pushing it under the rug. Let them know where your priority is.”

She slumped into the chair and buried her face in her hands.

“Here, Glynn. Try this.” Tina handed her a revised script.

She put her glasses back on and gazed at the words. “Hello and thank you all for your concern. I have a short statement to read regarding my son, Sebastian. I will not be taking questions. Last Friday, I received word that my son attempted to harm himself at his school. As a mother, I can tell you there is no greater nightmare. Thanks to the quick-thinking staff and emergency medical response team, tragedy was averted. I am happy to report that Sebastian is doing well, and we are eager to begin treatment that will address the issues that led him to take such a dangerous step. Finally, I’d like say to all of those who have expressed their support, thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

“That’s perfect,” Tina said.

“You want to see the playback?” Chip asked, holding up his multifunction cell phone, which he had used to film her reading the statement.

“Once is more than enough. I need to run this by Sebby. If it’s okay with him, let’s just put it out there on the wire. I don’t really want to have to stand up in front of microphones and say all this.”

“You’re bound to get a few calls,” Roy added. “Just bounce them back to the press release and tell them you have no further comment at this time.”

“Are we done? You guys want a pizza or something?” Glynn wasn’t looking forward to being alone.

Tina seemed to sense her need for company. “Pizza sounds good to me.”

Chip pocketed his cell phone and stood. “Sorry. I have some friends in town this weekend.”

“Aw, Chip. I apologize for dragging you away from your friends. Thanks for coming.” Glynn gave him a light hug at the door as he shrugged into his parka.

She turned back just in time to see Tina whisper something to Roy, who gathered his papers and stood as well.

“I need to go too,” he said, pulling on his overcoat.

She followed him out to the front porch of her brownstone and closed the door behind her, immediately crossing her arms against the cold. “I got a courtesy call from Guy Preston a couple of days ago.”

His stone-faced reaction looked practiced, as though he had expected her to bring this up. “What’s on the senator’s mind?” he asked, feigning nonchalance.

“I think you know.” Preston, a handsome, progressive Republican who reminded her in many ways of Bas, had his eye on the White House. A prominently-positioned AfricanAmerican staffer like Roy could help him garner minority support. “He wants you on his team.”

“Why? He has Marcella.”

Marcella Stroupe, a talented political strategist, had been Bas’s chief of staff. With Glynn’s blessing, she had bolted after Bas’s death to take a post in Preston’s office. “You and Marcella made quite a team, Roy. Working together, I bet you could help Guy win the party’s nomination, and who knows, maybe even the White House.”

If he was flattered by her praise, he didn’t show it. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Of course not. But you’re one of the best at what you do, Roy. And I hate to see you wasting your talents with someone who’s perfectly happy being just a representative from Indiana.”

He gave her a gentle smile. “Maybe I’m perfectly happy where I am too.”

She chucked his arm and smiled back. “At least think about it. You could be on a White House staff one of these days.”

He nodded. “I’ll mull it over . . . but not now. I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re perfectly healthy, and that whatever is bothering Sebby gets settled once and for all.”

She gave him a dubious look, but stretched up on her tiptoes and gave him a hug. “You know I’ll support whatever you decide, Roy.”

“I hope that includes staying on till they kick us both out of office.”

“If that’s what you really want.”

She walked back inside to find Tina with her feet on the coffee table.

“Did you tell him about Guy Preston?” Tina asked.

“Yeah, but he didn’t seem interested. I just . . .” She shook her head as she kicked off her shoes.

“The guy’s in love with you, Glynn. Why would he want to work for someone else?”

She sighed, thinking back to the first time eight years ago when she realized Roy thought of her as more than a friend and colleague. It had been uncomfortable at first, especially when Tina mentioned that she noticed it too. But Glynn had never encouraged his feelings, and was thankful he hadn’t pushed anything. “Roy knows I think of him only as a friend. Besides, Guy could very well be president one of these days, and Roy could end up as his chief of staff. Why wouldn’t he jump at that?”

Tina snorted. “The only way Roy gets to be Guy Preston’s chief of staff is if he murders Marcella and stuffs her in the closet.”

Glynn chuckled at her aide’s assessment. “She’s a piece of work, but you have to admit she knows her stuff.”

“That woman intimidates the crap out of me. I don’t know how you used to put up with her.”

“Bas always said he would never have gotten elected without her. And she always had an eye ahead on the next level.”

“Still . . . I’m glad I don’t have to work with her every day.” She patted the space next to her on the couch. “Come sit here, my friend. Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“I’m tired.” Glynn gratefully filled the empty seat and threw her stocking feet up beside Tina’s. She rarely wore shoes in the house, even in winter.

“Have you been able to sleep?”

“Some. I keep waking up and thinking about that phone call. What if that stupid pipe—” She couldn’t finish her thought.

Tina draped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer. “It didn’t happen, Glynn. Sebby’s okay.”

“He’s not okay! This is the second time he’s tried to do this. Something terrible is wrong with my son, and I can’t do anything to help him.”

“He’s in good hands at the hospital. Didn’t you say his doctor was getting him to talk?”

Glynn nodded. Chip had e-mailed her a summary of Charlotte Blue’s credentials, which included a medical degree from Brown and a residency at Stanford. On top of that, she had gone to Macedonia during the same window Glynn had been in Bosnia. That alone made her someone Glynn automatically trusted. “I think she’s good. She left a message for me to meet her tomorrow at five thirty. She’ll tell us what’s next.”

“And what about the rest of you? How are you feeling about your treatments?”

“It’s not horrible, but it’s not fun either.”

“I’ll go with you tomorrow if you want me to.”

She shook her head. “That’s okay. It’s not that big a deal. It just wears me out to have to get up so early.”

“Did you go see Sebby this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, then you can relax for the rest of the day. We’ll eat this whole damn pizza by ourselves. Then I’ll go home and tell Leslie I’m starving and to order us Chinese. You can soak in the tub and go to bed early.”

Glynn chuckled. “That sounds like a fairy tale. I have budget hearings for the Pentagon all day tomorrow and I haven’t read the report.”

“I’ll have Roy in your office at seven thirty for a briefing.”

“My treatment is at seven.”

“Then he’ll be there at eight. He knows it cold, and you’ll pick it up in no time.”

Glynn sighed and leaned into Tina’s shoulder. Tina always seemed to know what she needed. “Who knew it would take so many people to do this job?”

“You’re good at it, Glynn.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t count for shit if I screw up with Sebby.”

Charlotte swiveled from side to side in her chair, staring at her computer screen. It was nice to find that the Rawlings Center had a virtual tour of its facilities and programs. That took some of the guesswork out of her recommendation. Two of the program reviewers were psychiatrists Charlotte knew personally, and their endorsements gave her the confidence to recommend this as the perfect place for Sebby, with homelike private rooms, secure grounds and family-style meals.

Surfing the Internet wasn’t her first choice for how to spend a Sunday afternoon, but career-minded Julie was strict when it came to her work schedule. If she didn’t use Sundays to catch up on her reading, she said, she was buried in reports all week. And weeknights were off-limits for the same reasons.

It was hard dealing with these time restrictions, especially since their relationship was relatively new, and at what Charlotte had always considered the hungry stage. They needed to learn more about each other, share the important stories of their lives, and discuss their needs and dreams. Craving more time together was a natural step for any new couple, especially after sexual discovery. But Julie was on a different schedule, a more deliberate timetable for which she asked patience. She was an interesting woman, kind and intelligent, and Charlotte appreciated the possibility that Julie might be, as she had suggested, worth the effort. But it was too soon to tell.

Over her thirty-nine years, Charlotte had learned a few things. Being someone’s girlfriend wasn’t a critical piece of who she was, though she liked the idea of sharing her life with someone else. She had been in real love only once, but that was enough to know how much work it took to hold up half of a relationship. She had learned the hard way from her six years with Vera Stadler that holding up half wasn’t enough when the other person held up less. At least Julie’s mistress was her job.

Her mood dampened by thoughts of Vera, Charlotte looked back at her computer to focus again on the task at hand. She clicked through the site and sent the relevant pages to her printer, one copy for her files and another to share with Glynn. Persuading Glynn to place her son in a residential facility would be an uphill battle if this morning’s message from her answering service was any indication. Even after witnessing her son’s anxiety-filled backslide the night before, Glynn was still convinced he would be better off at home. Charlotte hated to use the word denial—especially because Glynn wasn’t the patient in this case—but it was clear the congresswoman had a built-in resistance to acknowledging the seriousness of her son’s suicide attempt. She loved her son. That much was indisputable. But this wasn’t the time for independence or a stiff upper lip. It was a time to let professionals take charge.

Charlotte typed the congresswoman’s name into her search engine. She was stunned to find over a hundred and fifty thousand hits, with the first page showing mostly government links. One was described as the official Web site. The first thing to catch her eye was the photograph, a high-resolution shot taken before an oak bookcase. It was almost lifelike in its clarity, especially the vibrant smile, something Charlotte hadn’t seen as Glynn grappled with the seriousness of her son’s condition. She wore a dark blue suit that brought out the color of her eyes, and the studio lights highlighted the gray strands in her short brown hair.

Glynn had a bill before the House . . . funding for preschools. That seemed like a no-brainer. Why would they even have to debate it? Lots of her past bills had to do with children’s issues . . . immunizations, family leave. And there was even a bill to provide counseling to victims of domestic violence, an issue Charlotte championed herself at professional conferences.

She paged through information about Glynn’s home district in rural Indiana. There were pictures of her meeting with farmers, cutting a ceremonial ribbon at a highway opening and posing with high school seniors at the Capitol. One of the links promised a biography, and Charlotte followed it, hoping to learn more about Glynn’s work during the Bosnian conflict. That information was there, and more. Glynn had a PhD from Indiana University in early childhood education. She had begun her career as an education specialist with the United Nations Children’s Fund, and it was that job that had sent her to Bosnia.

Charlotte was pleased to find that Glynn was so accomplished, and that she had earned the authority with which she spoke. She found herself nodding in approval to realize at least parts of the government were in capable hands.

Next, she explored the tab that read Voting Record, remembering Glynn’s claim that hers was not as hypocritical as some of her colleagues. Sure enough, she was one of only a few dozen in the House who had voted against the Defense of Marriage Act, but in her statement, she decried federal intervention into what she felt was a state matter. Nice cover, but it would have been even nicer to have seen her take a stand against bigotry.

Most of her other votes were standard Republican fare . . . against abortion and environmental controls, in favor of tax cuts and war spending.

The last link on the page was for press releases, and Charlotte was surprised to see the one stamped only a few hours earlier. Glynn was getting out in front of this issue with her son, releasing what seemed like the perfect amount of information to address genuine concerns without giving away their privacy. It was smart to meet this head-on. Glynn obviously had some good advisors.

Charlotte hoped she would be ready to take some additional advice.

Chapter 5

Charlotte grinned with satisfaction as she walked toward Sebby’s room. Transferring him into the cardiac wing had not only gotten him off the radar for reporters or curiosity seekers, it also had spared him the usual parade of faculty and residents that moved from one room to the next for rounds.

She found him sitting up in bed, his eyes glued to the talking heads on a morning sports show.

“Good morning.”

In an instant, his look of interest in the television program turned to one of extreme boredom. “Let me out of here.”

She laughed. “I can’t. You’re my prisoner.” Her eyes went to the television, where the announcers had begun to recap the Georgetown basketball game. “Who’s that seven-footer for the Hoyas?”

“Chad Bolling. He’s great.”

“Good hands for a big guy.”

“Bet he goes out next year.”

“Goes out? You mean to the pros?”

“Yeah.”

“Probably.” Charlotte didn’t know enough about college basketball to carry this much further, but it was important to establish her rapport with Sebby. “How are you feeling?”

“Bored.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say. Have you thought more about the things we talked about on Saturday?”

“Not really.”

“Some? A little?”

“I wondered if anything I said made you think I was crazy or something.”

She laughed again and took a chair beside him. “I don’t think you’re crazy, Sebby. But something’s eating at you and we need to find out what it is so we can deal with it.”

His mouth turned downward. “I thought all those questions you asked me the other day were supposed to tell you what it was.”

“In a way, they did. But they didn’t show me the whole picture. I think there’s more.”

He stared down as he picked imaginary lint from the sheets. “I’m not hiding anything. I told you everything I could think of.”

“I believe you. But I get the feeling that whatever is bothering you might be something you’ve forgotten about, something your brain doesn’t want to deal with. That happens with a lot of people. It’s not crazy. It’s just a defense mechanism.”

“Maybe I’m better off not knowing what it is.”

That was one of the biggest hurdles in pushing patients through their issues, the reluctance to go to a place that was painful. “Sometimes that’s true, Sebby. But not when you’re trying to hang yourself.”

“That was stupid.”

“No arguments there.” She smiled faintly, but he didn’t raise his eyes to see it.

“I’m not going to do anything like that again.”

“That’s our goal, but I don’t even want you to have to fight that urge again. I want to get at the cause of it so you and your mom won’t ever have to worry about it. Isn’t that what you want too?”

He looked back up at the television and clicked the remote to turn it off. “Being here sucks.”

“I know. I have some ideas about what to do next, and none of them involve staying here.”

“Will I get to go home?”

“Let me talk with your mom today. Trust us, Sebby. I think we can get this behind you, but it won’t be easy, and you’ll have to do most of the work.”

Frustration was plain on his face, but his words were surprisingly mature. “I guess I caused all this crap. I have to be the one to fix it.”

“We can help. And we’ll get your life back to you as soon as we can, okay?”

“Whatever. I just don’t want to hurt Mom anymore.”

That was as good a motivator as any, Charlotte thought. This family had seen more than its share of heartache.

“. . . my concern is accountability, General Beckman. I can see how a laptop could go missing here and there, maybe a set of tires for a Hummer, but how exactly does the U.S. Army lose two hundred thousand guns?”

Glynn suppressed a smile, as she often did when the Democratic chair of the Appropriations Committee put the squeeze on the military brass. Her own party’s line was to appear tough on defense, and that usually translated to open hostility with anyone who took an adversarial position against the Pentagon. But the voters back in Indiana cared about those missing guns too, so she wasn’t about to take issue with the question.

But Representative Alvin Baxter was. “Begging the chair’s pardon, it isn’t on my legislative agenda to be conducting an inventory of—”

“Excuse me, Congressman Baxter, you are out of order. This is my session, and that was my question, which I’m entitled to pose to anyone who comes before me asking for money to replace guns I’ve already paid for.”

Glynn pushed her glasses up onto her forehead and pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting back a smirk. If she ever switched parties, it would be because of people like Baxter. Not that she ever seriously considered it. Her district hadn’t elected a Democrat in over thirty years.

Alarmed at the sudden loud growl from her stomach, she covered it with her hand. That wasn’t enough to avert a chuckle from Congressman Broadwell sitting next to her, whom she kicked gently under the table.

“Louder, Glynn,” he whispered. “I don’t think the chair heard your motion.” Or perhaps he had, since he gave up on the evasive general and pounded the gavel in adjournment. “I guess his hearing is better than we thought.”

Glynn patted him on the shoulder and turned to greet Tina, who held out a small stack of messages. “Anything here I have to know?”

They walked together past the press corps gathered around the chairman and into the hallway. “I’ve already handled most of them, but the top two need your personal attention.”

The first was from her friend and education policy ally, Saul Harrington, inquiring about Sebby. She could take care of that with a quick phone call. The second was from Dr. Blue regarding the appointment this afternoon. “Did she say what she wanted?”

“She said it was nothing to worry about, just wondering if you could meet at her office instead of the hospital.”

“What about Sebby?”

“Just go call her, Glynn. And hurry, because you’re meeting Don Cichetti and Madge Heflin in the Bennett Dining Room to talk about farm subsidies.”

“Can’t I even go to the bathroom?”

“Not on your schedule,” Tina deadpanned.

She handed the Harrington note back to her aide. “Give this to me again on my way out the door. I’ll call him from the car.”

There wasn’t time to go back to her office in the Cannon Building, so she ducked into a vacant committee room before anyone else could claim it. On her official cell phone, which she carried at all times, she called for Charlotte Blue.

Dr. Blue wanted to meet with her alone to discuss Sebby’s treatment plan. “That way,” she said, “we can present it to him with a united front.”

Glynn asked, “Can you give me an idea what you have in mind?”

The phone beeped to announce an incoming call. Since this was her member phone, the call was official business.

“I’m sorry. I have to take this other call. I’ll be at your office at five thirty.”

The incoming call was Alvin Baxter’s aide wanting to know where he could deliver a memo. Glynn should have seen this coming. Baxter hadn’t gotten his questions through in his allotted time this morning, so he expected her to follow up after lunch. “Excuse me. I’m late for a meeting. You’ll have to follow up with Roy Baker. I’m sure he’ll find me before . . . no, I don’t have time.” She closed her phone and cut off further objections.

Tina looked at her with a smirk. “I know you hate to suck up, but Baxter’s going to yank you off Appropriations if you don’t play nice.”

“Let Roy play nice for me instead. I have to pee.”

Charlotte closed the door and tiptoed to her desk, trying her best to be quiet while Glynn finished the call on her cell phone. Had it been any other parent in her office for an appointment, she might have insisted on cutting her off.

“I’m so sorry,” Glynn said, closing her phone. “I didn’t have time to meet with my staff before leaving, and they had a ton of questions.”

Charlotte gestured for Glynn to take a seat on the couch and sat in an armchair directly across from her, stacking her folders neatly on the coffee table between them. “First things first. How are you feeling?”

Glynn smiled softly, clearly pleased at being asked. “I’m pretty good, thank you. I started week two this morning at seven o’clock.”

“That’s a grueling schedule. Five weeks?”

“Supposedly, but I think it’s going to be six, since I’ll have to go back to Indiana and miss a couple of sessions.”

Charlotte couldn’t help but study her, marveling at the obvious strength she possessed in order to deal with so much adversity. “I hope you have family and friends supporting you through this.”

Glynn nodded and shrugged all at once, a gesture that made Charlotte realize Glynn hadn’t given much thought to her own condition.

“Look, I know Sebby is your top concern, but this is a serious situation for you as well.”

“Believe me, Dr. Blue, breast cancer is nothing compared to having your child try to hang himself. It really puts things in perspective.”

Glynn seemed determined to ignore her own problems, a reasonable response, but not one that took the whole picture into account. “I understand that, but Sebby also needs you to take care of yourself. I think it would take a lot of pressure off him to see you rested and assured about your health. The best way to pull that off is to give your body and spirit the attention they need.”

Charlotte paused to let her words sink in. Sometimes it took a lecturing tone to get people to listen. Glynn Wright didn’t strike her as someone who would seek personal advice or support, which made the message all that more important.

“I take it you have a recommendation for Sebby?”

“I do, but I also would like to get some information from you to help me fill in some blanks. They won’t be easy questions, Glynn. I hope you know I wouldn’t put you through this if I didn’t feel it was necessary.” She flipped through her notes to the section dealing with Sebby’s father. “I’d like to ask what you remember about the details of your husband’s death. It’s a very important episode in your son’s life, and I want to make sure I have the circumstances down.”

Glynn took a deep breath and blew it out, her cheeks inflating as she leaned back against the couch. “It was a Saturday. I’d been in Bosnia doing some work for the UN, and had just gotten home a couple of days before.”

“How long were you gone?”

“Just over five months. It was only supposed to be three, but we had a lot of trouble getting things organized.”

“What sort of arrangements had you made for Sebby while you were gone?”

“I left in late May, and he went to stay with his grandmother in Indiana for the summer.”

“Your mother?”

“Bas’s mother. She flew him out to see my folks in San Diego for a couple of weeks. He does that every summer. But he stayed most of the time in Indiana. They have a farm, and a lot of things for a little boy to do.”

“And you returned late?”

“Yes, I was supposed to be back by the end of the summer, but we didn’t get things wrapped up, so I had to stay through the end of October. Sebby came back to DC so he could start kindergarten. We thought that would be easier for him than moving him in the middle of the school year.”

“So Sebby grew very close to his father right before he died.”

Glynn cocked her head slightly. “I never thought of it that way, but I guess he did. We always had a babysitter who came in when we were at work, but he would have been with just Bas in the evenings and on the weekends.”

Charlotte scribbled the information in her notes, which she would use to prepare a background report for Mark McKee. “Can you tell me more about the day your husband died?”

“Like I said, I’d only been home a couple of days. I was still jet-lagged, so I went to take a nap in Sebby’s room.”

“Why there?”

“It was quieter on that end of the house, and the curtains were dark blue, so they kept out the light. Besides, Bas had played football with some of his friends that morning, and he wanted to soak in the tub in our master suite. We had one of those big tubs with a whirlpool.” She shook her head slightly at the memory, her face softening. “As bad as his knees were, he had no business playing football, but he was such an incurable jock.”

“Sebby told me he was electrocuted in the tub.”

“Yeah, he . . .” She took a deep breath. “He had this little TV up on the shelf. It wasn’t that close to the tub, but they think he must have gotten up to turn the channel or something. Somehow, it fell in and . . .”

Glynn was losing her composure. Charlotte interjected, “Where was Sebby?”

“He was with me when I fell asleep. I was holding him next to me on his bed.”

“And what’s the next thing you remember?”

“He was shaking me. When I sat up, he ran out of the room. I followed him and found Bas in the tub. It was too late to do anything.”

Charlotte had a chilling thought. “Glynn, I know this is a difficult question, but it needs to be asked. Is there any chance at all that Sebby accidentally knocked the TV into the tub?”

Glynn shook her head adamantly. “No, it was too high. The police wondered about that too, but they decided he couldn’t have reached it without a chair.”

“How did Sebby handle talking to the police?”

“He was . . . I guess he was okay. They talked to him in another room by himself. I was in such a state of shock, I don’t really remember much about it.”

Charlotte made a note to the therapist to follow up on that train of thought, just in case the police investigation had contributed to Sebby’s trauma. “Okay, I suppose you’ve figured out by now that I think your son’s problems are most likely centered on the experience of his father’s death.” She picked up the folder on top and opened it. “I believe Sebby has post-traumatic stress disorder. It isn’t uncommon for something like this to manifest in someone who has gone through such extraordinary events. It’s likely that he encounters a great deal of anxiety in relation to your breast cancer issues, and his suicide attempts could be an avoidance mechanism. Simply put, he’s terrified of experiencing the trauma again.”

“So it’s basically what I thought at the beginning. He’d rather die first than see something happen to me.”

“Precisely. But I think something else is going on as well, because I don’t believe his choices are conscious. He’s showing signs of something we call dissociative amnesia, and I believe that also is centered around your husband’s death.”

She looked puzzled. “Amnesia like he forgets?”

“A suppression, perhaps. It was so traumatic for him that he doesn’t want to remember anything about it.”

“He was only five. Isn’t it normal that he would forget things?”

“Yes, but not typically something so shocking. Events as remarkable as that are burned into our memories, but not Sebby’s. I think those memories are there, but he can’t face them.”

“He found his father dead in the bathtub. Why should he have to face that again?”

This was usually the conversation Charlotte had with patients she counseled who didn’t want to relive a rape or severe beating. “Because our fears will defeat us if we give them too much power. Sebby needs to realize that, although his father died, he was kept safe. And you were kept safe. And that terrible event has no bearing on what will happen to either of you in the future.” “Can you just reinforce that with some kind of therapy?” “I wish it were that easy, Glynn. But there’s a great deal at stake here. Sebby’s fighting demons so powerful they make him want to take his own life.” She added quietly, “That’s one of the most extreme responses anyone could have, and telling him things are going to be okay isn’t going to be enough to resolve this.” “What about the last time when he drank the cough medicine and got sick? What does that have to do with this?”

“He continues to say that was an accident. Maybe it was. He didn’t seem to have a problem with Stephanie. In fact, he said he liked her.”

Glynn shook her head in apparent confusion. The idea that her son was in a battle for his life was obviously too much for her—she was suddenly overwhelmed with tears. Charlotte offered a box of tissues and waited for her to regain composure. It was tough sometimes to keep a professional distance, when offering an arm for support seemed like the compassionate thing to do.

“There’s good news, Glynn. Are you ready for some of that?”

She nodded, still wiping her eyes and nose.

“The prognosis for these types of disorders is very good. I feel certain if we get to the root of this, we can push through it and put it in its proper perspective. There’s a good chance if Sebby faces it, he’ll never be threatened by it again.”

“What do we have to do?”

“I want you to place him at the Rawlings Center in Hyattsville.” She took out the pages she had printed and passed them across the coffee table. “It’s a residential treatment center for adolescents, and they have a special program for PTSD—the post-traumatic stress disorder I talked about. The director there is Dr. Mark McKee. He has a great deal of experience with these types of cases, and he’s had a lot of success.”

“Why does he have to live there? Can’t he stay at home and just go to therapy?”

“Sebby needs twenty-four-hour supervision until we’re sure this suicidal urge has passed.” She regretted her choice of words when she saw Glynn flinch. A subtle, less emotional approach would be better. “Look, it’s a four-week program, Glynn. That’s all. Very intensive. Highly structured. They do one-on-one, group and family therapy, along with lots of individual exercises designed to help Sebby open up and be more confident about what his future holds.”

Glynn shook her head dolefully. “He’ll never forgive me for doing this to him.”

“I believe he will. Sebby wants to get well. You know what he told me this morning? He said he caused all of these problems, and it was up to him to fix them. He wants to do that for you. But you have to do it for him too.”

Charlotte sat back and let Glynn absorb the arguments. It was a lot for her to process, and no easy decision to turn over her child to someone else for care. If she was like most parents, she was feeling right now as if she had failed her son. Nonetheless, Glynn picked up the papers, paying particular attention to the photos.

“This looks more like a frat house than a hospital.”

“That’s the whole idea. They want things to be as much like home as possible. It helps diminish the institutional feel. Patients don’t feel so stigmatized.”

“And what about the family therapy? Do you go there for that, or would Sebby and I come back here?”

Charlotte was momentarily confused, but then realized Glynn’s inference. “No, everything would be at Rawlings with Dr. McKee. I’ll be releasing Sebby from my care. He’ll no longer be my patient.”

“Oh.” Glynn’s voice was heavy with disappointment. “But you’ve already begun treatment. We’d have to start everything all over again.”

“No, you wouldn’t. All I’ve done is the baseline assessment.” Charlotte could have kicked herself for not making this clear the first night she talked to Glynn at the hospital. Sometimes it was too easy to take the basics for granted when other issues were more pressing. “I’m sorry if there’s been a misunderstanding. I took Sebby’s case that night because I was the psychiatrist on call at the hospital. My job, like any other emergency physician, was to stabilize him and determine the best follow-up treatment. That doesn’t mean I’m the best person to help him with his problems. In this case, I’m not. But I think Dr. McKee is.”

Glynn leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she ran both hands through her hair. “Dr. Blue, I told you things I would never have said had I known you were going to hand us off.”

“I won’t violate your confidence. You have my word.”

“But do I have to tell McKee about Stephanie too?”

“You don’t have to, Glynn, but I promise you Dr. McKee is a professional. He’ll keep your confidences as well. And like I said, I explored it with Sebby and didn’t get a sense that Stephanie was an issue for him.”

Glynn shook her head and sighed. “What if it comes up in a group therapy thing? A juicy tidbit like that won’t stay a secret long.”

It definitely posed a risk, Charlotte agreed. “You should address that point with Dr. McKee. I’m sure he can keep it out of play in the group sessions. And you can make it clear to Sebby that the other patients there shouldn’t know.”

“My son won’t volunteer it. He knows what’s at stake.”

“What is at stake?” Charlotte knew that question was none of her business, but seeing the self-imposed torture on Glynn’s face made her ask just the same. “You don’t have to answer. I just hate seeing you held hostage for politics’ sake.”

“It isn’t just politics. It would turn my whole life upside down, my livelihood, my family. And everything I’ve worked for would get devalued just like that.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis.

Charlotte gave her what she hoped was a compassionate look. Glynn didn’t need more stress or conflict than she already had, and that included having a psychiatrist tell her that her closeted life was unhealthy. “I’m sure they can take precautions to safeguard your confidences.”

Glynn leaned back and put her fist to her mouth, clearly frustrated.

“Look, Glynn, what about this? I’ll talk to Mark personally about it, and I’ll make sure he knows the risks.”

“You know what? Don’t even bother. I just heard myself and realized how ridiculous I sound.” She waved her hand flippantly. “What matters is for Sebby to get well. The rest of this bullshit isn’t even worth thinking about. And I shouldn’t be dragging you into the middle of it. If it comes out, it comes out.” She scooped up the materials on the coffee table and stood. “When do I have to take him?”

“I can prepare the discharge papers in the morning and you can take him home to pack his things.”

She sighed. “I hope he doesn’t break out the window in his bedroom and run away.”

“If you honestly think that’s a possibility, you should just go straight to Rawlings.”

“No, I’m sure it isn’t. I’m just miserable about doing this to him.”

“You’re doing it for him, not to him. Please remember that.”

Glynn nodded and walked to the door. “Thank you for everything. As difficult as this has been, I can’t imagine having to go through it without your help.”

“You’re welcome.” Charlotte was surprised at the sudden disappointment she felt at realizing she probably wouldn’t see Glynn again. She plucked a business card from the holder on her desk and scribbled her cell phone number on the back—something she had never done for a patient, but justified it to herself because Glynn wasn’t under her care. “If there’s anything else I can answer for you, please give me a call. I’m in sessions a lot during the day, but you can reach me in the evening if you like.”

“Thank you.” Glynn dropped the card into her purse and smiled. “Will I see you in the morning?”

“Probably not. I usually do rounds between seven and eight. You go for your treatment then, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I can change it if you need me to.”

“It isn’t necessary. I’ll just leave my papers with the nurse in charge.”

“Okay.” She put out her hand and Charlotte took it. “Thanks again.”

“I’m glad I could help.” As Glynn turned and walked out the door, Charlotte felt more than a twinge of regret. She had done her best for Sebby, but wished she could do more for his mom.

Chapter 6

“. . . I think I have enough on the defense bill, Tina. Tell Roy I appreciate the fax. And he’s right that I probably need to throw Baxter a few crumbs. Get a message to him that I’ll vote with him on the highway bill.”

Glynn spoke quietly into her cell phone, not wanting to call attention to herself in the waiting room on the off-chance she might be recognized. She was determined to keep her breast cancer secret until she completed her treatments and received a positive prognosis. Her public life was already defined by tragedy. She didn’t want another outpouring of sympathy for something millions of other women had faced. If only she had kept it from Sebby . . .

“. . . Right, I told Sebby I’d come at noon. We’ll have to pick up his things at home . . . He’s okay about it, I think. Not thrilled, but okay.”

“Glynn?” The technician greeted her with a smile. “Gotta go. I’ll be there in about forty minutes.” She closed her phone and dropped it into her purse. It was well worth the hassle to get here by seven, because she rarely had to wait more than a few minutes.

Glynn removed her suit jacket, blouse and bra. The routine was old hat by now. Then she stood with her arms covering her bare chest until ordered onto the table on her back.

With her fingertips, Sandra gently brushed the skin of her left breast. “This is getting pretty red. Does it bother you?”

“Not really. It’s a little tender, but it’s nothing I can’t deal with.” Glynn knew it would get progressively worse, but she didn’t want to complain and prolong the treatment by having to take a week off.

“I need to touch this up a little.” Sandra took a felt-tipped pen and darkened the lines that marked the treatment area.

At first, she had chafed under the indignity of the black lines and X’s drawn so casually on her skin. She was used to them now, largely because she avoided looking at herself.

She allowed Sandra to adjust her position on the table until the targeted area of her breast was aligned. Then she closed her eyes as the technician stepped into the shielded control alcove to direct the treatment.

To calm herself, Glynn sucked in a breath and took her mind to another place, unwilling to dwell on the microscopic battle raging unseen beneath her skin. Her usual source of comfort was Sebby, but thoughts of her son brought almost more sadness than she could bear. Charlotte’s optimism notwithstanding, Sebby had a tougher battle ahead than this one she waged. Whatever awful memories had rendered him so desperate would have to be met head-on if they were to be defeated. She would never forgive herself for not realizing sooner the extent of his suffering over his father’s death and his panic that he might someday lose her too.

Sebby had probably talked to Charlotte by now, she thought. With any luck, he was still as calm about the transfer as he had been when she left his room last night. Charlotte had been right about his commitment to get better, but Glynn suspected his willingness to go without a fight was merely a sign of the guilt he felt for the anguish he had caused.

Whatever his motivation, she hoped this time he would come out of this happy and looking forward to the future. He had known enough heartache in his life, and so had she.

Charlotte leaned against the wall in the hallway as she waited for the twelve residents to gather. Rounds included only four stops today in the psychiatric wing, all but one of which were patients admitted by Brandon before she picked up the rotation on Monday. “So what’s the next step for Mr. Sullivan?”

A young woman answered swiftly. “Discharge to a substance abuse program.”

“Residential or outpatient?”

“Residential.”

“Because?”

“Because his diabetes needs to be monitored and he doesn’t have a support system at home.”

“Correct.” More than half of the hospital’s psychiatric admissions were linked to alcohol or drug use, so this drill with the third-years was routine. “Anyone recommending medication?”

They chuckled in unison at her joke. Psychotropic meds weren’t an option for substance abusers.

She looked up to notice the Chief of Medicine, Dr. Trevor Perdue, had quietly joined her small circle.

“If not, then I thank you for your kind attention. Dr. Comstock is expecting you in surgery.”

As the students walked away, Dr. Perdue held out his hand for her to shake. “Nice to see you back on rotation, Charlotte.”

“Six weeks go by in a hurry.”

They chatted about the state of her clinic program until he abruptly said, “And I hear you’ve run out of psych beds.”

She was confused for a moment, before realizing his reference. Since he showed no signs of irritation, she hoped that meant he understood her impulsive action on Saturday night to move Sebby to the fifth floor. “We had a small emergency. It seemed like the best solution.”

“So the kid’s mom is that congresswoman whose husband died. Electrocuted in the bathtub, right?”

“That’s right. Some TV station ambushed her in the lobby on Saturday night.”

“Yes, that’s what I heard.”

To Charlotte’s relief, Dr. Perdue seemed satisfied with her explanation. “I’m discharging him today to an adolescent facility.” “Is he going to be all right?”

“I think so.”

“That’s good. Is it anything you can share at grand rounds on Friday?”

After what Glynn and Sebby had already been through, Charlotte felt protective of their privacy, even from other doctors, who were ethically bound to treat the information confidentially. “I don’t think so. Seems like a pretty straightforward case.”

“Then I’ll have to come up with another idea for getting you up in front of everyone.”

“I’d be happy to share some outcome data from our tracking study. How’s that?”

His face lit up in a smile. “Excellent. I’ll save you a place on next week’s agenda.” With that promise, he turned toward the elevator to follow the residents on their rounds.

Glynn swung the Camry into a parking space reserved for visitors. Though she turned off the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt, she made no move to exit the car. Her son had spoken barely a word since leaving their home with his freshly packed bag. “Have I told you today how proud of you I am?”

Sebby looked away, staring out the window to the side. “That makes one of us,” he mumbled.

“Honey, look at me.”

He did, wiping away tears on the sleeve of his worn denim

jacket. “I’m sorry I did this.”

She took his hand, her heart breaking for his anguish and shame. “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry you hurt so much, and that you didn’t come to me. I would have tried to help.”

“I know.”

“I love you so much. You’re the most important thing in my life—ever. And that will always be true.”

“I love you too.”

“And I need you as much as you need me. We’re going to beat these things together. Deal?”

He nodded and tried his best to smile. “Deal.”

She grasped the door handle. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Sebby slung a duffle bag over his shoulder and they walked to the entrance. Dr. McKee was expecting them and met them in the lobby. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, trim and muscular, maybe a few inches shorter than Sebby, who was five-nine. His crew cut blond hair receded slightly from his forehead, and he sported a stubbly brown beard. Glynn introduced herself and her son.

“We don’t stand on ceremony here. Call me Mark, please.” He picked up Sebby’s bag and tossed it behind the receptionist’s counter. “Why don’t we leave that here and take a quick tour?”

Glynn’s apprehension faded slightly as she got a feel for the place. The main building had a high glass wall that let in lots of natural light. The landscaping around the cluster of buildings consisted of a bountiful mix of oaks, evergreens and shrubs, downplaying its institutional function. She and Sebby followed Mark down a wide, carpeted hallway toward the back of the building.

“This is our activity building. We have a kitchen and dining hall, a couple of media rooms, and last year, we added on a small gymnasium.”

“Do you have a basketball court?” Sebby asked.

“You play?”

“A little.”

“Don’t let him kid you, Mark. He started for his varsity team as a freshman,” Glynn said. “Fortunately, he takes after his father there.”

“What position?”

“Small forward.”

“Excellent! You can be our secret weapon. We need somebody who can take Powerhouse off the dribble.”

Sebby’s eyes grew wide. “Powerhouse?”

“He’s one of the cottage parents. He’s big and slow, but he’s got game,” Mark whispered.

Glynn was thrilled to hear her son would be able to participate in his favorite pastime. At least he wouldn’t be bored out of his mind.

Mark led them out a side door to another building, not as large as the first, but two stories high. Small classrooms lined the hallway on both sides.

“The bad news, Sebby, is you still have to go to school. The good news is it’s only four hours a day, either in the morning or the afternoon, depending on your treatment schedule.” He turned to Glynn. “Our teachers are state-certified, and all coursework is transferable to any public school in the state.”

“Sebby goes to Capital Academy.”

“Just have their guidance counselor call us. I’m sure we can work it out. We do it all the time.” They started up a flight of stairs. “Our treatment rooms and staff offices are on the second floor. We have facilities for a group session, and six individual or family sessions.”

“You must have a large staff.”

“Enough that we can provide comprehensive treatment. We have psychiatrists, behavioral therapists, group therapists and social workers. Everyone’s credentialed, and all treatment is under my direction.”

Glynn looped her arm through her son’s as they walked past a series of small rooms with comfortable chairs and soft lighting. She was reminded of Charlotte’s office. “Will Sebby have the same therapist all the time?”

“Mostly, he’ll be stuck with me. As Dr. Blue probably explained to you, I have some expertise in dealing with the kinds of issues you and Sebby are facing. I think I’ll be able to help.”

“That’s good.” Already, Glynn was growing comfortable with the arrangement, especially since Sebby seemed to be taking things in with interest. “Can you give us some idea of what his days will be like?”

“Sure. Weekdays, the poor kid has to start every day with me for two hours. Then it’s group for an hour, again with me, and an hour of self-guided exercises—stuff you can do in your room,” he added, facing Sebby. “I’ll assign a few things every day. Most of it’s just writing down thoughts and feelings, or describing something in detail.”

“And then I have school in the afternoon?”

“First lunch in the dining hall, then you’re stuck in classes till five. That leaves an hour and a half for hoops before dinner. We have a half-hour of chapel after dinner, but that isn’t mandatory. In fact, everything after dinner is free time.”

Glynn and Sebby attended church whenever they were back in Indiana, but only sporadically in Washington. She never forced Sebby to go with her, but he always did. She wondered if he would choose to go on his own at Rawlings. “And what happens on the weekends?”

“We have activities for families, like games and cookouts. Sometimes we just show movies . . . things like that. And that’s when therapists set up their family sessions.”

“Will we have family therapy?” Glynn asked.

“I don’t know yet. Why don’t we all plan to get together and talk on Sunday afternoon? If we find some things to work on, we can do that. Otherwise, we’ll just use it as an update session.” “So I can come visit on Saturday and Sunday?”

“If you like.” He chucked Sebby in the shoulder. “But don’t be surprised if he’s busy shooting hoops.”

She knew that was a pretty good bet. Sebby couldn’t seem to get enough, and had talked for years about his dreams of playing college basketball at Georgetown or Indiana.

At the end of the hall, they descended another staircase and exited into a brick courtyard surrounded by several small, octagonal-shaped buildings.

“We have six residential cottages, all with twenty-four-hour staff. Our idea was to have as much of a homelike atmosphere as possible. Most of the kids here are teenage boys like Sebby, and we know they all want their own room.” He looked at Sebby and smiled. “Sound good?”

“Definitely.”

Glynn was also relieved at that news, because one of the things Sebby said he dreaded was getting a weird roommate.

“Eight kids to a cottage.” He steered them toward the last cottage on the left, a gray sign marking it as Willow. “We’re not a lockdown facility, but don’t expect a lot of privacy. Cottage parents come around all the time.”

Sebby shouldn’t have a problem with that, she thought. He wasn’t one to spend a lot of time in his room with his door closed, especially because their big-screen television at home was in the family room.

“Hi, Kurt,” Mark said, greeting a young man who sat watching television in the dayroom. “This is Sebby Wright, our new small forward.”

“Great.” The man jumped to his feet and muted the sound with a remote. “Has Mark told you about Powerhouse?”

“Yeah,” Sebby answered, laughing. “I’m not sure what I’m getting into here.”

“I think we ought to sandbag for a day or two,” Mark suggested. “Then on Saturday, we’ll put a little wager on it, like maybe the losers have to serve the winners dinner.”

Seeing her son interact so easily with the two men made her grateful that Roy had been such a constant force in his life. Whatever was causing Sebby’s struggles, Glynn was sure it wasn’t lack of male attention at home.

“So where’s your bag, dude?” Kurt asked.

“We stuck it behind Trish’s counter. Tell you what,” Mark said, opening the door to what appeared to be an unoccupied bedroom. “Kurt and I will go pick it up and give you guys a minute. Then I need some papers filled out before you leave.” The last bit he addressed to Glynn.

When they left, she turned to her son, who was already inspecting his new room.

“How is it?”

“Okay, I guess. I hope these other guys like the Hoyas.”

“Something tells me basketball is a pretty high priority around here. I think you’ll fit right in.”

He surprised her by stepping forward and giving her a light hug. “I’ll be okay, Mom. I’m not going to do anything else stupid.”

Sebby’s words were encouraging, but it would take a lot more for her to rest easy that this horrible episode was behind him. And that might not happen until they were both assured her cancer was gone.

“Honey, I promise I’ll take care of myself too. We’ll get these things behind us, once and for all.”

His arms went tighter around her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just work hard and get better. Don’t be afraid to tell Mark anything. If you want to talk about Stephanie, that’s okay. Whatever it takes, honey.”

“Stephanie wasn’t a problem for me, Mom. I told Dr. Blue it wasn’t a big deal.”

“I know. I’m just telling you that you need to open up with Mark so he can help you. That means follow it wherever it goes. Don’t worry about keeping secrets. I’ll deal with anything that comes out.” Nothing mattered more than her son.

She fought tears as she walked out with Mark into the courtyard.

“You don’t need to worry. We’ll look after him.”

Mark led the way back upstairs to his office, where he walked her through consent forms and treatment procedures, much the way Charlotte had only five days ago.

“Do you know much about Dr. Blue?” she asked, readying herself to go.

“Not really. I interned with one of her colleagues, though, and he says she’s outstanding.”

“I got that impression too. In fact—don’t take this personally—I had hoped we’d be working with her.”

“I won’t take it personally. It’s just that Dr. Blue’s specialty is working with women who’ve been traumatized, either by rape or domestic violence. She manages a clinic at the university.”

Now it made sense why Charlotte thought someone else would be better suited to handle Sebby’s problems. “Does that mean you’ll do another assessment?”

“No, not at all. I would if I had any doubts. But I’ve looked over Sebby’s file, and Dr. Blue did a very thorough job. It looks like your son has gotten excellent care over the past few days.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Though it made no practical difference at this point, Glynn liked hearing Charlotte was respected by other professionals.

“Let’s sit down on Sunday afternoon and talk about where to go. In the meantime, you should concentrate on getting yourself well.”

She was taken aback momentarily that he knew about her treatments, but then remembered it was all in Sebby’s file. “Thank you.”

As she started her car, she told herself Sebby was in good hands. He seemed okay with being here, and Charlotte had said his prognosis was good. So why did she feel like a terrible mother?

Chapter 7

Glynn shifted in the wingback chair and crossed her bare feet on the ottoman. It was rare she got the chance to read lengthy reports in her office, but Don Cichetti had called in with the flu, canceling their morning meeting on the energy bill. As far as she was concerned, a free hour in her office was better than found money.

A soft knock interrupted her concentration, and she looked up to see Roy’s head through the crack in the door.

“Got a minute, Glynn?”

“Sure, come on in.” She took off her glasses and gently rubbed the corners of her eyes. “What’s up?”

“Nothing urgent,” he said, pulling a straight-back chair over to sit close. “You feeling all right? Getting enough rest?”

“Yeah, sure.” She waved her glasses flippantly. “I think I need a stronger prescription. Or someone needs to use a bigger font.”

“How’s Sebby?”

“I haven’t talked to him since I left him on Tuesday. He seemed all right, though. The guys there took him right in. It was almost like I was dropping him off at basketball camp.”

“That’s good to hear. I hope you’ll keep us posted on how he’s doing. We all care about him like he’s our own kid.”

“I know you do, Roy. I get to visit this weekend, so I’ll fill you in.”

“Good. I wanted to let you know that Guy Preston contacted me this morning.”

She dropped the report on the floor and sat up straight. “Did he make you an offer?”

“No, but I got the impression he will. He talked about how we could all work together, and he said he’d have Marcella set up a meeting so we could talk about a few things.”

“What does he mean by work together? Do you think they have a bill in mind?”

“That’s what it sounds like to me,” Roy said, nodding with enthusiasm. “I don’t have to tell you what a great opportunity it would be to ride herd on a Preston bill in the House. Lots of press . . . which means you can put your agenda out there too.”

“Have you been thinking about it some more? Joining Preston, I mean.”

He shrugged, but his wide eyes gave him away. “I haven’t ruled anything out, but like I told you—I’m not going anywhere until I know you and Sebby are all right. You don’t need to add breaking in a new staffer to all the other things you have to worry about.”

She leaned over and took his hand. “Sometimes I think Bas left you here to watch over me.”

“He’d be very proud of you. I have no doubt. And I’ve always been proud to say I work for you.”

Her eyes clouded with tears. Roy had seen her through so many challenges she couldn’t imagine not having him close. “Your friendship has meant more to me than I could ever say.”

“Yours too, Glynn. That’s why it’s so hard to even think about leaving.”

“But you can’t let it stand in your way. We’ll still be family, no matter who you work for.”

“I’ve always felt the same way.” He smiled and looked down at their joined hands. “Do you remember that first campaign? Man, that was so much fun.”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

“We didn’t have a clue what we were getting into, did we?”

“No, we might have run screaming in the other direction. Remember the night Sebby was born?”

Roy laughed. “How could I ever forget? Bas was bouncing off the walls.”

“I know. You would have thought he was the one in labor.”

“And Marcella spent the whole night on the phone with that reporter, making sure it was front page news.”

The memories of that early race rushed back. “She was always so focused on the campaign. She used everything—no matter what it was—to get Bas elected.”

“She’s still like that with Guy Preston. He trusts her with practically everything.”

“She’s good. I’ll give her that.” Glynn remembered butting heads on more than one occasion with Marcella. “You know, it used to bother me that Bas usually took her advice over mine. Like I always thought he looked good in a white shirt, because he had such a good tan from being outdoors. But she made him wear blue because she said it made him seem more approachable.”

“I remember that. She even carried a box of shirts in her trunk in case he showed up in the wrong one.”

“But she knew her stuff, didn’t she?”

“I wouldn’t want to have to run a campaign against her.” He was pensive for a moment before adding, “You were always his rock, though.”

“Thanks for saying that, Roy.” Glynn leaned forward a little and kept her voice low. “Do you think . . . this is silly, I know, but it’s something I’ve always wondered about. Do you think Bas would have made it to the White House?”

Roy grinned slyly. “There isn’t a doubt in my mind. And he would have been an amazing president.”

“That’s what I’ve always thought too, but I figured I was just biased.”

“I’m biased too, but yeah, Bas had it all. I think maybe Guy Preston has the same package.”

“I can see that. And I may have to kick your butt if you let this opportunity go by.”

He smiled again and squeezed her hand. “All in good time, Glynn.”

The Friday evening crowd at Nage was teeming with DC dignitaries. From their corner booth, Charlotte spotted the attorney general and his entourage, along with the House Speaker and her family. Julie had a thing for the hottest restaurants in town. Half the fun, she said, was just being able to get a table. She had made this reservation over a month ago.

Charlotte peered over her menu to sneak another look at her date, who looked sensational in her long-sleeved black cocktail dress. She had to admit, Julie’s penchant for hip restaurants and dressing to the nines had its aesthetic benefits.

“You’re staring at me.”

“I know. It’s because you look gorgeous.”

Julie smiled, and beneath the table, ran a stockinged foot up

Charlotte’s calf. “What are you going to have?”

Charlotte had barely glanced at the menu. “I don’t know. What are my choices?” she asked coyly. After a long week on rotation, she was ready to kick back and have fun.

“I always crave pasta when I get my period.”

If that was Julie’s way of throwing ice water in her direction, she got the message. Sex this weekend was out of the question. Charlotte stifled a sigh and studied the entrees with new interest. “I’ll have the halibut, I guess.”

The waiter brought their wine and took their dinner order. Julie nodded toward Charlotte’s pager, which rested beside

her napkin. “If that thing goes off during dinner, I’m going to pound it with my shoe.”

“I doubt it will tonight. Brandon’s taking my shift, since I took his last Friday.” All day, she had looked forward to an uninterrupted evening with Julie. Now that sex was off the table, maybe it would be a good time to get to know each other better, and talk about things other than work.

“I wish I had somebody who could take my shift. All week, I’ve been up to my eyeballs in export files.”

Charlotte chortled, as if her mere thoughts had prompted Julie to bring up the subject of her work.

“What?”

“Nothing. I was just sitting here thinking how awful we are. Even when we’re not at work, it’s all we ever seem to talk about.” She included herself in the indictment just to soften her tone. In reality, she rarely mentioned her work, because most of what she did was confidential. “Maybe we should treat ourselves to a real night off.”

“All right. What shall we talk about?”

The first thing that popped into Charlotte’s head—how Julie had reached the age of thirty-six without realizing you could still have sex when you were on your period—was summarily dismissed for something more appropriate for the dinner table. “Tell me where you’d go if you suddenly got two weeks off work.”

Julie thought for a minute before breaking into a grin. “Okay . . . I’d hit the bookstore and walk out with all the trashy fiction I could carry. Do you know how long it’s been since I read something I didn’t have to read?”

Charlotte knew the feeling exactly. For the past twenty years, she’d had barely a moment to read anything other than medical texts, research findings and case files. “That would be nice . . . swinging in a hammock with a mindless novel.”

“Not me. I’d hole up at home with a case of merlot. And I’d pull the blinds.”

“So getting away to a tropical island doesn’t appeal to you?”

“Not as much as being in my own space. If I have to be outside, I figure I might as well be taking soil samples.”

Charlotte nodded with understanding and smiled—not a real smile, just one she put there while her head processed Julie’s unexpected response. “So you wouldn’t want any company?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Friday and Saturday nights would still be yours,” she said, swiping her foot once again up Charlotte’s leg.

Uneasiness swept over Charlotte as she realized the implications of Julie’s dream vacation. Given the choice, Julie preferred to be alone—except for that small window she allotted for social time. Charlotte was in that window right now, perhaps only filling out the schedule of what Julie believed she needed to balance her life.

Their entrees appeared, and the topic shifted suddenly to culinary critique, another staple of their Friday night dates. They took turns sampling morsels from one another’s plate, neither able to identify the mystery spice in Charlotte’s fish sauce. It was heavy and sweet—anisette, perhaps—and, as far as Charlotte was concerned, detracted from the natural flavor of the fish.

As they finished, she caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Glynn Wright, accompanied by a handsome older man and an elegant black woman, was being seated at a small table nearby. Charlotte fought not to stare as the gentleman helped first the other woman, then Glynn with their coats and chairs. Glynn looked stunning in a dark green cocktail dress, form-fitting and long-sleeved, much like the black one Julie wore.

“It’s my turn to get the check tonight,” Julie announced suddenly, sliding her credit card into the leather check folder.

Charlotte pulled her eyes back to her date and smiled her thanks. She wanted to see Glynn, at least to say hello, but she didn’t want to answer Julie’s inevitable questions about how she happened to know the congresswoman from Indiana.

Minutes later, as Julie busied herself with figuring the tip, Charlotte stole another glance. Even from twenty feet away, Glynn looked tired. Small wonder, since her days of late had been filled with intensive, early-morning radiation treatments and the stress of dealing with a child on the brink of taking his own life. It was amazing she had found the energy to go out for dinner.

“Saul, I’m very impressed you got us into Nage on a Friday night,” Glynn said. Though a part of her had wanted to go home after work and fall into bed, she needed a sense of normalcy that only a night out with friends could bring. Saul and Melinda Harrington had been friends since her days with the UN, and they fit that bill perfectly.

“Don’t be impressed with Saul,” his wife said. “I think he made the reservation in your name.”

As always, Glynn was charmed by Melinda’s Bahamian accent. “In that case, I’m impressed with myself.”

“And we’re celebrating my meeting with Senator Culbertson, so dinner is on me,” Saul announced.

“Not a chance. If you buy, I have to file a report.” Since they had this same conversation every time they got together, Glynn had begun to suspect it was Saul’s way of teasing her.

The waiter stopped for their drink order, and Saul examined the wine list.

“Just sparkling water for me,” Glynn said.

“No wine?” Melinda asked as Saul placed their order.

“No, thank you.” Her doctor had advised her to avoid alcohol during treatment, and until her skin was fully healed. “I’m really glad we had this chance to get together. With everything going on with Sebby, your friendship has meant so much—”

“Excuse me, Congresswoman Wright. It’s so nice to see you again.”

Glynn looked up to see a familiar face, one she recalled vaguely from a hearing in the Cannon Building.

“I’m Julie Exner. We met last year at—”

“At the agriculture hearings. I remember.” Bas had taught her the importance of committing names and faces to memory.

“I’m very sorry to interrupt, but I wanted the chance to tell you again how grateful we were for your support in that hearing.”

“Believe me, the folks back in Indiana are grateful to problemsolvers like you.” Seeing Saul on his feet, Glynn remembered her manners. “I’d like you to meet some friends of mine, Melinda and Saul Harrington. Saul directs the American Institute for Child Studies, and Melinda teaches at the University of Maryland.”

They exchanged pleasantries, and Julie pulled her companion into view. “And this is my friend, Dr. Charlotte Blue.”

Glynn turned and froze. Charlotte was looking directly at her and holding out a hand.

“How do you do?”

Glynn took it, suddenly conscious of what must have been a stupefied look on her face. “Pleased to meet you.”

Charlotte greeted the Harringtons, and then retreated to stand quietly behind Julie. It was all Glynn could do not to stare. The two women made a very striking couple.

“Anyway, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to say hello,” Julie said. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Charlotte fell into step behind her, but paused for the barest moment to whisper something into Glynn’s ear. Saul and Melinda were opening their menus and missed it.

“So what’s good here?” Saul asked.

Glynn smiled wryly. “Not the halibut.”

“See, that’s why I like to go to the hip restaurants on Friday nights. I always run into someone who might be able to help me down the road,” Julie said, struggling into her coat.

“They seemed very nice,” Charlotte answered stiffly, working hard to mask her irritation. Seeing Glynn so obviously fatigued had stirred a fierce protective streak, and she hated that Julie had imposed on her private time for some possible career gain. Beyond those important titles were real people who held the positions.

“Glynn Wright really is nice. You know I don’t say that about many people in this town, but I meant it about being glad to get her support. She knew her stuff, too.”

Charlotte calmed immediately, embarrassed at her overreaction, and thankful it hadn’t been overt.

“I have a couple of movies,” Julie said, taking Charlotte’s hand as they walked toward the parking lot.

“I’d better take a rain check. I have rounds in the morning.”

“I thought you said Brandon was on call.”

“Just for tonight, so we could go out. I shamed him into it because I took his call last Friday.”

“So we finally get a Friday free, and it’s spoiled by you having rounds on Saturday morning.”

Charlotte bit her tongue. The idea that Julie was peeved about her rotation was beyond ridiculous, given how Julie’s work schedule dictated practically all of their time together.

“Don’t mind me, Charlotte. I’m just pouting. I always look forward to Fridays. They’re over too fast.” They had reached Julie’s car. “Do you want a ride to your car?”

“It’s okay. I think I’ll walk.” The other lot was only a few blocks away.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No.” That was mostly the truth. Julie’s admission that she was only pouting had dissipated her annoyance, just as the nice words about Glynn had cooled her off before. But Charlotte wanted to be alone tonight. “My stomach’s a little upset. I think I’ll take something and go on to bed.”

“Sure you don’t want a ride?” Julie leaned against her car and tugged Charlotte’s coat until they were pressed together.

Charlotte responded with a quick peck to the lips. “Thanks, but I think the air will do me good.”

“Okay. Call me tomorrow. We can cook if you want. I’ll save the movies.”

“All right.” Before she could get pulled into another kiss, Charlotte broke free and turned in the direction of her car. Halfway down the block, Julie tooted the horn and waved goodbye as she drove past.

Something had shifted tonight for her and Julie, and it wasn’t in their favor. With growing irritation at herself, Charlotte acknowledged when it started—when she learned they wouldn’t be having sex tonight. Julie couldn’t do anything right after that.

This dismal feeling was her own fault, she decided. Julie had a right to her reservations, and she had redeemed herself pretty well at the end of the night by saying genuinely nice things about Glynn. And that bit about pouting . . . at least she had been honest about it, which was more than Charlotte could say for herself.

With new resolve, she vowed to call Julie tomorrow and apologize for being out of sorts. Then she would hit the market for something special to cook and start their weekend anew.

Chapter 8

In her perch at the top of the bleachers, Glynn leaned back against the wall and stretched her feet in front. She couldn’t wait to find out how Sebby’s week had gone. From the looks of things, he was fitting in well at Rawlings. Mark had guessed right that her son would be on the basketball court when she came to visit. She couldn’t help but be proud of his athletic prowess. He was a natural, just like his father. And Sebby’s skill seemed to have earned him the respect of the older boys on the court, along with that of the staff.

Were it not for the chance to see him this morning, she might never have gotten out of bed. Though she had been exhausted last night, sleep had eluded her for hours, the scene from the restaurant playing over and over in her head. She was impressed by Charlotte’s unruffled response to seeing her there, but that wasn’t the only thing remarkable about her sudden appearance. It was the way she had looked, stunning in a tight black skirt and shimmering white top. And her appearance alongside Julie Exner had vanquished her image as only a doctor who happened to have treated Sebby. Charlotte Blue was every bit a woman, and a beautiful one at that. And apparently involved with someone equally attractive, though that did little to quell Glynn’s fascination.

A break in the action on the court drew her out of her ruminations, and she looked up to see Sebby trudging toward her. She jumped to her feet and held out her arms for a hug. “Ew, I love you, but you stink!”

“I know. I need a shower,” he said flatly. He looked back at the court anxiously. Mark was watching them from near the baseline.

“You looked good out there.”

“Thanks.”

She pushed his wet hair off his forehead and sat back down,

wondering what it meant that he seemed so aloof. “How has it been, sweetheart?”

“It’s okay.” Sebby shrugged and toweled off his face and neck. “Mark says to come at four tomorrow.”

“All right. Is he easy to talk to?”

“Yeah, he’s a good guy.”

“Are you doing okay with everything?”

“Hey, Sebby! You coming?”

He looked at the court and back at her, clearly hoping to join his new friends.

Glynn pushed a paper bag toward him. “I brought you some extra clothes. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, I’m good.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

He gave her a tentative hug, as if mindful of his sweaty stench. “Sorry.”

“Come here.” She wrapped him up and squeezed hard. “I’ve missed you.”

As she watched him bound back onto the court, she was struck by a strange sense of discomfort. More than just being aloof, Sebby hadn’t even seemed glad to see her. He certainly hadn’t missed her the way she had missed him. Or maybe things weren’t going as well as he had said, and he was upset with her for placing him here. Tomorrow’s session with Mark couldn’t come soon enough.

Charlotte spun the shower dial to off, instantly missing its near-scalding spray. Brandon had mopped the floor with her on the racquetball court, his first such triumph in months. Her body had been sluggish, and her head totally on vacation. Thanks to both, she had a deep, round bruise on one of her butt cheeks from his return of serve.

No matter how hard she had tried to focus, her thoughts kept going back to last night and the weary visage of Glynn Wright at Nage. With weeks of treatment ahead for both Glynn and her son, it was hard to see how she would make it through the stress if she didn’t start taking care of herself. Charlotte wished she could reach out, not as a psychiatrist, but as a friend. It wouldn’t be appropriate for her to follow up, she decided, especially since she had left any subsequent contact up to Glynn.

Charlotte needed to get her mind back on the here and now. Julie had already called about this evening, leaving a message that she had watched both movies by herself already, but might be persuaded to explore another avenue of entertainment. Instead of welcoming the offer, Charlotte found herself ambivalent. Having slept on Julie’s words of the night before, she wasn’t sure where their relationship could go. Their differences were simple. Julie was a loner. Charlotte wasn’t.

She toweled off and examined her growing bruise in the mirror. Sitting was not going to be pleasant for the next few days.

From her gym bag in the bedroom, her cell phone announced a call.

“Damn it.” It was probably the hospital. Instead, it was an unfamiliar number.

“Hello, is this Charlotte?”

Charlotte knew the voice immediately and smiled. It was the call she had been hoping for after all. “Yes, it is.”

“It’s Glynn Wright. Am I disturbing you?”

She sat on the edge of the bed, wincing as she remembered her bruise. “Not at all. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine. I just wanted to say thank you for what you did last night at the restaurant. It was very thoughtful of you to be so discreet.”

She picked up the barest hint of a tremor in Glynn’s voice, and wondered if she was nervous about calling. “I figured you might not want the others to know how we knew each other.”

“The Harringtons are old friends of mine, so I let them in on the secret after you left. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine with me. But I didn’t want to say anything in front of Julie, especially when I realized she already knew you.”

“I guess that would have been all right if you had. After that blurb in the Post, I figure everyone in town knows anyway.”

“Maybe, but no one needs to know more than you’re willing to tell them. And besides, I promised you confidentiality.”

“So you did, and I appreciate it. That’s a rare commodity around here. I just hope the press doesn’t find out where Sebby is.”

“They shouldn’t. His records are locked up.”

“That’s good.”

By Glynn’s tone, her nervousness had passed, which Charlotte took as a good sign. She wanted Glynn to feel comfortable talking with her. “So how is Sebby? Have you talked to him?”

“I saw him today. I guess he’s . . . I don’t know. He says he’s fine.”

Charlotte picked up more than a hint of skepticism. “Is something wrong?”

Glynn sighed. “Probably not. I think Sebby might be a little perturbed at me for putting him there, but I’m sure he’ll be fine. He seems to like the other boys.”

“That’s a good sign.” She guessed the separation was hard, but it was also a good chance for Glynn to focus on her health. “And how about you? Are you doing okay?”

“I’m starting to feel better about things. It’s been a week since that incident at school, so I think we’re out of the danger zone for now.”

Charlotte wasn’t surprised that Glynn’s frame of reference for her own well-being was her son. “And how are your treatments going?”

“Fine. I just want to get them over with.”

“It’s tough, I know. You looked pretty tired last night. You need to take a little time here and there to relax, and lean on your friends for support.”

“I actually took it easy this morning, believe it or not. When I got home from Rawlings, I went back to bed for three whole hours.”

“Because you needed it. Now listen to your body, or you’ll force me to call on some of my friends to get you committed.” She tried her best to sound both threatening and silly, hoping Glynn had a sense of humor.

“You wouldn’t really do that, would you?”

“Do you want to find out, Congresswoman?”

“I’m thinking no.”

Charlotte laughed. “Good answer. But watch out for me, because I’m going to badger you about this every chance I get.”

“I see. Is my insurance going to cover these badgering sessions?”

“Probably not, but we can do it quid pro quo. I’ll badger you for free, and if you become president someday, you can set me up in the Lincoln Bedroom.”

“Everyone always wants something.”

Charlotte smiled to herself, glad she and Glynn had finally gotten on the same wavelength. “Better yet, I’ll forget you’re a congresswoman if you’ll forget I’m a psychiatrist.”

“Okay, so when you boss me around, you’re doing it as a friend and not a doctor.”

“Right. And when I tell you to take it easy, you can’t blow me off with excuses about work.”

Glynn chuckled. “Well played, Charlotte.”

“Thank you,” she answered, doing her best to sound smug. “So as your new and bossy friend, I’m telling you to take the rest of the weekend off. Do something fun and relaxing.”

“It just so happens I was planning to do that anyway. So there.”

“Good.” Charlotte’s mind raced for how to seal this new friendship. Since Glynn had made the first overture by calling, it was only fair she make the next move. “Would meeting for coffee fall under fun and relaxing?”

“Only if I could show up in jeans and sneakers.”

“Perfect,” Charlotte said.

Glynn checked her watch. Charlotte was late, but only by a few minutes. It probably seemed longer because she had arrived ten minutes early, trying to shake off an inexplicable case of nerves.

She was excited about seeing Charlotte outside of her office. She had told herself a dozen times before calling that Charlotte would never have given her the private number had she not intended for her to use it. And when their conversation had drifted from their casual meeting last night to Charlotte’s friendly haranguing about taking better care of herself, it was clear the door was open for getting to know each other beyond their interaction as mother and doctor.

She didn’t have many friends outside of government. That was the consequence of having a job that never ended. There was rarely a moment outside of her own four walls—whether at a party, a picnic or even in church—where she wasn’t expected to be a congresswoman from Indiana.

And within her circle of government friends and acquaintances, most people still thought of her as the widow of Bas Wright. Only when she confided in Charlotte about her relationship with Stephanie did she realize how much of herself she kept hidden behind the façade of her office. Tina was her sole confidante, since she had pressed her for insight on how the party might handle such news if she decided to come out. Tina’s advice had been a resounding plea to guard it like a national secret.

And now, she was striking up a friendship with someone who not only knew about Stephanie, but who was a lesbian herself. A lesbian with a girlfriend, it seemed, though that was part of the fascination. Of course someone with Charlotte’s looks and personality would have a girlfriend. Not only was Julie Exner pretty, she was also smart and at least ten years younger than Glynn.

So why was she reaching out to Charlotte? Or perhaps the better question was why was Charlotte reaching out to her?

Suddenly, Charlotte appeared in the doorway, sporting a completely different look from any Glynn had seen before. Instead of the usual sharply creased slacks or smart skirt, she wore faded jeans that hugged her thighs like a second skin. Scuffed leather boots replaced the polished dress pumps, and her hooded parka emphasized warmth over fashion. The effect was a warm shiver up Glynn’s spine.

“Hi,” Glynn said, embarrassed at how her voice squeaked. Nerves.

“Sorry I’m late. It took me forever to find a parking place.”

“I should have had you come to my house. You could have just parked in the driveway, and we could have walked over together.”

“Now you tell me,” Charlotte said dramatically.

“Sorry.” She could talk to presidents and foreign heads of state, but for some reason, not to a woman who just wanted to be her friend.

Charlotte flashed a smile as she shrugged out of her coat. “Fortunately, I don’t mind a little exercise.”

The waitress appeared at their table, dropping two napkins. “What can I get you?”

“If you have a sweet tooth, their specialty is S’mores,” Glynn said. From Charlotte’s trim figure, she guessed the answer would be no.

“I’m not really much on sweets. Just a skim latte for me.”

“I’d like tea, please. Lemon verbena if you have it.” The waitress left and she turned back to Charlotte. “So does this qualify as seeing a psychiatrist?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Charlotte’s smile gave way to an earnest look. “I really don’t want you ever to think I’m picking you apart or digging into your psyche. The first thing I learned in medical school was where the on-off switch was. It’s on when I’m with patients, and it’s off when I’m with my friends. Always.”

“Okay . . . good. You must feel like you’re two different people.”

“Not really.” Charlotte loosened her scarf so it draped casually around her neck. “I can’t divorce myself from what I know, but there’s a proper venue and procedure for practicing medicine and it isn’t over coffee or at a cocktail party. Or like your former majority leader who diagnosed that brain-dead woman from a video.”

Glynn remembered it well. “You mean misdiagnosed.”

“That’s the point,” she said, not masking her irritation.

“I believe I’ve stumbled onto one of your hot buttons.”

“No, no. I’m a gentle soul. It takes a lot more than that to get me hot.”

Glynn couldn’t help but smile at Charlotte’s sudden blush as she realized too late her double entendre. “That’s probably not the sort of thing you want to advertise.”

“I believe I just stuck my foot in my mouth.”

“It’s funny. Ten minutes ago, I would have guessed you were cool as a cucumber. And now, even your ears are red.”

“I can only manage suave and intellectual for a few minutes. My true self plows through eventually.”

“I bet you’re entertaining at parties.”

“I have my moments.” Her blush had dissipated, and the look of seriousness was gone. “Now it’s your turn to say something embarrassing.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage that soon enough without trying.” This time, she raised her cup to Charlotte in salute. “My son would probably say I have a gift for it, but that’s a teenager for you.”

“I bet.”

“It isn’t off limits to talk about Sebby, is it?”

“Of course not. But I can’t talk about him in a clinical sense. That wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Fair enough. It’s just that I don’t really have an off switch when it comes to my son.”

“That’s a good thing. Too many parents probably do.”

Glynn swirled her teabag in the ceramic pot before pouring a second cup. “Have you been around teenagers much?”

“Not really. I see kids like Sebby from time to time when I’m on rotation, but I’m no expert.”

“There’s no such thing as an expert on teenagers. Anyone who says otherwise is full of . . .”

“Shit.”

“I was going to say bull.”

“You’re such a politician.”

“I promised to turn that off too, didn’t I?”

“You did, but I’ll give you a little grace on that. At least you’re not talking about satellite imaging to forecast crop yields.” Charlotte rolled her eyes, but seemed to have second thoughts. “Although I admit the concept is kind of interesting.”

“Too late. You’re busted. Does Dr. Exner know you find her work so fascinating?” It delighted her to see Charlotte blush again.

“I doubt she has a full appreciation for my feelings.”

“You could be fun to blackmail.”

“I’m not sure it matters much. I think Julie uses me for a sounding board, and it doesn’t matter if anything bounces back. It helps her to go through her arguments out loud.”

Seeing Julie last night had jogged Glynn’s memory of the agriculture hearing. “Whatever she does, it works. She did a wonderful presentation to our committee. Have you been together long?” Glynn wanted to hear all about their relationship, but without having to fish openly for details.

“We’re not exactly together. Just dating for about four months.”

“Are you both out?” She couldn’t help glancing around to make certain no one could overhear.

“I guess. We don’t make a big deal out of it, but we don’t hide anything. All the people that matter to me know who I am.”

“I’m sorry I’m being so nosy. I just envy that sort of thing. I can’t imagine being able to have an ordinary life like that.”

Charlotte gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sure it’s very hard. But it’s pretty amazing, if you ask me, that you have a sixteenyear-old son who’s cool with it.”

“I’ll admit I’m lucky with that. I have a niece in California who roared out of the closet when she was fifteen. Sebby adored her, so he learned pretty early what it was all about.”

“Yeah, I think he mentioned that. Still, it’s one thing to have a cousin who’s gay, and something altogether different to have a mom.”

“I guess it’s all in how you present it. I told him Stephanie and I really loved each other. He responded to that.”

“But he didn’t like the fact that it was a secret.”

“I think that was it in a nutshell. When you put a lid on something, it’s like you’re telling them it’s bad. And he couldn’t resent me, so he took it out on her.”

“I bet it made for a lot of stress.”

Glynn chuckled. “Story of my life. Everything makes for stress.”

“At least you’re holding up well. You don’t look a day over fifty-three.”

“I’m forty-four.”

“Oops.”

“And you look every bit of . . .”

“Thirty-nine,” Charlotte answered.

“And then some.”

“Ouch.”

“Don’t screw with me. I’ve studied with Republicans.”

“Sounds like it.” Charlotte plucked a buzzing cell phone from her belt. Her face fell as she checked the message in the text window. “I was afraid this would happen.”

“Something wrong?”

She pushed her arms into the sleeves of her coat. “Sorry, I’m on call at the hospital this weekend. I wish I didn’t have to go. I was enjoying this.”

“Me too. We’ll have to do it again.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll call, okay?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Charlotte hurried out the door, turning one last time to wave.

Glynn sipped the remains of her tea, smiling to herself at the excitement that lingered long after Charlotte had gone. The sensations weren’t really appropriate, she knew, but they felt so nice she couldn’t bring herself to push them away. It was too bad Charlotte Blue was someone else’s girlfriend.

Chapter 9

Charlotte scanned the final page of her assistant director’s report. Dr. Chandra Lyons was wrapping up her fellowship next month, and already tapped for a clinical position in her native Houston. Charlotte hated to lose her, almost as much as she hated the thought of breaking in a new assistant director. The other fellows—six spread throughout their department—had proven to be excellent psychiatrists, but none had shown the organizational skills needed for a job like this.

Chandra handed her a folder. “We got another referral from Walter Reed.”

Charlotte opened the file with interest. She and several colleagues from around the country were working together on developing procedures for treating servicewomen who had been sexually assaulted by their fellow soldiers. “Any discharges this week?”

“No, but probably two next week.”

“Let’s get this one on my schedule then. See if she can come at five today and I’ll do an assessment.”

No sooner had Chandra gone than Brandon appeared in her doorway. “You survived another rotation, I see.”

“It wasn’t too bad, actually.”

He sank onto her couch, indicating his intention to stay a while. “What happened with that congresswoman’s kid? You get him into Rawlings?”

“Yeah, he went last Tuesday.” She had been thinking about her meeting with Glynn, and wondering what Brandon would think about them becoming friends. “His mom’s an interesting woman.”

“I bet. I heard about how she handled those reporters in the lobby. Like a mother bear.”

“She’s protective of her son, that’s for sure. I ran into her at Nage on Friday night, and she called me the next day.” She deliberately left out the fact that she had given Glynn her private number. “We got together for coffee and talked a little bit.”

“About her son?”

“No, mostly about other stuff. I told her I couldn’t help much with Sebby, since he wasn’t my patient anymore, but we hit it off. She worked with the UN in Bosnia, so that’s something we have in common.” She felt a small pang of guilt for spinning the details of their more personal conversation. “Do you think it’s all right for us to be friends? I don’t want to do anything that might be considered unethical.”

He scratched his chin as he thought about it. “I don’t see anything unethical about it. I play racquetball sometimes with Greg Mitchell. His wife used to be a patient of mine.”

She had forgotten about Brandon’s friendship with Greg. If that was considered okay, there shouldn’t be any problem with her having Glynn for a friend. “I didn’t think so, but I thought I ought to check with somebody.”

“Well, you have my permission. Not that it means anything. I’m just a lowly grunt like you.” He slapped his knees and stood. “Damon got a court for tomorrow night at six. You want to play doubles?”

“Sure. I should be able to walk again by then,” she answered, remembering her now-purple butt.

“Oh, sorry about that. How is it?”

“I’ll live. But you might want to wear some padding.”

Glynn shifted her briefcase onto her left shoulder, mindful not to let the strap drape across her breast.

Roy, Chip and Tina were already waiting in her office, the latter prepping a tray for coffee and tea.

“Good morning.” As she struggled with the box of pastries she had brought to share, Roy jumped up to give her a hand.

“We’ve been called to a meeting in Guy Preston’s office at nine,” he said. “Shall I accept?”

Glynn was momentarily taken off guard. She hadn’t expected things to move so quickly. “Um . . . sure. Is my schedule clear?”

He nodded, picking up the phone from her desk. “I’ll confirm.”

She turned toward Tina and Chip. “Everyone have a good weekend?”

“Mine was great,” Tina said. “Leslie took the kids to his mother’s while I faked a stomachache and stayed home.”

Tina’s battles with her mother-in-law were infamous. “Someday, I’m signing up for lessons from you.”

“I’ll trade Sharon Carlson for Irene Wright any day.”

“I guess I’ll see Irene this weekend. What’s my schedule?” Glynn poured herself a cup of tea and took a seat in a wingback chair. Roy finished his call and took the one next to her, while Tina and Chip settled on the sofa.

Chip scrolled through his PDA. “You fly out at five thirty on Wednesday afternoon. Breakfast with Randy at nine on Thursday . . . Rotary luncheon at noon . . . a groundbreaking at three for a Habitat house . . . a fundraiser at five . . .”

“Please tell me the whole week isn’t stacked like that.”

“Pretty much,” Chip confirmed. “You have a speech on Friday morning at the Livestock Breeders Association. There’s a copy on your desk already . . . lunch with the Scott County party chairman . . . office meetings with constituents that afternoon . . . a ceremony with the National Guard unit on Saturday morning . . .”

It was shaping up like every other trip home, Glynn thought dismally. Charlotte was right. She should have asked for more help. Randy Williston, who ran her office back in the district, would have lightened her schedule if only she had said the word. As it was, no one back in Indiana knew about her breast cancer, including her mother-in-law.

“The good news is you have a light afternoon today,” Tina said. “Hearings all day tomorrow, then a GOP Appropriations luncheon on Wednesday . . .” Tina grunted.

“What?”

“I just read the rest of the memo. Lunch is at Butler’s.”

“That cigar club again?” Glynn shuddered in disgust. Alvin Baxter called these meetings knowing full well half the committee members hated that bar. “I’m not going.”

“Baxter won’t like being stiffed, Glynn,” Roy said gently.

“I don’t care. I had to throw that last suit away.” She turned to Chip, who coordinated things with Randy. “Chip, get me on a morning flight—not before ten, though—and ask Randy to move a couple of those constituent meetings to late Wednesday afternoon. I’ll tell Baxter I’m going home to do some fundraising and build support for our bills.”

Roy looked at her sheepishly.

“I’ll throw up if I have to go into that place, Roy. It almost makes me gag to think about it.”

“It’s going to take more than just soldiering at home, though. There’s a lot of power in that room, and it stays there. Baxter hands out rewards for kowtowing. You’ve worked hard for Appropriations, but he’ll pull you for a yes-man in a New York minute.”

She sighed. “You don’t know that for sure. The only reason he put me there in the first place was because of that Newsweek article saying he had no respect for women in politics. He wouldn’t dare ditch me.”

“But knowing Baxter, he’d use your absence to underscore his point. And besides, he could always tap Madge Heflin to take your place.”

As usual, Roy was spot-on in his observations. Glynn knew she had been pushing it with Baxter by asking for federal earmarks for education, and for not falling in line on his defense positions.

“Shit.”

“You should wear that blue knit dress with the belt. It’ll wash,” Tina said.

“Shit,” she repeated.

Chip leaned forward, an evil grin on his face. “You want me to bring a little heat on Baxter?”

Roy eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean by heat?”

“I could get one of the bloggers to write up the fact that he always makes people come to cigar bars. If nothing else, it’ll paint him in an unflattering light.”

“Unflattering to whom?” Roy asked. “He’ll love it.”

“He’s right, Chip,” Glynn said, slumping deeper into her chair. “That’s just glorifying Baxter. I have to go to this damn thing whether I like it or not.”

Tina rattled off the last details of things she had to do before leaving town. Then, as was their Monday routine, she and Chip collected items for the coffee tray and left the room.

Glynn found herself sitting alone with Roy, with twenty minutes to get to Preston’s office in the Dirksen Building. “You up for a walk?”

“Sure,” he said.

She rarely used the Capitol subway unless it was raining, and it felt good this morning to take in the crisp air. She was undeniably flattered by the invitation from Guy Preston. He was an impressive figure in their party, and having him as a public ally would command her more respect in the House.

Once they reached the Preston suite, she and Roy were offered more coffee and scones, and led into a stately office that was easily twice the size of hers. She smiled as she recalled Bas saying he would someday run for the Senate.

“Good morning.”

Before she ever turned, Glynn recognized the businesslike voice belonging to Marcella Stroupe. Looking smart in a tailored navy suit and heels, Marcella swept into the room with authority and shook hands with her and Roy.

“It turns out Guy had a scheduling conflict. He sends his apologies, but hopes you won’t mind if I handle the preliminaries.”

Glynn’s first reaction was to wonder if this whole meeting was a setup, a charade that Guy Preston had never intended to attend. She was inclined to excuse herself and let Roy handle it as one aide to another, but remained seated out of respect for Marcella’s relationship with Bas.

She cut to the chase before Marcella could take over the agenda. “I understand Senator Preston has expressed interest in working on something together. Does he have a bill in mind?”

“As a matter of fact, he does, Glynn.”

And as a matter of protocol, she was Congresswoman Wright, not Glynn.

“Senator Preston would like to sponsor the Preschool Partners bill in the Senate.”

“That bill has a Senate sponsor,” Roy said. “Thad Culbertson has been on board since day one.”

“Yes, we’re aware of that.” She glanced toward the door and lowered her voice. “In about six weeks, we plan to leak the news that Senator Preston is exploring a presidential run. We’d like very much to have this piece of legislation as the cornerstone of his education policy.”

Of course he would, Glynn thought. It was a solid bill—simple to explain, and one that would reap infinite rewards at all levels of government. “We’d certainly welcome his support, but as Roy explained, Senator Culbertson has done much of the legwork in bringing this bill to the floor. It wouldn’t be—”

“You let us worry about Thad,” Marcella said, adding a wink. She then stood to signal the end of their meeting. “Roy, I’m going to need all the background data. Can you send that over?”

Glynn seethed at the blatant condescension, but if Preston was successful in prying the bill from Thad Culbertson, she had no choice but to accept him as cosponsor. “Just have Senator Culbertson’s office write up the request and we’ll forward everything we have. And please let Senator Preston know we’re glad to have him on board.”

She didn’t speak again until she and Roy were halfway back to her office, where he caught her elbow.

“Whoa, Glynn. Calm down.”

She stamped her foot and spun, realizing she was nearly out of breath from charging across the Capitol Plaza. “Alvin Baxter shows me more respect than that, and he’s a chauvinist pig.”

“It’s called politics. You and I both know Preston’s going to promise Thad something else down the road, like a cabinet post if he ever makes it to the White House. That’s the way it’s done.”

“That doesn’t make it right. What kind of leader steals other people’s work?”

“An opportunist,” he replied grimly.

She blew out a breath. “Okay, I’m calm now. I know you’re right. This is how it’s always done.”

“And if it’s okay with Thad, it shouldn’t matter to us.”

Glynn admitted to herself that her real problem was with Marcella, which bothered her because it seemed so . . . emotional. “You’re absolutely right, but I want you to do me a favor. Go have a talk with Thad’s aide and make sure they know this didn’t come from us.”

Roy turned back toward the Dirksen Building while she continued on to her office. As soon as she entered, Tina looked up from her phone.

“Glynn, Sebby’s on line two. He says it isn’t an emergency.” She hurried to her office and retrieved the call.

“Hi, Mom.”

Her son’s voice put the smile back on her face. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I was calling because Mark got tickets for the Hoyas game tomorrow night. He wants me to come, but you have to fax permission.”

“I can do that.” She was mildly hurt that he hadn’t even asked how she was doing, but she reminded herself they had seen each other only yesterday. “I hope it’s a good game.”

“Me too.”

“I wish you were coming with me to Indiana.”

He was silent for a moment. “I gotta go. I have group for the next hour.”

She smiled wistfully. “It was nice to hear your voice. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“Call me later in the week, okay?”

“Sure . . . ’bye.”

“’Bye, honey.” He was gone before she ever got the words out.

Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with a sense of emptiness, and her eyes clouded with tears. It was the same feeling she had yesterday when she left Rawlings, knowing it would be a full week before she saw Sebby again—and another week of hard work for both of them. She had half a mind to track down a ticket to the game just to watch him from across the gym.

Glynn got up and closed the door to her office, then dialed on her personal cell phone—the one whose calls were not automatically logged for public record.

“Hi, it’s Glynn. How are you?”

“Hey, I’m good,” Charlotte answered cheerfully. “Except I’ve been on rotation for a week and can’t find my desk anymore. Hold on just a second.” She covered the phone for a moment to talk to someone. “Sorry. I had someone in my office. I thought you’d be in meetings all day.”

“I mostly am. I just . . .” Glynn’s voice cracked with tension and trailed off. She was suddenly embarrassed for interrupting Charlotte during an obviously busy workday just to grouse in self-pity.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yeah.” She drew a deep breath. “I just miss my kid, and I wanted to tell somebody.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte answered. “I’m sure it’s hard to have him so close and not with you.”

“Yeah . . . and I know I probably shouldn’t even be calling you about this.”

“No, it’s okay, Glynn. You don’t need a psychiatrist. You need a friend, and I told you I’d be that.”

Glynn sniffed and tried to pull herself together.

“I was going to call you tonight to see if you wanted to meet for dinner or something later this week.”

“I have to go to Indiana on Wednesday. I think that’s part of what’s getting to me. Sebby usually goes with me.”

“Wednesday, huh? No wonder you’re feeling down.”

“Yeah, I won’t see him until I get back on Sunday. We have another family therapy session with Mark at four.”

“Maybe you and Sebby both can use the time to concentrate on the other things you have to do.”

“That’s one way to look at it. My staff has me scheduled down to the last minute.”

“Then the time will fly.”

“But it would be nice to get together. I can do either tonight or tomorrow.”

“Oh . . . sorry. I can’t make either one. I’m seeing a patient tonight, and I just agreed to play racquetball tomorrow.” Charlotte sounded genuinely disappointed. “But I guess I could . . .”

“No, that’s all right. We can have dinner when I get back. How’s that?”

“Sure. I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Glynn found herself embarrassed, wishing she had been patient and waited for Charlotte to call. That’s where they had left things on Saturday. “I’m just having a little jealousy spell. Sebby called a minute ago, and he’s going out to a basketball game with Mark tomorrow. If he’s going out somewhere, I want it to be with me.”

Charlotte laughed softly. “I’d be jealous too. But it’s good he’s bonding with Mark, don’t you think?”

“Of course, but can’t I still be childish about this?”

“Absolutely.”

Glynn felt better already, just to have gotten that off her chest.

“How did the family therapy go yesterday?”

“All right, I guess. Mostly, I listened while Sebby talked about his dad. I can’t believe he remembers so many details.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“He was telling about how I baked cookies the day his father died. I had forgotten that.”

“I guess kids remember things like cookies.”

“I’ll say. He even remembers that I gave him a few and put the others away. That’s unbelievable.”

“The brain’s a fascinating thing, Glynn.”

“I guess you’d know that, wouldn’t you?”

“I would. But I bet it’s nowhere near as fascinating as the halls of Congress.”

“I’m not sure fascinating is the word I’d use to describe this place. It isn’t as hallowed as it seems,” Glynn said, her mood still colored by Guy Preston’s request.

“Maybe not, but I have a lot more faith in it now than I did a couple of weeks ago.”

It took Glynn a moment to process that Charlotte was paying her a compliment. “I appreciate that.”

Chapter 10

“You’ve been quiet today, Denise. What should we think about that?” Charlotte flipped back through the pages of her tablet to review the topics the group had discussed. It wasn’t like Denise to keep to herself.

“Eddie called. He wants to see me again.”

Charlotte almost chuckled at the incredulous groans of the other four women. “What do you think about that?”

Denise shrugged, but her smile gave her away. “I don’t know.”

“What about the rest of you?” Charlotte asked. “What would you do about Eddie if you were Denise?”

“I’d throw his ass under a bus,” Trudy said emphatically.

All of the women laughed, including both Charlotte and Denise. For the past six weeks, the latter had complained miserably that her boyfriend had left her high and dry when she told him of the attack. To Denise, the trauma of Eddie’s reaction had been almost as bad as the rape.

“What do you want with his sorry ass anyway?” Trudy went on. “You got raped and all he thinks about is what his homeboys are gonna think of him.”

“He says he talked to somebody . . . his preacher or somebody,” Denise answered in what sounded like a half-hearted defense. “And he sent me a box of candy.”

Charlotte eyed the cynical faces of her other patients. “What about the rest of you?”

“I’m with Trudy,” Lynda said. “He wasn’t there when you needed him most. Why do you think he’ll be there next time something is hard?”

The other women simply nodded their agreement.

“Do they have a point, Denise?”

“I didn’t say we were getting married or anything. I just want to hear what he has to say.”

“What do you want him to say?”

“That he’s sorry.” Her expression turned back to the familiar anger of past weeks. “That he has a fucking brain tumor that makes him do stupid shit.”

“Should she hear him out, ladies?”

“I guess you ought to at least listen,” Angie said. “If he doesn’t say all the right things, you can still throw him under a bus.”

Charlotte scribbled a note to herself that would help her write up the session later. “I think I’m hearing they want you to be careful, Denise . . . not to go in with your heart on your sleeve.”

“You’re strong now, girlfriend,” Trudy said.

“Trudy’s right. You might still want Eddie—and if you do, that’s okay—but you don’t need him.” Charlotte looked at her watch. As usual, they were late wrapping up, but it was time well spent. “So do this for me—everyone. I want you to put yourself in Denise’s shoes and think about who has been good for you during this rough time, and who hasn’t. We’ll talk about that next week.”

En masse, the women walked out, Trudy still harping on Eddie, and Denise nodding in resignation. Charlotte followed and picked up her messages, finding on top the one she had dreaded all week.

Julie probably had another fabulous restaurant in mind, another movie or two on DVD, and perhaps another romantic proposition to top it off. She had asked for patience, but Charlotte was awakening to the fact that the reward at the end of her wait might not be all she wanted in a romantic relationship, let alone a partnership. And getting there to find out wasn’t the exciting and passionate experience Charlotte yearned for with a new lover.

“. . . and if he gets to label his beef grass-fed too, it’s an unfair advantage,” the farmer complained. “People see that in the store and think it’s a pasture cow, and it’s not.”

“I see your point, Mr. Simmons. And I think it’s a valid argument.” An argument the Texas cattle rancher’s lobby would probably block at every turn, Glynn knew. “Let me talk with someone I know at Agriculture, and I’ll see what the plan is for future labeling.”

“I appreciate it, Congresswoman. If there’s anybody that can get this fixed, it’s you. My brother lives over in Ohio, and he can’t even get in to see his congressman about it.”

He probably could if he spent a hundred bucks for a plate of barbecue, Glynn thought. She hated these fundraisers, but Randy insisted they were good for everyone. Besides keeping her re-election coffers stocked, they were good forums for learning the concerns of her constituents. Glynn had yet to have a serious challenge in her district, thanks to the conservative rural voter base and Wright family name.

She eyed the buffet line, wishing she could just swing by Tony’s on her way home for a pizza. The idea of barbecue beef almost made her nauseous, but the local ranchers would be offended if she didn’t eat.

Randy moved through the crowd with an elderly woman in tow. “Excuse me, Congresswoman. I want you to meet someone. This is Thelma Rothwell.”

Glynn held out her hand. “So pleased to meet you.”

“I taught Bas when he was in the fourth grade. I voted for him every time he ran, and for you ever since.”

“Thank you very much.”

The woman smiled wistfully. “I always knew he’d make something of himself.”

Glynn was used to hearing stories about Bas, especially as class president and football hero in high school. Nearly everyone in the tri-county area knew of Bas through his father, Merriman Wright, a banker who helped many of the local farmers finance equipment and land improvements. His sudden death from a heart attack during Bas’s junior year in high school had prompted an outpouring of love and concern for the Wright family from the whole community. And it was no surprise when they threw their support behind him for his congressional run.

“And I always knew he’d grow up and marry somebody just like him.”

Glynn chuckled. “Bas and I weren’t all that much alike, I’m afraid. He could charm a hornet’s nest. I try my best, but I’ll never manage it like he did.”

“How’s your son? He was Sebastian too, if I remember that right.”

“Yes, we call him Sebby. He’s had a little trouble lately, but he’s better. Thank you for asking.” She wasn’t sure how much the people in Indiana knew about recent events, but she had to assume those who were interested enough to come to a fundraiser would keep up with the news.

Glynn watched her disappear into the small crowd. It was easy to understand why farmers like Mr. Simmons would drop a hundred dollars to get her ear, but folks like Ms. Rothwell were different. They were here to show their support, as if honoring her husband’s memory. She was lucky to have them behind her, and she would do everything she could not to let them down.

Charlotte grasped the handle and waited for Julie’s signal to enter. The gate buzzed, she entered the lobby and took the stairwell to the second floor. She dreaded this conversation, and by now Julie probably did too. Her call this afternoon had been met with a distinct chill, no doubt thanks to her ominous request to drop by just for a few minutes. Julie was bright enough to read between the lines.

The apartment door had been left slightly ajar in anticipation of her arrival. “Anyone home?”

“In here.”

Charlotte closed the door behind her and walked slowly through the foyer into the living room. Julie was sitting on the couch, her papers stacked neatly in piles on the coffee table.

“Hi.” Charlotte smiled nervously.

“Have a seat.” Likewise, Julie seemed to be forcing the pleasantries, as the air between them was thick with apprehension. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” Charlotte dropped her purse beside the chair, but didn’t remove her coat. “You work too hard, you know.”

“Comes with the job.” She set down the papers she had been working on and leaned back. “I bet I know why you’re here.”

Charlotte nodded and tightened her lips with resolve. “I thought we should talk.”

“That’s the kiss of death for any relationship, isn’t it?”

“I’m . . . I guess I’m starting to realize we probably don’t have all that much in common.”

“That’s a nice, neutral way to put it.” Julie smiled wanly. “The truth is, we don’t seem to have enough time for each other, and I know that’s my fault.”

“It isn’t just your fault. I’ve had my share of work emergencies too.”

“Yes, but you’ve been willing to make it up at other times, and I haven’t. I’m to blame for that.”

“No one needs to be blamed for anything, Julie. It’s just a difference between us. You have a right to your priorities.” Charlotte had decided not to push for changes, and hoped Julie wouldn’t offer to make any. Since making up her mind over the last few days that they weren’t well-suited for a romantic partnership, she had actively worked to disengage her feelings. Once started, that process was almost impossible to stop.

“Maybe so,” Julie said. “But I don’t want my job to always be my priority. I want to share my life with someone too, and have her be the most important thing in the world to me.”

“I think most of us want that.”

“The thing is—I have to be honest with you here—if I really felt like you were the one, I would have begun to do that. I wanted to give things a little more time, but I was starting to feel like things weren’t growing between us the way I hoped they would. I should have said something earlier.”

Charlotte took a few seconds to be sure she understood. “You mean you were going to dump me?”

Julie smirked. “Yeah, probably.”

She swatted at Julie’s arm. “And here I was feeling all guilty because I didn’t want to be patient anymore.”

“You should know better than anyone that guilt is a useless emotion, at least when it comes to feelings you can’t control.”

“Now don’t go practicing psychiatry on me. I don’t tell you how to grow fruit.”

Julie leaned forward and held out her hand, which Charlotte took gladly, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “I’ve enjoyed these last few months, and I’d like to keep you as a friend. Do you think we could do that?”

Charlotte stood and held her arms wide for a hug. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Julie walked her to the door, where they kissed lightly one last time. Despite their reassurances to one another, Charlotte doubted they would ever see each other again.

The gravel that crunched beneath her wheels was like a welcome mat to Glynn, as she wound her Ford Explorer down the driveway of her mother-in-law’s home. Irene was anxious for a full report on Sebby, her only grandchild, and had already suggested a few months on the farm as an antidote to the stress of Washington. But Sebby had asked just last month about shortening his usual summer-long visit to a couple of weeks so he could stay in Washington with his friends, and perhaps attend a basketball camp sponsored by one of the former Georgetown players. Glynn was all for anything that kept him closer to home, especially now.

Irene met her at the front door with open arms. Her green eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “You poor thing. I bet you’ve been worried sick.”

“We all have, Irene.” Glynn fell into her embrace, relaxing for what felt like the first time in weeks. Irene was overbearing and sometimes unabashed about manipulating things to her advantage, but Glynn had never doubted she was loved as if she were a daughter. “But things are better now. I think Sebby’s going to be okay.”

“Come on in and tell me everything. I’ve already got his room ready for when he gets out of that center.”

She followed Irene into the house. “He wants to go back to his school when he gets out. All of his friends are there.”

“But his family is here, and that’s more important at a time like this.”

Glynn wasn’t ready for this fight yet. There was no way she could win it with words anyway. Irene had an answer for everything. “We should talk with Sebby when he gets out and see if he’s changed his mind, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”

“I talked with the school administrators already, and they said he could finish up the year here . . . just transfer his credits.”

As usual, Irene was ignoring her objections. The only way she would understand no was for Sebby to tell her himself that he didn’t want to come. “Something smells good.”

“I made beef stew. I bet you’re hungry.”

There was no escaping red meat in Indiana. “That sounds great.”

Irene had already set the kitchen table for two. “Tell me everything about my grandson. Why did he do this?”

“We’re still not really sure. The doctors think it might be some sort of defense mechanism.”

“Defense against what?”

Glynn took her seat at the table as her mother-in-law dished out their meal from a pot on the stove. She had hoped to avoid worrying Irene with her health issues until they were resolved, but there was no way around that if she gave the whole story on Sebby. “I went for a mammogram last month and they found a small lump in my breast.”

Irene dropped her serving spoon and spun around. “Oh, dear.”

“It was very small. They took it out right away, and they said it was contained . . . nothing in the lymph nodes, so that’s good.”

“What happens now?” Irene seemed to be seeking assurances.

“I’m getting five or six weeks of radiation treatments just to make sure they get it all. I think that might have been what was bothering Sebby. One of his doctors thinks he might have tried to hurt himself because he’s afraid of losing me like he lost his father.”

Irene delivered the bowls and sat down. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry anybody, especially since the doctors weren’t worried. I was going to tell you about it once I finished my treatments.”

“How in the world have you managed?”

“I had coffee with a friend of mine last week and she read me the riot act about not getting enough rest.” That was twice now she had mentioned Charlotte without actually saying her name. It almost made her blush to realize how top-of-mind Charlotte was, as if her mother-in-law could sense her foolish interest.

“I hope you’re listening to her. Do you want me to come back with you to Washington? I can cook and take care of the house. Maybe I can stay until school’s out and Sebby can come home with me then.”

“I appreciate your offer, but I can manage. I have a cleaning lady already, and my staff is running interference at work.”

“Thank goodness for Tina and Roy.” She set down her spoon and folded her hands in her lap. “Poor Sebby. He just hasn’t gotten over his father, has he?”

Glynn broke the bread and dipped it in her stew. “It’s more complicated than that, I think. I talked a lot with the psychiatrist at the hospital.” She related Charlotte’s diagnosis and recommendations.

Irene waved a hand in dismissal. “What do psychiatrists know? They can make up gibberish if they want, and no one’s the wiser.”

Not usually one to argue with her mother-in-law, Glynn couldn’t help feeling defensive of Charlotte. “This psychiatrist knew her stuff, Irene. I liked her, and so did Sebby.”

“Sebby’s just sad because people talk about his father all the time, and he never had a chance to know him. If he came back here to live, I bet he’d feel closer to him.”

“I’ll have to let Sebby make that call. And we should also wait and see how far he gets with his therapy.”

“Some decisions are too important to be left in the hands of a sixteen-year-old.”

She bristled at the implication, but reminded herself this was normal conversation for Irene. “I know that, Irene. And I would never let Sebby make a decision that might hurt him. Besides, no matter what he decides, he can always change his mind.”

• • •

Charlotte tacked a sticky note to the journal page, resigning herself to try later in the week to get through the stack of articles. In her few months with Julie, she had conditioned herself to set Sundays aside for keeping up with the professional literature. However, she was in no mood to read the dense psychiatric studies today. Her head was elsewhere, alternately lamenting and celebrating her new single status.

It was hard not to feel like a miserable failure when it came to romance. Only her sister Claire, who had met and married the perfect man three times, had a love life that was more dubious. Even though Charlotte had planned to break things off with Julie last Thursday, a part of her felt betrayed that Julie had led her on with assurances and pleas for patience, all the while harboring doubts she kept hidden. Vera had done the same thing, but on a much grander scale, lying about their future for almost three years while she had affairs with clients or their wives.

What was it about Charlotte that made women treat her like a chump?

Probably her choices, she admitted. That, and wearing her heart on her sleeve, which led some to take advantage. She was always too willing to bend, to forgive, or to settle for less than she thought she deserved just to have companionship she couldn’t even trust. In her practice, she would have diagnosed that as low self-esteem, but that wasn’t her problem. She had always been comfortable in her own skin. The problem was that romance for her was a paradox. The women to whom she was drawn were the strong, independent type—not always the sort who needed someone else in their lives badly enough to work through things when the going got tough.

One thing, though, was undeniable. She had never looked back on Vera and wished their relationship hadn’t ended, and that would be true for Julie as well. It was hard not to feel at least a little relieved to be free of Julie’s rigid structure. Friday night had come and gone without a five-star restaurant, and Charlotte hadn’t felt even a tinge of regret.

It would have been nice if Glynn had been in town. Though she had seemed at home with her friends in a fine restaurant like Nage, Charlotte had a feeling Glynn’s tastes were more like her own—a casual, relaxing night out, or better yet, dinner and easy conversation at home.

She had thought often of Glynn this past week, wishing she had canceled her racquetball date on Tuesday to have dinner. After all her advice to Glynn to reach out to her friends, she hadn’t been there to see her through a rough few days when she was missing her son.

Charlotte paged through the numbers on her cell phone until she found Glynn’s, captured from her first call last Saturday. Her thumb hovered over the dial button, but she hesitated to press it. She had also preached to Glynn about her need for rest. After a tough week on the road, she probably needed that more than she needed to hear about Charlotte’s boring weekend.

Glynn dumped the last of her clothes into the hamper and stowed her suitcase under the bed. Her next trip home was in three weeks, just after Sebby got out of Rawlings. By then, maybe this dreadful episode would be behind them.

She had taken the early flight from Indiana to make the family therapy session this afternoon, only to leave Rawlings anxious and depressed. Sebby was entering a tough week, Mark said, and was becoming more withdrawn in therapy. Glynn saw that for herself when Sebby joined them, barely speaking for most of the hour. It broke her heart to see him sullen and unhappy, but Mark offered some vague explanation about it being normal behavior for this stage of treatment.

Glynn wished she could talk to Charlotte, but Charlotte had made it clear questions about Sebby’s treatment were off-limits. Actually, that wasn’t what she said. She said she couldn’t talk as Sebby’s doctor, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t explain what was going on now, or couldn’t give an idea of what to expect from the coming weeks.

She went back into the kitchen and rummaged through her purse for her cell phone, quickly locating Charlotte’s number. The readout showed her call history, one last Monday, and the Saturday before . . . with no calls received.

She closed her phone and set it on the counter. Charlotte had said she would call. Maybe that was her way of setting parameters for their friendship. Besides, on a Sunday night, Charlotte probably had a date.

Chapter 11

“. . . and I almost freaked out. I got off at the next stop and had to run outside. I wanted to throw up.”

“I’m sure it was awful.” Charlotte noted that her patient was shaking slightly as she spoke.

“And now I don’t even want to get on the Metro anymore. Every time I get close to someone who smells like that, it starts that shit all over again. It’s like I can’t breathe.”

“Our sense of smell is a powerful trigger, Lynda. What you’re experiencing is not unusual at all.”

The young woman shook her head. “I’m going to have to get another job or something . . . so I can walk or drive to work.”

“That’s certainly a short-term solution, at least for the Metro.” Desensitizing rape victims to circumstances that mirrored those of their attack was one of the most difficult steps in recovery therapy. “But one of our goals here is to prepare you for those times when you’ll encounter things like body odor, or being alone at night.”

Lynda’s face was a mask of anger and disgust. “I’m just not ready to deal with it yet.”

“We don’t have to right now.” Charlotte closed her tablet and set it aside, her signal the hour was up. “But we’re going to start working on that soon. In fact, we’ll touch on it in group on Thursday. Let’s see if the others have any ideas.”

Lynda walked with her to the door. “I know I’m making progress, but sometimes it feels like I’m sliding backward.”

“Everyone says that. But look how far you’ve come in just five weeks.”

“I know, I know.”

“See if you can hold off on changing jobs. Remember what we said when we started. Our goal is for you to get your life back, not to change it.”

She nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Charlotte.”

“You’re welcome. See you Thursday.” Charlotte followed her out and picked up the notes from her inbox, none of which were phone messages. She had caught herself thinking of Glynn several times through the morning, and hoped she might have called. During her session with Lynda, she was struck by the contrast between the treatment goals for Sebby Wright and the rape victim. One wanted to remember; the other, to forget.

Joyce spun in her chair to hand Charlotte a note. “Your six o’clock just canceled. She’s being discharged this week and says she has to go back to Texas.”

“Shit. I was afraid that would happen.” Soldiers in her care who had reported rapes often said they were the targets of retribution, and faced discharge as an immediate way of smoothing the ripples their charges had caused. As if being raped by your fellow soldier wasn’t punishment enough.

“I took her forwarding address if you want to make a referral.”

“Thanks.” Charlotte returned to her office and closed the door, fighting the urge to kick the wastebasket. She doubted there was anyone qualified to treat this type of post-traumatic stress disorder in rural Texas where the corporal was from. Even if there were, the young woman who had come to her office last week hadn’t struck her as the type who would go home and announce to her friends and family that she had been sodomized by someone she was trained to trust with her life. By leaving the military and psychiatric treatment, the corporal was resigning herself to a life of nightmares, traumatic associations and a diminished capacity to trust other people.

And her rapist would probably re-enlist.

She sat down and checked her schedule. Two more appointments and she could leave for the day. She found Glynn’s number, and in moments, it was ringing through.

“Glynn, it’s Charlotte. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“No, you just caught me. I’m between meetings.”

“I’ll make it quick. How about dinner this week?”

“I’d love to. What’s good for you?”

Breaking up with Julie had simplified her schedule. “My time’s my own. Tonight?”

“It’s probably too late to get a reservation anywhere, but maybe we can do something easy.”

“Easy works for me. You like pizza?”

“Pizza is my all-time favorite food,” Glynn explained. “If that isn’t in my official bio, it should be.”

“Official bios always leave out the interesting parts. How was your week in Indiana?”

“Busy. I came back yesterday for the family therapy session at Rawlings. Sebby hardly said a word. Mark says he’s starting to have a little trouble with things.”

“This kind of stuff is hard, Glynn. But it’s going to be worth it to both of you to push through it. Just be patient.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Charlotte heard another voice in the background. “I guess you need to get to your meeting. Go raise our taxes and spend it on the poor.”

“Fat chance.”

“I’ll come for you at six. I have the address.” She smiled to herself as she hung up. Dinner with Glynn was way better than working late.

Glynn breathed an inward sigh of relief as she slid into the passenger seat of the Saab. She had changed from her suit into dress slacks, guessing correctly that Charlotte would come straight from work. As much as possible, Glynn avoided the Washington restaurant circuit and its unwritten protocol for business dress, opting when she could for neighborhood holesin-the-wall where it wasn’t important to be seen.

Charlotte said, “I know this great pizza place in Sterling. They cook in brick ovens.”

“You mean Emilio’s?”

“You know the place?”

“I know every place that makes a good pizza.”

With Charlotte’s eyes on the road, Glynn discreetly studied her profile in the glow of the dashboard. Everything about her was understated, from her dark slacks and sweater to her jewelry, which consisted only of small hoop earrings, a delicate gold watch and a thin gold band flecked with diamond chips. It was the sort of ring a lover might wear on the left hand, but Charlotte wore it on the right. Her nails were closely trimmed, and neatly polished in light pink.

Charlotte’s most interesting feature was her hair, Glynn decided. It was shorter than her own, but stylish and feminine, with soft, layered spikes on top. Not many women their age could wear that look, but Charlotte owned it.

A vibration against her thigh signaled a call. She strained without her glasses, recognizing Tina’s name in the display. “Would you mind if I . . . ?”

“No, go ahead.”

“Hello . . . What time?” She covered the mouthpiece to talk to Charlotte. “One of my aides is bringing a report to my house tonight.” She spoke again to Tina. “I may not be home by then, but he can leave it in the mailbox . . . All right, see you tomorrow.”

“So I need to get you home early,” Charlotte said.

“Don’t worry about that. I have reading in bed down to an art.”

“You’re getting your rest, though . . . right?”

“Yes, doctor.”

“I’m not asking as a doctor.”

“Duly noted. Yes, Charlotte.”

“That’s much better.”

“So what did you do this weekend?” Glynn asked.

“I worked on a presentation for grand rounds. That’s all your fault, by the way.”

“How could that possibly be my fault?”

“Since we’re a teaching hospital, we get together once a week at grand rounds to talk about some of our cases. My boss asked me to talk about why I moved a sixteen-year-old kid to the cardiac ward, and I had to offer up my study data instead.”

“I see.” Though Charlotte was saying everything in a teasing tone, Glynn realized she had gone considerably out of her way to preserve their privacy. “That was very noble of you. I’m probably going to owe you something.”

“Good. I’ll start thinking about what I want. I know—a stem cell grant.”

She knew she was being goaded, but didn’t mind because it was clearly in jest. “Fat chance.”

“Is that your standard answer for everything?”

“Something tells me it will be with you,” she answered with a chuckle.

“I checked out your voting record. You don’t strike me as a typical Republican.”

“I represent the silent minority, I’m afraid. So did Bas, for that matter, but it was easier for him to break from the party once in a while, especially on things like social issues.” “Because he was a man?”

“Because he was a charming man. He was a real champion for limited government, and that’s what I try to think about when I vote. These are different times, though. I get a lot of pressure to hold the line on the big issues, but it comes back to me in the form of support for things like the preschool bill.”

“I saw that you broke with them over the Defense of Marriage Act.”

Glynn sighed, not knowing whether to be pleased or anxious that Charlotte had scrutinized her record. “I . . . did the best I could. I couldn’t vote for it in good conscience, but it was my first term and I needed political cover.”

“Do you ever think about switching parties?”

“Not seriously. The people in my district are conservative, and they’ve chosen me to speak for them. If I ever feel like I can’t do that, then I need to step aside and let them choose someone else.” She anticipated Charlotte’s likely counterpoint. “And I realize that sometimes people need to be led to places they don’t want to go, but sea changes take time. I like to think I’m helping to make a difference with my colleagues, even if it’s not obvious yet from my voting record.”

Charlotte parked at Emilio’s and held up her two index fingers in the shape of an X. “I didn’t mean to be obnoxious.”

Glynn shook her head. “You weren’t. I was being defensive.”

Once inside, they were seated at a table in the center of the floor, but the din of the bustling crowd gave them plenty of privacy to talk.

Time for a subject change, Glynn thought. “So how is Julie?”

“Gone.” Charlotte offered a few details of their breakup.

Glynn couldn’t imagine why anyone would give up someone like Charlotte Blue. “So you went to dump her and got dumped instead.”

“Exactly.”

“You don’t look heartbroken.”

“I’ll survive. This was the first time I actually tried to build a relationship from the ground up . . . you know, you meet someone you like, you start getting to know each other. You’re dating, taking things slowly, trying to adapt and see where it goes. But I guess you can’t just expect something like love to follow a formula. It either happens on its own or it doesn’t.”

“Sometimes you can get surprised. Bas kept telling me I was going to fall in love with him, but I didn’t believe him. Then I woke up one day and realized I had.”

“Interesting.” They stopped chatting long enough to order. “So how long did you date your husband before that epiphany?”

“We weren’t even dating. I was involved with Joanne, a woman in my graduate program. She finished two years before I did and got a job at a college in Alabama. That wasn’t the kind of life I wanted, so we split up. Bas lived in the apartment downstairs—”

“Wait. You were with a woman before you got married.”

“Right. Three women actually.” She saw Charlotte’s bemused expression and realized what she had said. “Not all at the same time.”

Charlotte laughed. “This is turning into a very interesting story. Please continue.”

“Bas thought it was fascinating. He used to beg me for details.”

“I bet.”

“After Joanne left, I started hanging out with Bas. It was nice just to be friends and not have any pressure. He was in law school, so neither of us had much free time to do things. But he would wait for me at the library so I wouldn’t have to walk home by myself at night. That didn’t exactly fit my image of being a strong, independent woman who could take care of herself, but I appreciated it.”

“He sounds like a nice guy.”

“He really was. And one day out of the blue, he said he thought we’d make a good pair and we should get married someday. He said it so matter-of-factly I thought he was kidding. When I reminded him I liked women as much as he did, he said he wasn’t worried, that I’d fall in love with him eventually.”

“And then you did.”

“I did. It was right after Christmas my last year. I was finishing my dissertation and Bas was studying for the bar exam. It suddenly hit me that I would miss him, not just as a friend, but as more. So I—” Glynn stopped, wondering if she was sharing too much. “Should I stop talking now?”

Charlotte laughed again. “Oh, no. Something tells me you’re just getting to the good parts.”

“I guess I am. The short version is I thought about it for weeks. One day I finally went downstairs and jumped his bones to see if I liked it. When we woke up the next morning, he asked me if I was in love with him yet and I said yes.”

“You tell a wonderful story.”

“I don’t get to tell the true version often. It loses a lot without the part about taking Bas for a test drive.”

“I’ll admit, that added a nifty twist.”

Glynn appreciated how easily Charlotte seemed to accept her life with Bas, unlike Stephanie, who couldn’t understand how she could have had a fulfilling life with a man while claiming to prefer women. “I haven’t exactly followed a typical path in my life. Mine’s been more of a zigzag.”

“That isn’t unusual,” Charlotte said. “Most things in life are on a continuum. Nobody is a hundred percent anything. Why should sexuality be any different?”

“I think what’s interesting—at least for me—is that it seems so fluid, like I slide completely from one side to the other.”

“We do that with other things too . . . like politics. So there’s hope that one day you’ll come to your senses and make your way back to your logical roots.”

“You know what I say to that?”

“Fat chance?”

• • •

Charlotte pulled into Glynn’s driveway, sorry for the evening to be nearing its end. They had talked nonstop for over three hours about everything from sexuality to their experiences in the Bosnian war. “I don’t want to keep you from your report. I can see the pictures some other time.”

“You won’t keep me. I promise to fall asleep right on schedule whether I’m finished with it or not.”

Charlotte followed Glynn to the door, holding the leftover pizza while Glynn fished the report from her mailbox and unlocked the door. They entered a foyer where Glynn flipped switches that lit up the two-story town house.

“Someone likes to cook,” Charlotte said, nodding toward the gourmet kitchen as she walked into the family room. An enormous flat-screen television dominated the far wall. “And someone else likes to watch TV.”

“This is where my son spends half of his waking life.” Glynn took the pizza and set it on the pass-through counter.

“That puts him in the normal range for a teenager, I think.” From the center of the family room, she could see more rooms upstairs. “Bedrooms?”

“Three, but they’re small. And there’s an office here.” Glynn pointed to a door off the family room. “That’s where the pictures are.”

Charlotte followed her into the paneled room, which was packed tightly with file cabinets and bookcases. A few papers were scattered on a large desk in the center of the room.

“Excuse my mess.”

“If this is a mess, I’m never showing you my office.”

“I’ve seen your office.”

“I’m talking about the one at home that isn’t straightened up by a secretary and cleaning crew.”

“These are my Congress pictures,” Glynn said, pointing to the interior wall. “The family ones are all along the staircase.”

“It’s nice you have these,” Charlotte said, stepping close to peer at the first one, a shot of Glynn with a smiling man who was holding a baby.

“That was the night Bas was elected to the House. Sebby was five weeks old.”

“Look at you with your long hair.”

“I wore it that way for about fifteen years. When I went to Bosnia—this is gross—I got head lice and had it all cut off.”

Charlotte shuddered. “I remember that. We had it in our camp too.” She stepped over to the next picture. “Who are these people?”

“That’s the whole staff celebrating on election night. The woman is Marcella Stroupe. She was Bas’s campaign director. She works for Guy Preston now.”

“The senator?”

Glynn nodded. “And she looks exactly the same today as she did that night. The rest of us have aged sixteen years.”

Charlotte peered closely at the picture. “Your husband was a handsome man.”

“He sure was. Sebby looks just like him.”

“Not completely. He has your eyes and hair. Who’s this?”

“That’s Roy Baker. He and Bas played football together at IU. He’s on my staff now.”

“He’s a big guy.”

“He’s a lamb, the gentlest soul I’ve ever met.”

“It’s nice to have people like that in our lives. They take the edge off.”

“I know what you mean.” Glynn backed up to reveal the next picture. She was dressed in black, and a serviceman was handing her a folded flag. “Some people might find this one kind of morbid. It’s at Bas’s funeral.”

“Very touching.”

“And this is me taking the oath to finish Bas’s term . . . and one of me with Tina and Roy on my first election night. And there’s Sebby.”

“How old was he then?”

“Six. Oh, and this is my mother-in-law, Irene. That’s why we have a third bedroom, by the way. We couldn’t afford a guest house in another part of town.”

Charlotte chuckled. “Where’s your family?”

“They do their thing in San Diego. Mom won’t fly, so we go out there once a year.”

“Are you close?”

Glynn cocked her head to one side. “Not anymore. They didn’t approve of my girlfriends in college, but once I married Bas, I was the perfect daughter.”

“But now you’re a congresswoman. That should count for something.”

“I’m a congresswoman who still likes women. I thought they might be more open to that with the rest of the package, but I was wrong.”

“They met Stephanie?”

“No, but I told them I was seeing her and they made it clear I wasn’t to bring her home. Imagine hearing something like that at forty years old.”

Charlotte’s coming out experience had been unpleasant at first, but at least her family had come to accept it. “Have you told them about your breast cancer? Or about Sebby?”

“I called them while Sebby was still in the hospital. My father, the retired Marine, offered up his wisdom, which was that he’d be all right if he had a man in his life.”

Charlotte knew from the anger and hurt in Glynn’s voice this was an old wound. “I wish you didn’t have to carry all of this by yourself.” Without even realizing it, she had placed both of her hands on Glynn’s shoulders, very nearly drawing her into a hug.

“I’m not carrying it by myself. I have Sebby. I have Tina and Roy. And now I have you.”

“Yes, you do.” Charlotte gave in to the protective urge and pulled Glynn into her arms. “I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

Glynn returned the embrace, burying her face into Charlotte’s neck for several seconds without a word. “I like this,” she finally murmured before pulling away. “But what I need right now is to remember that my son is fighting for his sanity, and I have no business thinking about what feels good to me.”

Charlotte felt the same rush of emotions, and struggled to regain control by stepping back and burrowing her hands into her pockets.

Glynn nodded and looked at her sheepishly. “I guess I should get to work on that report.”

“Yeah, don’t stay up too late.”

Chapter 12

Charlotte read the ethical guidelines of the American Psychiatric Association for what seemed like the twentieth time, though she had known them by heart since her first year of premed. There was no definitive answer to this particular situation. Romantic relationships with family members of patients were clearly out of bounds because of their potential to compromise the patient’s treatment. However, Sebby was no longer her patient, so that risk was moot.

The greater threat, it seemed, was exploiting Glynn’s vulnerable state. Even that wasn’t technically a violation of the APA’s ethical code, since Glynn was not the patient, but it pushed the limits of Charlotte’s personal sense of ethics. The last thing she wanted was for Glynn to feel she had taken advantage of a confidence or a need for support. But last night, she admitted to herself that her feelings for Glynn weren’t just those of a casual friend. Glynn had touched her with something deeper, something that aroused her senses and left her wanting more.

She sighed heavily and looked one last time at the code of conduct. One of the best things about working in this department was having Brandon as a colleague and friend. His advice on this personal matter would be invaluable, but she couldn’t seek it without revealing Glynn’s secret.

The irony of that thought caused her to sigh. A romantic relationship with Glynn would mean hiding her life from everyone, just as Glynn did.

Glynn gathered her papers and stood, glad for the chance to stretch after three hours in a subcommittee meeting. Her brain was as tired as her body, but neither matched her emotional exhaustion.

She was missing Sebby fiercely, as he hadn’t called at his usual time on Wednesday morning. Considering his apparent withdrawal on Sunday, she wasn’t too surprised, but she wanted at least to speak with Mark to find out how he was doing.

The other thing that bugged her, though not as much as missing her son, was the incident with Charlotte on Monday. Every time she thought about it, she shuddered with embarrassment, wishing she had kept her feelings to herself. Charlotte had probably meant the hug only as friendly support. Glynn had just let herself get caught up in how good it felt for someone to hold her, and read too much into it. And even though Charlotte had told her to call, she didn’t want to do that while she was feeling so needy.

Tina met her at the door of the committee room with papers to sign and phone messages. “Mark McKee called about ten minutes ago. He wants you to call back when you get a chance.”

Though she had planned to call him, the fact he was calling made her anxious.

She ducked into a vacant room and dialed the direct number for her son’s therapist. “Mark, this is Glynn Wright. How’s Sebby?”

“He’s fine. I thought I should touch base.” His formal tone alerted her.

“Is there something wrong? Is he upset with me?”

“He’s been working hard in our sessions, and some of the things that have been bothering him for years are finally starting to come out. I need to ask for your patience over the next week or so. I think it would be best if you didn’t come this weekend. Let Sebby concentrate on getting it all out.” Again, a formality of tone.

Tears stung her eyes. What horrible memories had her son kept hidden? “Can he call me?”

Mark said slowly, “I think it’s best right now not to make him feel pulled in different directions. Please give him a little more time to work through this.”

“Whatever he needs, Mark,” she said, defeated.

She slumped into a chair, the strain of the past week taking its toll. Not since those first hours in the emergency room with Sebby had she felt such anguish and despair.

“Are you okay, Glynn?” Tina leaned against the doorjamb, still holding things that needed attention.

“Yeah,” she lied. “What else do you have?”

“Senator Culbertson wants to meet with you today. I put you down for fifteen minutes at three thirty. And Irene called. She gave me her flight information for next Friday. She said she wanted to help get everything ready to go as soon as Sebby gets out.”

Glynn tried unsuccessfully to suppress a groan. “I told her not to come. Sebby doesn’t want to go back to Indiana.”

Tina gave her a look of understanding, no doubt thinking of her own mother-in-law.

“Thanks, Tina,” she said in dismissal, digging for her cell phone. If nothing else, she would call Irene and have her cancel her trip. At least she could assert dominion over her own home.

The moment she opened her phone, it vibrated to announce an incoming call.

“Glynn, it’s Charlotte.”

Myriad emotions filled her as she recognized the friendly voice. “Hi,” she managed to say.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I . . . no. Sebby hasn’t called me all week. Mark wants me to stay away until they get through whatever this is. I’m starting to feel like Sebby’s problem is me.”

“Don’t draw any conclusions, Glynn. I know it’s hard, but you have to try not to get yourself worked up over it. Let Mark and Sebby do the work on that end.”

She sighed and looked at her watch. She had five minutes to get to the Longworth Building. “I have to go to a lunch meeting. I wish we had time to talk.”

“Me too. I’d like to stop by for a little while tonight, but I don’t want to interfere with your work.”

“I refuse to take work home again tonight. I’d love it if you came by.” Glynn closed her phone and started out the door, glad to have at least one of her worries settled. Charlotte had sounded chipper, not at all awkward or tentative as she had feared. Maybe she was imagining things with Sebby too.

Charlotte pulled in behind Glynn’s Camry. Her intention had been to talk frankly tonight about their friendship and the restrictions of her professional code. But after their brief conversation this morning, it was clear Glynn needed to vent her frustrations about Sebby first.

Fresh from her racquetball game, she wore her parka with Stanford sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The front door opened as she reached the top step.

“Did you win?”

“I didn’t get hit by my partner this time. That’s better than winning.”

Glynn led her into the family room and turned the digital television to a music channel playing uninterrupted soft jazz.

Charlotte settled on the couch beside her, following her lead to kick off her shoes and place her feet on the coffee table. “You sounded this morning like you were having a tough day. Want to talk about it?”

Glynn took a deep breath. “I told you most of it. Mark says he thinks I should stay away from Sebby while he’s working through some tough issues. He said he didn’t want him to feel like he was being pulled in different directions. I don’t know why he would feel that way unless I’m the one he’s fighting.”

“It doesn’t have to mean that. Sometimes it takes a lot of work to get patients to go back to the time when the problem started. Maybe Mark’s afraid that seeing you will make Sebby want to come back to the here and now because it feels more comfortable.”

“Do you really think it could be that?”

“It could be a lot of things. Maybe Sebby’s hiding things because he thinks he’s protecting you.”

“From what?”

She shrugged. “Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk about the details of his father’s death because he’s afraid it will make you sad again.”

“But what if that’s not it? What if Sebby feels like I’ve abandoned him? Wouldn’t it be better for me to talk to him so he’ll know I haven’t?”

Charlotte realized too late what she had walked into. She shifted sideways to look Glynn in the eye. “I have to be very careful here, Glynn. Remember when I said we could talk about Sebby, but it wouldn’t be right for me to talk about his treatment?”

Glynn nodded.

“I’ve probably already said too much by speculating on why Mark wants you to stay clear. It would be unprofessional for me to give you advice, especially to tell you anything that runs counter to what Mark says. He’s the one in charge of Sebby’s treatment, and you should talk directly with him if you have more questions or doubts.”

“I’m sorry. I did just what you asked me not to do.”

“No, it was my fault. I was trying to have it both ways. I want to be here for you, Glynn. I told you to let me share the load, and I know it must seem as if I’m pulling the rug out from under you.”

“I think it’s more a matter of me taking advantage of you. You also told me you couldn’t talk about Sebby’s treatment.”

The issue of the parameters of their friendship was now unavoidable. “Look, the reason I wanted to come over tonight was to talk about where things stand with us, because I’ll need your help if we’re going to be friends. If I hadn’t been the doctor on duty when Sebby came in, this wouldn’t be a problem. But since I was, I’m bound by a code of professional ethics.”

Glynn shrugged slightly. “We all have those.”

“Exactly. And mine are there to safeguard you and Sebby. I can’t allow my personal relationship with you to compromise his treatment in any way. I need to stay totally out of that picture, because I’m not privy to his sessions. It would be unfair for me to offer a professional opinion at this stage. In fact, I could get my license jerked for butting in.”

“I understand that. I promise I won’t ask again.”

“But there’s another issue, and that has to do with you and me. I have to be careful not to take advantage of you.”

Glynn looked at her blankly. “That went right over my head. How could you take advantage of me? Isn’t it the other way around?”

Charlotte sighed. Honesty was the only option. “I care about you, enough that it makes all the bells and warnings go off in my head. I can’t allow myself to act on anything I might be feeling for exactly the reasons you said the other night. You have too much going on in your own life right now to be thinking about someone else. I can’t take the trust you have in me as a doctor and turn it into something selfish for my own needs.”

Glynn shook her head slowly, and Charlotte feared she had read too much into their embrace.

“Charlotte, just because I ask you questions doesn’t mean I think of you as my doctor, or even as Sebby’s doctor. I only ask because you understand these things.”

“Fair enough.” She bit her tongue, hoping Glynn would at least respond to her declaration that she cared for her.

“But I’m glad to know what I’m feeling isn’t one-sided. I’ve been worrying since Monday night that I made a fool of myself.”

Charlotte was flooded with relief. “No, you didn’t.”

“Good. So when this is all behind us, do you think maybe we can . . . ?” She put a hand over Charlotte’s.

“See where it goes?”

“Yeah.”

They stared at each other until they burst out laughing, finally breaking the awkward tension.

Charlotte slapped her thighs and stood. “Okay, that’s settled. Now I’m going to get out of here so you can get to bed early.”

“I’m really glad you came by.”

“Me too.” She pulled on her coat and fought the natural urge to give a Glynn another hug. “How are your treatments going?”

“Fine. The hardest part is just getting there, especially when I have to scrape my windshield in the dark.”

“Why don’t I come by in the morning and drive you to your appointment and then on to your office?”

“You don’t have to do that.” Still, she looked pleased by the offer.

“I’m serious, Glynn. This is breast cancer, for God’s sake. You keep acting like it’s no big deal, but I know for a fact those treatments are no picnic. Radiation burns and itches. It can sap your energy and make your chest hurt. And even when it’s over, you have years of worrying about whether or not the cancer’s going to come back.”

Glynn frowned. “I may have liked it better when I wasn’t thinking about it.”

“Look, all I’m saying is you should let people help. There aren’t all that many things others can do for you, but I can be here at six thirty in the morning. You’ll be cold for all of ten seconds while you run from your front door to my warm, toasty car.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

Glynn lowered her reading glasses so she could see the chart on display at the front of the chamber. She had been looking forward to this vote on alternative fuels for several months and was pleased to see the bill finally going forward. Many of her Republican colleagues had resisted the efforts on behalf of their oil constituencies, but the corn growers back in Indiana would be happy.

Hands down, she reflected, today was her best day since learning she had breast cancer. Though more tough times lay ahead, at least she and Sebby both were in the home stretch of their respective treatments. Charlotte had helped her see that, and would be there to help carry the load. It was amazing to Glynn how much that affected her outlook.

It was refreshing to know someone who could talk so candidly about her feelings. If her colleagues here at the Capitol were as straightforward and honest as Charlotte, they all might actually get things done. Her thoughts drifted, so much that she was startled by a tap on her shoulder.

“Congresswoman?” Two officers from the Capitol police were standing behind her. “Can you come with us, please?”

“Sebby . . .” she whispered, as her heart began to pound. God, no. Horrible images of her son rushed through her head as she followed the officers to the door, anxious for the news. All around her, people had stopped talking and were watching her urgent departure.

When the tall double door opened at the back of the chamber, she was met immediately by two more policemen, and dozens of reporters and photographers. Cameras flashed as one of the policemen approached her. “Glynn Wright?”

“Yes,” she answered, totally bewildered.

“I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Congressman Sebastian Wright. You have the right to remain silent . . .”

Charlotte squirmed in her seat as her colleagues debated the finer points of medical ethics involving interactions with patients and their families. If she hadn’t known better, she would have guessed the whole topic was staged to coincide with her presentation at grand rounds, just to drive home the point that she was on thin ice over her relationship with Glynn. It was clear that her boss, Dr. Perdue, believed all social contact with patients and their families was inappropriate, even though several doctors were making cases for exceptions. However, none were arguing in favor of allowing romantic relationships with family members.

Dr. Perdue clapped a hand on her shoulder as the other doctors filed out of the classroom. “Very good job on your presentation, Charlotte. You should be proud of your program.”

“We are. It’s a testament to everyone’s hard work.”

She walked out to find Brandon waiting. “You’re such a suckup,” he said, his brown eyes twinkling.

She smiled absently, still trying to shake off her paranoia about the ethics discussion. Her friendship with Glynn was no doubt something they would frown on at the hospital, not because it explicitly broke any rules, but because it was in a gray area, and even gray was off-limits as far as Perdue was concerned.

Once in her office, Charlotte thumbed through her messages, not seeing any that required action on her part. “Looks like I have a whole afternoon to work on my files.”

“You should turn on the TV in your office,” Joyce said. “There’s a big story on the news about some congresswoman being charged with killing her husband.”

“Did they say who?”

“I think it was Gwen something, from Indiana. She took over her husband’s seat when he died. They always thought it was an accident, but now they say they have new evidence.”

Charlotte shuddered so hard she thought she might faint. She entered her office and closed the door. As she waited for the picture to come to life on her small television, her mind darted across dozens of images . . . Sebby talking of his vague memories, Glynn’s tearful visit to this office, the smile on her face this morning as she got into Charlotte’s warm car.

“. . . the district attorney is keeping the evidence under wraps, but our sources tell us the congresswoman’s son has come forward as an eyewitness . . .”

That wasn’t right. Sebby couldn’t have seen that because he said his mother was asleep. He had awakened her to tell her about it.

Charlotte retrieved her keys and opened the cabinet where she kept Sebby’s file, including the transcript of their session. Her hands shook as she thumbed through the pages to read what he said.

Mom says I came in the room to get her, but I don’t remember that part.

He hadn’t remembered it. All he knew about finding his father dead was what Glynn had told him. Was it really possible she had killed her husband and hidden behind her son all this time?

No, Charlotte didn’t believe that about Glynn. She had loved her husband.

Maybe Sebby was just confused. Maybe Mark had somehow planted the idea in his head and Sebby mistook it for an actual memory.

She sat mesmerized by the news program, which showed archive footage of Glynn with her husband back when he served as congressman. Glynn’s photo from the funeral was the background for talking heads who spoke of the allegations as if they were ironclad evidence. They even went so far as to discuss how fortunate she was that the District of Columbia had no death penalty. Her constituents back in Indiana were reacting in a series of feeds from a local television station, all expressing shock and anger.

Of course they were shocked, Charlotte thought. How would anyone think Glynn could do something like this?

Her intercom buzzed and she picked up the line. “Yes?”

“There’s a call for you on line one, a Michael Gattison. He says he’s an attorney, and it’s very important to talk to you right away.”

“Okay,” she sighed, and took the call.

“Dr. Blue, I’m Glynn Wright’s attorney. Can we talk in confidence?”

Charlotte felt a rush of nervousness and looked back at the door to make sure it was closed. “That depends on what you wish to talk about.”

“My client asked me to call you. She needs a favor, and told me you were the only one she could ask.”

Chapter 13

Charlotte paced her town house, asking herself again if this was a huge mistake. She could lose her job over this. No one could know—not Brandon, not her family, not her friends. It was one thing to be secretive about a potential romance, quite another to hide a relationship with an accused murderer.

So why was she doing this? It wasn’t just because she believed Glynn was innocent, though she wanted to hear that from Glynn. The best reason she had was that she had promised Glynn her friendship, and being a real friend wasn’t only about doing the easy things.

Glynn’s arrest was still the top story on the news. The Court Channel had covered this morning’s arraignment live, showing a desolate Glynn beside her attorney. She had delivered her not guilty plea with little emotion, showing neither defeat nor defiance.

Charlotte looked out at the quiet street, where her Saab was parked at the curb in order to make room in the garage for her clandestine guest. When the expected phone call finally came, she pressed the button to raise her garage door. Moments later, a Mercedes CL coupe with tinted windows pulled in, and she closed it again, shielding the occupants from the prying eyes of her neighbors.

She opened the door to the garage, immediately greeting a distinguished-looking older gentleman, impeccably dressed and groomed.

He held out his hand. He was her height, trim and handsome, with silver hair. “Charlotte, I’m Michael Gattison, Glynn’s attorney. We appreciate this.”

“Of course.” Saying she was glad to help would have been a lie. She was a nervous wreck.

Michael tipped the driver’s seat forward and helped Glynn from the backseat, where she had probably been crouched since leaving the courthouse. “Did Tina come by?” he asked.

“Yes, about an hour ago.” Charlotte was aghast at Glynn’s disheveled appearance. She was wearing yesterday’s clothes and yesterday’s makeup as well. “I took everything upstairs to the guest room.”

They entered the living room, where Glynn looked about the house as though shell-shocked. “I need a shower.”

“It’s all ready for you. If you need anything else—”

“I need to be clean.”

Charlotte recognized the reaction as Glynn’s effort to distance herself from the jail where she had spent the night. “Come with me.” She glanced at Michael, who nodded in agreement. She led the way upstairs, stopping first at the open bedroom. “Your things are here. I made room in the dresser drawers, and I’ll help you put things away after your shower.”

Glynn took it all in, showing little emotion. Suddenly she caught Charlotte’s elbow as she turned to leave. “Thank you.”

Charlotte gave her forearm a reassuring squeeze. “Get clean, and get some rest. We’ll call out for pizza later.”

Glynn nodded as tears pooled in her eyes.

“Glynn, is it okay for me to talk to Michael?”

“Yes.”

Charlotte returned downstairs to find Michael staring out the window into the back garden.

“Can I get you something?”

“No, thank you. Is Glynn all right?”

“I was just going to ask you that. She looks like she’s been through the wringer.”

“She had a bad night in jail. I tried to get her arraigned earlier, but this morning was as soon as they would bring her in.” He took the offered seat on Charlotte’s wide leather sofa. “Have you been keeping up with things on the news?”

“Yes, but I don’t think the news people really know what they’re talking about at this stage.”

“Unfortunately, their sources in the police department are pretty good. It seems Sebby revealed to his therapist that he saw her kill his father.”

“The Sebby I talked to would never have ratted out his mother, even if it were true.”

“That’s what Glynn said, but we won’t even get to ask about that until the deposition.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Glynn’s story has never wavered. She was asleep when it happened. Sebby woke her up and took her to his dad, who was already dead. That’s what’s in the police report, and that’s what she still says today.”

Charlotte shook her head, thinking back to the specific words Sebby had used to describe the events. “Are you Glynn’s attorney of record?”

“I am, so anything you can say to Glynn, you can say to me.”

That was an important distinction, since Sebby had signed a waiver allowing her to discuss his case with his mother. “I reviewed the transcript of my evaluation yesterday. Sebby didn’t remember what happened. He recalls only what his mother told him, which is that he woke her up.”

Michael frowned, clearly disturbed by the news. “Does his new therapist have copies of these files?”

“No, the only thing I forwarded was my treatment recommendations. Everything else is locked in my desk.”

“Let’s hope it stays there.”

“We both know it won’t.” If Sebby waived the right to confidentiality, she would likely be required to hand over the transcript and the diagnostic interview.

“Do you tape all of your evaluations?”

“Most of them. I use a digital voice program that creates a written transcript.”

“Is that something you’re required to do?”

“No, I just like to have good records.”

“Good. I’ll try to argue that the transcript and tape are your personal property.” He made a note on his BlackBerry. “Was there anything incriminating or exculpatory in his interview, or anything else from the transcript that might be helpful?”

“His recall of his father’s death is vague. In fact, I made a diagnosis of dissociative amnesia.”

“Which is?”

“Sebby’s memory is selective. He remembers details from the time period, but nothing about the specific event.”

“And you recommended a program to help him recover his memories.”

“Not just recover them, but face them down. I also diagnosed post-traumatic stress disorder, which I believed was a result of finding his father dead.”

“So the prosecution will argue that his stress actually results from seeing his mother kill his father.”

“Or maybe because he accidentally killed his own father,” Charlotte said, knowing Glynn had already dismissed that as a possibility. “I’ll probably have to give a deposition, you know.”

“I’m glad we have you on our side.”

“I’m not on anyone’s side, Michael. I have to tell the truth.”

“Of course you do. But Glynn says we won’t have to worry about you grandstanding in court. If we proceed to trial, it almost certainly will be televised from start to finish.”

“You think there’s a chance it won’t go to trial?”

“If Sebby recants, if the therapist admits coercion, if Glynn decides to enter a plea . . . any of those things could stop it from going forward.”

“And if none of those things happen?”

“The trial is scheduled to start in six weeks.”

“That soon?”

“I don’t want to give the prosecution any more time to prepare. Besides, there’s a lot at stake, and the sooner we get it over with, the lesser the fallout.”

“What’s this going to mean for her job?”

“She has to return to the Capitol on Wednesday for an Appropriations meeting. That’s when the real circus will start.”

“I don’t see how she can keep working through this.”

“Wouldn’t you? She needs to proclaim her innocence. What better way to do that than to go on as if she expects a full acquittal?”

His rationale made sense, but she couldn’t imagine Glynn going to work under such intense personal scrutiny. “How is her staff taking the news?”

“Tina Carlson and Roy Baker are behind her one hundred percent. So is Randy Williston, her top aide back in Indiana. Chip Cichetti is a relatively new hire, and she’s asked to have him reassigned so this won’t be a cloud on his résumé.”

“What is she going to need from me, Michael . . . and for how long?”

“Like I told you on the phone, I want to keep her out of sight for a few days. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the media will find something else to chew on.”

“Will she go back home once she returns to work?”

“That depends. The hardest part of her day will be the trip from her front door to the car and back. They’re going to be shoving cameras in her face the whole time. I’ll hire a couple of bodyguards to escort her when she’s out in public, but it’s going to be very stressful.”

“What will they make of it if they find out she’s staying here with me?”

“I’m hoping they won’t find out, but if they do, we’ll play it straight. We’ll say you’ve become friends. If that’s going to pose a problem for you, we’ll try to make other arrangements. But please understand we’re not here to cause you trouble. We’re here because Glynn has nowhere else to go.”

Charlotte had already examined her objections. There were plenty of reasons not to allow Glynn to stay here, most of them in the gray area of the APA’s ethics code, but none was more important than her promise of friendship. “I’ll do what I can.”

“We appreciate it, Charlotte. I know your neck’s out on this.”

She nodded uncomfortably.

“Glynn needs to rest, and then she probably needs to talk. Are you up for that?”

“I think so.”

“I’m going to let her have the day off tomorrow, but I’ll be spending Monday and Tuesday here going over information. Is that all right?”

Charlotte snorted. “Hope you like pizza.”

The water was still running upstairs, which meant Glynn had been showering for over thirty minutes. That was at least ten minutes longer than Charlotte’s hot water supply.

“Glynn?” She tapped lightly at the door, and then peeked through a crack and confirmed Glynn was still behind the curtain. She crossed the small room and reached inside the shower. Startled by the icy spray, she turned the water off and gently pushed back the curtain.

Glynn was sitting in a ball, hugging her knees to her chest and shivering.

Charlotte quickly grabbed a bath towel and draped it over her back. Then she took a hand towel and squeezed the moisture from her short hair. “Can you stand up?”

Glynn placed her palm on the side of the tub and pushed to her feet, the towel falling precariously to one side as she stepped out.

“You’re freezing,” Charlotte said. She briskly rubbed the towel over the slender body, but dabbed gently at Glynn’s left breast, where a small scar was surrounded by red, swollen skin. Then she squatted to dry her legs. “Can you help me here?”

Glynn absently lifted a foot and placed it on the toilet, allowing herself to be dried thoroughly.

“Put this on and sit down.” Charlotte helped her into a robe and retrieved a hair dryer from the cabinet. As she dried Glynn’s hair, she intermittently blew warm air over her cool skin.

“I’m sorry. I just got sort of . . . overwhelmed.”

“It’s okay. Are you warming up?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Michael said you should rest. Maybe a nap?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I can sleep.”

“I can fix lunch or call out for pizza.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Charlotte often saw behavior like this in women who had been traumatized. It wasn’t as if Glynn had been raped, but her loss of control and privacy had left her feeling humiliated and victimized. “What is it you need right now, Glynn?”

“I need to know why Sebby’s doing this. What have I done to make him hate me?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Charlotte, you know it isn’t true.” Glynn looked at her with pleading eyes. “Don’t you?”

“Glynn . . .”

“I didn’t kill Bas! I loved him.”

Though Charlotte hadn’t allowed herself to think Glynn was guilty, she was nonetheless relieved to hear the vehement denial. She put her hand on Glynn’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I believe you.”

“What am I going to do?”

“We’ll figure it out. Michael seems like a sharp guy.”

“Let’s hope so. I would have liked him a lot better if he had gotten me out of jail yesterday.” Glynn finally stood, cinching her robe tighter. “I can’t believe I just made such a spectacle of myself.”

“You’re allowed. It’s just me here. Besides, I’m a doctor.”

“You probably see meltdowns like that all the time.”

She chuckled. “It only qualifies as a meltdown if you do it outside.” She turned to leave the room, but Glynn grabbed her elbow and pulled her back.

“I know I’m not supposed to do this, but . . .” She wrapped both arms around Charlotte’s waist and squeezed.

Charlotte couldn’t help but respond, folding Glynn into her arms. All of the things that made Glynn vulnerable made Charlotte want to hold her close. But more now than ever, she needed to keep her distance.

Glynn pushed the covers back and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The only light in the room was a sliver from the cracked door, which meant she had slept most of the day. She was starving.

She flicked on the bedside lamp, immediately spotting a jar of aloe cream on the nightstand. Apparently, Charlotte had noticed her radiation site when she got out of the shower. The cream felt cool to her skin, a welcome relief from the itching and burning. As she rubbed it in, she acknowledged that Charlotte had probably noticed everything else as well. She had put on quite a show in the bathroom.

The faint sound of jazz drifted up the stairs. Glynn walked out and leaned over the half-wall to peer into the living room below. “Charlotte?”

Charlotte grabbed her remote and muted the music. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you with that?”

“No. I was just wondering if I could come down in my pajamas, or if I should put on a robe.”

“Whatever you want. The blinds are all closed down here.”

Glynn started down the steps.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.” She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around, pleased to see a gas log fireplace.

“I bet you’re hungry.” Charlotte didn’t wait for her response, jumping up instead to retrieve a large slice of pizza from the kitchen. “Here you go.”

“Thanks. I promise to be an easy houseguest.”

Charlotte gestured at her bare feet. “Aren’t your feet cold?”

“I usually sit on them, but I didn’t know how you’d feel about my feet on your couch.”

“Mi casa, su casa.”

Glynn tucked her feet beneath her. “I hate to wear shoes in the house, even when it’s cold.” It was almost surreal to be here in Charlotte’s home chatting casually about her feet.

“I want you to feel at home while you’re here. Open all the drawers and closets. Go through all the cabinets if you want. The only things I keep locked are some files in my office.”

She let herself relax in Charlotte’s hospitality, until her stream of consciousness carried her through the dreaded chain of events that lay ahead. “I don’t know how I’m going to stand these next couple of months. Michael says the DA probably won’t let me see Sebby at all.”

“That’s probably normal for something like this. They don’t want to give you the chance to put pressure on him to change his story.”

“They don’t seem to have any problem letting Mark put pressure on him to tell lies.”

Charlotte kicked off her shoes and took a seat beside her on the couch, stretching a woven throw so it covered their feet. “Sebby probably isn’t lying in a deliberate way, Glynn. At least he doesn’t think so. I can’t explain how he got to where he is, but I doubt he’s doing this to purposely hurt you.”

“So . . . what? He has some kind of false memory?”

“Like I said, I can’t explain it. And I still have to be very careful, especially when it comes to second-guessing another doctor.”

“I’m not second-guessing Mark,” Glynn said angrily. “I’m calling him a liar. He called me two days ago to tell me not to come to Rawlings because Sebby was working on some”—she made quote marks with her fingers—“‘tough issues.’ What he was really doing was testifying in front of a grand jury.”

Charlotte looked at her blankly, and Glynn sighed with frustration. The one person who could possibly help her understand what was going on was shutting her out—to protect one of her own. No, that wasn’t fair to Charlotte. She was protecting her integrity as a professional.

“Can you at least tell me about the process? What kind of therapy do you give to someone like Sebby to get him to remember?”

“You talk about the surrounding circumstances, try to bring back everything that’s familiar. The whole idea is to get them to go back to that event and walk through it scene by scene. Once it’s crystal clear what happened, you try to find the part that’s been hidden and face it down.”

“But how could Sebby remember something that didn’t happen?”

“It’s possible he’s mixing up an actual event with an imagined one, or even one he read about or saw on TV. Maybe someone asked him during the investigation if he saw you do it and it got stuck in his head.”

“But Michael says he told them details,” Glynn said incredulously. “He said he saw me go into the bathroom and push the TV into the tub. He was hiding in our bedroom and said he stayed there until he heard me go back into his room and shut the door.”

Charlotte shrugged. “If someone said they saw me do that, I’d think I must have been sleepwalking.”

“Sleepwalking? I thought that was just something from the movies.”

“No, people really can do all sorts of things while they’re asleep. It happens during what we call slow phase sleep. They get up and eat, they clean the house. Some even drive.”

“But do they get up and murder people?”

“Believe it or not, there have been cases like that. One guy stabbed his wife twenty-five times and didn’t remember any of it. Another guy held his wife under water.”

“Sounds a little too convenient to me.” She wriggled her feet free of the cover and dangled them off the couch.

“Have you ever experienced any episodes of strange things happening while you were asleep? Like waking up in the morning to find things moved around? Doors left open? Lights on? Dishes on the counter?”

Glynn managed a faint, wry smile. “Yeah, but I live with a teenager who does all those things.”

“What about when you were growing up? Do you remember your family talking about things like that?”

Glynn shook her head. The more she heard, the less she liked the implications. “Are you saying it’s actually possible I killed Bas and don’t remember anything about it? Why would I do something like that?”

“Glynn, I’m not saying you did.” Charlotte shook her head in emphasis. “I’m just offering it as a possibility. If your time in Eastern Europe was anything like mine, you saw some ugly things. When I came home, I had horrible visions every time I saw a truck like the ones they used to bring the refugees in. I imagined they were full of people—women and children who were bleeding and battered, scared to death of the human race.”

Some of the children in Bosnia haunted Glynn to this day, but Bas’s death had consumed her waking and sleeping nightmares for several weeks after she returned. It was possible, she guessed, that her experience had taken a heavier toll than she realized. But could she have done something so horrific without even a trace of a memory?

“Is there any way you can tell when someone has been sleepwalking?”

“There are sleep specialists who understand it better than I do. You should see if Michael can set up an evaluation.”

Glynn sighed. “I can’t believe I’m actually thinking about a defense for why I killed my husband. What if it’s all in Sebby’s head? How can we find that out?”

“If Sebby is the state’s witness, Michael should have a chance to depose him first. He should dig for the details of what Sebby remembers. Any inconsistency is going to be a flag for the jury that the witness is fabricating the story. At least that’s what happens in a rape case, which is what I’m most familiar with.”

“But you don’t think Sebby’s making this up.”

“He might be making it up, Glynn, but I can’t imagine why he’d do that.”

Glynn was growing more and more frustrated with the circular reasoning. “One way or the other, Mark has to be pulling his strings.” She held up a hand to Charlotte’s looming objection. “I know you can’t talk about Mark. I’ll have to discuss this part with Michael, but I need your help to know what to ask.”

Despite Glynn’s persistent criticism of Mark, Charlotte remained calm and resolute. “Just tell Michael about your concerns. He’ll figure out how to handle Mark’s role in this. But I can’t do it. I’m too close to the case, and I’m too close to you.”

“I just think it’s reckless that he seized on something so vague and allowed it to tear both me and Sebby apart. Why couldn’t he have brought this to me? I would have helped Sebby get to the bottom of it. Now, no matter what happens—no matter what kind of reasonable explanation there is for any of this—our lives are going to be ruined.”

Charlotte placed a hand on her shoulder. “Just promise me you won’t forget to take care of yourself. It won’t matter how it all turns out if you don’t get well.”

“I just hope Sebby remembers that he promised me the same thing.”

Chapter 14

Roy held out a hand to help her from the backseat of his Lexus, which had entered the underground parking garage unnoticed by the waiting press. Tina was already waiting by the elevator. “Hold your head up, Glynn. You’re as innocent today as you were a week ago.”

“Thanks. Let’s hope Michael has that much confidence after Sebby’s deposition. They should be starting right about now.” She had wanted to attend, but Michael had advised against it.

Roy and Tina had come through for her in the past week, running interference with both the press and her colleagues on the Hill. Randy was managing constituents back in Indiana. Supporters were lining up, albeit slowly, most touting the constitutional presumption of innocence, but a few representatives on the other side of the aisle were using her arrest as a reason to insist on her immediate resignation.

Saul Harrington had given an unambiguous statement of support, but the press didn’t consider a lobbyist’s take on things much of a story. Nonetheless, she was grateful.

Party leaders had requested an opportunity to “review the issue,” whatever that meant. “What time is my meeting?”

“Eleven o’clock,” Tina said. “And just to remind you, Michael insists you refrain from talking about specifics with anyone unless he’s with you.”

“Got it.” Michael had drilled it into her head over the past four days that every word she uttered was admissible as evidence, so she needed to avoid discussing the case, even in casual conversation with people she trusted.

The elevator delivered them to the second floor. “You ready?” Roy asked.

She nodded, taking a deep breath in anticipation of the horde of reporters gathered on the other side of the door.

To everyone’s dismay, there was no one waiting. Instead, they walked the circular hall undisturbed to her office.

“Where is everyone?” Tina asked Mary Ann Dixon, her receptionist.

“All hell just broke loose,” the young woman answered, looking up with a grin. “Welcome back, Glynn.”

“Thanks. What’s going on?”

“Check out the news. Someone caught Alvin Baxter being politically incorrect.”

They filed into Glynn’s office and turned on the television. Baxter’s aide was saying something about it all being a misunderstanding but the reporters on the scene—probably the same crew that had been camped at the Capitol all week waiting for Glynn to return—obviously smelled blood in the water. The studio host interrupted commentary to play a video clip, blurry in spots, but nonetheless identifiable. Baxter was talking with several lobbyists in his cigar club, and referred to the president’s attorney general, an African-American, as a nigger in a suit.

“Lovely,” Glynn said, not bothering to hide her disgust.

“Yeah, but you’ve got to hand it to him. He sure saved us from a nasty day,” Roy said, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“It’s just a temporary reprieve. They’ll be back when his bones get cold,” Glynn said. “Are we business as usual with the Appropriations meeting?”

“Are you kidding? The Democrats aren’t going to miss the chance to show Alvin Baxter absent from the meeting,” Tina said. “That’s just another way to keep it in the news.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he shows up anyway,” Glynn said.

“They’d probably like that even more. Every time his face goes up, people are going to be reminded of that video clip.”

“Glynn?” Mary Ann appeared in the doorway. “Your eleven o’clock with the party leaders has been canceled. Looks like they have something more urgent to deal with.”

“Good. I can get some work done.” Glynn put on her glasses and looked at her schedule. “Roy, I need a briefing on the health care bill before two tomorrow.”

“You got it,” he said with clear enthusiasm.

“And Tina, would you see if Senator Culbertson has a few minutes to talk about the preschool bill. If he’s handing this off to Preston, I don’t want it to get lost in the shuffle. I’ll ask Madge Heflin to run it through the House if necessary. And get Mary Ann to set up lunch tomorrow with Saul Harrington so I can let him know about the changes. We’ll do it here in my office.”

“Will do.”

Glynn checked her watch. Appropriations was meeting in eight minutes. It was good to be back.

“. . . and I don’t really see why it’s such a big deal. The assholes probably aren’t going to be charged anyway.”

Charlotte eyed her newest patient, a college freshman named Chelsea. She had been gang raped at a fraternity party when she was too drunk to either give or withhold consent. The university insisted on psychiatric counseling, but Chelsea was far from motivated to cooperate.

“How would you feel about that?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if nothing happened. Guys like that get to do whatever they want.”

“What would you like to see happen?”

Chelsea shrugged. “I wish it would just go away. The only reason I filed a report in the first place was because my friends made me.”

“How do you feel about what those men did to you?”

“I was asking for it. I drank too much to say no.”

Charlotte set her tablet aside and leaned forward, trying to talk not only as a psychiatrist, but as one woman to another. “Chelsea, no one asks to be raped by seven young men while she’s practically unconscious. You were violated, and you have a right to be angry.”

Chelsea wiped her eyes. “I just want you to sign the paper that says you talked to me and I’m okay.”

Charlotte leaned back and folded her arms. Chelsea was going to have more trouble dealing with herself than with the rapists, but she needed help all the same. “I tell you what. I want to see you again in a week. You think about how you want to feel about this a year from now . . . five years from now, and we’ll talk some more.”

The girl nodded and stood, clearly eager to get out. “Next week . . . same time?”

“That’s fine. And take this, in case you want to talk.” Charlotte handed her a card, knowing it would end up in a trash can outside.

“Thanks.”

Charlotte followed her out and was surprised to see a man waiting in the lobby.

“Dr. Blue, this is—”

The man didn’t wait for Joyce’s introduction. “Dr. Charlotte Blue?”

“Yes.”

He handed her a folded piece of paper. “Consider yourself served.”

Brandon came out of his office. “What’s that all about?”

Charlotte opened it and confirmed her guess. “I’ve been expecting this. They’re taking depositions in the case against Glynn Wright. I’m being called to answer questions about Sebby’s intake and to turn over copies of my records.”

“Whose intake?”

“Her son, Sebastian. They call him Sebby. I’m sure it’s just routine.”

The summons required her to call the district attorney to set up an appointment for a deposition within five working days. Michael had advised her to complete it as soon as possible so they would know if Glynn’s using her house for a respite would pose a conflict for their defense. He didn’t expect Charlotte to have anything material for the DA’s case, but had lost his motion for restricting her files.

She returned to her office and closed the door to make the call. Ten minutes later, her appointment was set for three thirty the following afternoon.

It would be strange going home tonight to an empty house. Though Glynn had left most of her things just in case she changed her mind, she was planning to brave the press tonight at home after returning to work. If today’s news was any indication, the media would be camped out at Alvin Baxter’s house instead.

On Michael’s advice, they had completely avoided the topic of Sebby since their first night together, so as not to color Charlotte’s testimony during her deposition. Instead, they had cooked together, played backgammon, watched movies, and talked about their families and their time overseas.

Several times over the last few days, Charlotte had tried to imagine whether Glynn had intentionally killed her husband. She couldn’t fathom the possibility under any circumstances. Michael had seized on the idea of sleepwalking as a defense, but wanted to wait until he had deposed Sebby to make his decision on how to proceed. It wasn’t enough to exonerate Glynn by introducing reasonable doubt, he said. A not-guilty verdict was vital to satisfy even the strongest skeptic, or her career as a congresswoman would be over. Worse than that, anything short of proving her innocence might leave an insurmountable wedge between Glynn and her son.

“Thanks, Roy,” Glynn said, closing her phone. “He says the coast is clear.”

Tina turned onto Glynn’s street and stopped at the curb in front of her house. “It sure was nice of Alvin Baxter to help us out.”

Glynn chuckled. “You know, that video wasn’t made yesterday. It’s at least a couple of months old, so someone has been sitting on it.”

“Whoever it was, his timing couldn’t have been better for us.”

“Agreed.” She got out and leaned her head back in. “Thanks, Tina. I don’t know what I would have done without your help this past week.”

“You can always count on me, Glynn. All of us are in your corner.”

“That means a lot.”

Tina waited at the curb until she had entered her house and locked the door. The moment she turned on the lights, the phone rang. No one but her staff knew she was here.

“Congresswoman Wright?”

The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Yes.”

“This is David Pender from the Washington Post.”

Glynn recognized the name immediately, and regretted having given her home phone number to Pender, who was the education reporter to whom she had spoken several times about the preschool program and her other legislative goals. “Hello, David.”

“I apologize for calling you at home. You gave me this number when I was writing the preschool story.”

“Yes, I remember. It was so we could talk about the preschool bill. Is that why you’re calling?”

He paused as though apologetic. “Actually, I was hoping we might talk about the charges against you. I could give you the chance to get your story out there.”

“That’s a very generous offer, David, but my office already put out a press release with all the pertinent information.” “Any chance I could get a quote or a comment beyond that? I can promise you I’m not interested in any sort of exposé or speculative piece. But if you want to present your side of things, I hope you’d consider talking to me first.”

“You want the exclusive.”

“I’d like to think our past relationship has been good, and that you’d trust me to be fair.”

David was right on that count. His coverage of the education beat had been fair and thorough. “Have you had much experience on this sort of story?”

“To tell you the truth, no. At least, not a story of this magnitude. I was a general assignment reporter in St. Louis before landing the education beat at the Post.”

Glynn sighed. She wasn’t ready to talk, but when she was, she wanted to sit down with someone friendly to her position. It made a lot of sense to use someone who knew her professionally. “I tell you what, David. My attorney doesn’t want me doing interviews right now, but if you’ll send me a list of questions, I’ll go over them with him and do my best to answer what I can.” “That would be great, Congresswoman.” He confirmed her e-mail address. “May I send them tonight?”

“Sure, but don’t expect a response right away.”

“I won’t, but I do hope you’ll consider an exclusive.” “I will if you’ll do me a favor in return. Don’t call me again at this number, and don’t give it out to anyone else.”

“It’s a deal.”

She kicked off her shoes. It was nice to be back home, but lonely after spending five nights at Charlotte’s house.

Roy had given her two briefs to read before her meetings tomorrow, but the most pressing item tonight was a meeting with Michael to go over Sebby’s deposition. She wished Charlotte could be there to hear about it, but Charlotte was probably home tonight luxuriating in her privacy. It was a lot to ask for her to give up her space for almost a week, and she had done more than enough.

Glynn pored over the briefs while she ate dinner, a tasteless microwave entrée. Michael arrived and dropped his topcoat over a chair in the dining room. Ever the professional, he was smartly dressed in a tailored suit.

She assumed her favorite position on the couch, bare feet tucked beneath her. “How did Sebby look?”

“This is hard on him, Glynn,” he said, sitting down and placing his briefcase on the floor. “He was pretty nervous, and he kept looking at Mark like he wanted approval for his answers.”

Incredulous, she dropped her jaw. “You’ve got to be kidding. Mark McKee gets to be there and I don’t?”

“Mark was there as his temporary guardian. That was one of the papers you signed when he was admitted to Rawlings.”

Glynn stewed inwardly, regretting the naïve trust she had placed in Mark. “So how did Sebby act?”

“It was pretty obvious he was torn up about it. He started crying and even changed his mind twice about testifying, but they talked with him privately and he went through with it.”

“I thought there were rules against that kind of armtwisting.”

Michael sighed. “Those rules only apply if they’re telling him what to say.”

“Did he say why he was doing this?”

“It’s complicated, Glynn. Let me tell you his whole story first. Okay?” Michael pulled a leather-bound folder from his briefcase and looked over his notes. “I asked him to tell me everything he remembered, and said I would stop to ask questions. He was very polite . . . yes, sir . . . no, sir. So he began with you arriving home. He remembered meeting you at the airport, and that you rode home with him in the backseat of the car. He was very happy about that.”

Glynn felt the tears welling up as she remembered how excited they all were to see each other again. Bas was making jokes from the front seat about Sebby stealing his girl. “We were all happy.”

“He didn’t remember anything in particular about the next day.”

“It was a Friday. I took him to school and met his teacher.”

Michael shook his head. “He didn’t seem to remember that, but I don’t suppose it made an impression as much as you getting home or what happened the next day.”

“When Bas died.”

“Yes, he remembers quite a bit about that day. I have to admit, the details he recalls are pretty remarkable.” He folded over a page. “He said you went to the store in the morning because he wanted cookies. Do you remember that?”

“I do.” Charlotte too had been impressed with the clarity of Sebby’s memory regarding the cookies. “His favorite was chocolate oatmeal drop cookies. I didn’t have what I needed, so I went to the store. As soon as I got home, Bas left to meet his friends for football on the mall. He did that every Saturday.”

Michael made a note in the margin with his Mont Blanc pen. “I’m hoping somewhere we can establish that Sebby’s confused about things, that he claims to have seen things that didn’t happen. The problem with refuting his story about anything is that we have to put you on the stand to do that.”

“What’s the problem with that?”

“I like to avoid it when I can. Prosecutors are very good at making defendants look like defendants.” He flipped another page. “He remembers quite a bit about the cookies.”

“Charlotte said that too. She said kids remember things like that.”

“He says he stood on a stool to help. The stool was blue, with a picture of a fire truck on the top step, and he used it whenever he needed to get a drink of water by himself.”

“That’s amazing he remembers that. I got rid of that stool when we moved into the new house. That was . . . ten years ago.”

“He definitely remembers it. And then he says you made cookies and gave him some, which he ate at the table. You stayed in the kitchen, cleaning up or something.”

“That makes sense, but why is it important?”

“The DA wants to establish that Sebby finished eating the cookies in the kitchen. Is that how you remember it?”

“I really don’t, but I probably would have asked him to stay at the table. He usually had milk with cookies, and you don’t let a five-year-old take things like that to another room. And I remember that right after he finished, we took a nap together in his room.”

“That’s exactly what Sebby said. But he woke up when he heard his father come home from the football game. A few minutes later, he says he got up and realized his father was in the tub in the master bath. So he went back into the kitchen, got the stool again, and climbed up to get more cookies from where you had put them away.”

She smiled at Sebby’s version of events. “That little sneak.”

“This is where it starts to get interesting, Glynn. He says he heard you yelling from the bathroom and went down the hall to see what it was about. He didn’t want you to see him, because he wasn’t supposed to be in there in the first place, and he thought you would be mad about the cookies.”

“What? Why wasn’t he supposed to be in there? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“He says he wasn’t allowed in your bedroom.”

“That’s ridiculous. We never told him that.”

Michael jotted something else in the margin of his notes. “He says then he squatted down behind the bed, where he had a clear view of the bathroom.” He handed her a diagram. “This is from the police report of the scene. Sebby’s right that he could have seen directly into the bathroom from there.”

Glynn studied the layout. The door to the bedroom was at a right angle to the one going into the bathroom, but they were only steps apart. It was certainly feasible that he could have seen into the bathroom, but not that he saw her kill Bas.

“He says you and Bas were arguing and you pushed the TV into the tub.”

She gasped and shook her head vigorously. “How could he even say such a thing?”

Michael held up his hand and continued with his meticulous notes. “He says he heard it pop and sizzle, then he ducked down behind the bed because you turned around and were coming out of the bathroom. He doesn’t remember anything after that until the police came.”

“Michael, Sebby woke me up after Bas was dead. None of that other stuff happened.”

He handed her another sheet of paper, pointing to a paragraph at the bottom. “This is a report from the scene, Glynn. The policeman wrote that he found two cookies on the floor behind the bed. It seems to corroborate Sebby being there like he said.”

Glynn sat stunned as the news sank in. “But . . .”

“And they also said they found his stool at the kitchen counter.”

“But none of that means I killed Bas.”

“No, but it gives Sebby’s story a lot of credibility. Once a jury hears this and gets a look at the police report, there’s a good chance they’ll buy it all.”

Since the moment she was charged, Glynn’s mind had wandered through all of the steps it would take to close this horrible chapter of her life. Not once—until right now—had she imagined it could possibly end in her being convicted of murder. She asked shakily, “What are we going to do?”

Michael closed his notebook and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m starting to think the sleepwalking defense might be our best bet.”

She snorted. “In other words, I killed him but I didn’t mean to.”

“Glynn, it’s the only explanation that makes sense. The one thing we have working in our favor is that the DA has no motive. Even Sebby said he remembers you and Bas being happy with each other. He doesn’t remember any tension at all in your home.”

“Because there wasn’t any.”

“So if you were happy, and Sebby saw you push the TV into the tub, you must have been sleepwalking. There’s no other explanation.”

“But what if Sebby didn’t actually see what he thinks he saw? If he can’t remember waking me up, maybe there’s something else he’s confused about. What if his real memory is some other time when Bas and I were playing around in the bathroom? I remember once I went in there and terrorized him about playing catch with his football that was autographed by all the Redskins, like I was going to throw it in the water.”

“I think it’s a reasonable argument, but here’s what we’re up against. Sebby’s version is going to have a lot of credence because of those damn cookies in the bedroom. The only thing we have is your word against his, and the facts are on his side.”

Glynn was suddenly feeling boxed in. “Michael, if I claim I was sleepwalking, I have to confess to killing my husband. Do you really think the people back in Indiana want some sort of zombie murderer representing them in Washington?”

“You have to think ahead to how you want this to end. You told me what matters most is Sebby. If you go up against his story in court and can’t convince him you didn’t do it, he’s going to come away believing you murdered his father. Wouldn’t you both be better off if he thought it was an accident?”

Michael was right. What mattered most—even more than a not-guilty verdict—was healing things with Sebby. “You were going to tell me why he’s doing this.”

“I asked him that when we were finished because I wanted to make sure he wasn’t being coerced. He says you told him he had to follow it wherever it went, that whatever he found would be all right. He feels that you would want him to tell what really happened.”

Glynn shook her head in confusion.

Michael put his hand on his chest. “He started crying. He said he feels this all the time inside.”

“Feels it?”

“That’s right. He didn’t know what it was before, but it made him hurt every time he thought about it. He said you told him to let it all out, that it was okay. The most important thing in his mind was holding up his end of the bargain to get well, to not try to hurt himself anymore, because you said losing him was the one thing in the world you couldn’t bear.”

A wave of sadness swept over her as she pictured her son’s tears. He hated what he was doing to her, but in his mind, he was saving her the heartache of what he might do to himself. “Whatever you think is best, Michael. There’s nothing that matters to me more than Sebby.”

Chapter 15

Charlotte’s foot bounced on her crossed leg as she waited. She was losing patience with every minute that passed. Now forty minutes late for her deposition, the district attorney seemed to think his time was more valuable than hers. She was ready to walk out and leave it to them to reschedule when a tall, athleticlooking man appeared from the hallway.

“Dr. Blue, I’m Gerry Ferrin, from the district attorney’s office. Sorry to keep you waiting. We’re ready for you.”

She ignored his apology and followed him to a conference room where Michael sat with a stenographer.

“Hello, Charlotte.”

She was surprised by his amiable greeting, but grateful her deposition wouldn’t require a charade.

“You two know each other?” Ferrin asked.

“We do. Dr. Blue and the congresswoman have become friends since meeting a few weeks ago. Turns out they both went to help out during the Bosnian conflict.”

“I see.” The prosecutor looked at her skeptically. “Is your friendship with Mrs. Wright going to pose a conflict in your testimony?”

“Of course not,” Charlotte answered. By her estimate, she had given at least a hundred depositions since becoming a physician. She was always honest and professional.

He pushed a form across the table. “Let the record show we are here with Dr. Charlotte Blue, the emergency attending psychiatrist for Sebastian Wright, Jr. Dr. Blue, this form indicates that Sebastian and his temporary guardian, Dr. McKee, have waived his doctor-patient right to privacy to allow you to give testimony in this case. Do you understand this compels you to give full and truthful responses in this matter?”

“I do.” It also compelled her to answer questions about Glynn, because Glynn was not her patient and had no expectation of personal privacy with regard to Sebby’s care.

“And could you review for the record your medical qualifications?”

Charlotte listed her education and residency credentials, along with a description of her clinical practice.

“Rape victims?”

“Yes, rape and other violence.”

“Did you feel qualified to render a medical opinion with regard to the care of Sebastian Wright?”

“Of course. When I’m on call at the hospital, I handle a variety of psychiatric conditions.”

“Very well. Could you tell us about your first meeting with Sebastian?”

Charlotte went through the events at the hospital, how she had talked first to Sebby, then to Glynn, before admitting Sebby to a room on the second floor.

“How did Mrs. Wright seem to you?”

“Devastated.”

“So nothing out of the ordinary?”

“There’s really nothing ordinary about a situation like that, Mr. Ferrin. As I said, Mrs. Wright seemed devastated. She spent the entire night in a chair by her son’s bed.”

If Ferrin was moved by Glynn’s devotion, he didn’t let on. “Did she resist his treatment in any way?”

“She was very cooperative.”

“Did she ever try to remove him from the hospital?”

“Not to my—” Charlotte recalled the incident on Saturday night when Glynn was ambushed by the press. “Now that I think about it, she did ask to take him home on his second night because a television reporter jumped her in the lobby and started asking questions about Sebastian’s suicide attempt. She was worried they might harass him and sensationalize his care as a psychiatric patient.”

“So she attempted to remove her son from care?”

“No, she did not. She mentioned it as an alternative to having him questioned by the press. I offered to move him to the fifth floor cardiac wing and assign security. She agreed with that.”

Ferrin scrolled through his list of questions. “Let’s talk about your evaluation of Sebastian. I understand you made a recording of that assessment.”

Charlotte handed him a packet. “Everything you requested is here.”

He opened the envelope and looked inside. “I’m sure it is. I’d like to review these, and get back to you if I have any more specific questions regarding this transcript. We can do that in writing if it’s easier.”

She bit her tongue, thinking it certainly beat sitting in his waiting room. “It would be easier. Thank you.”

He looked over his notes one more time. “Then I think we’re . . .” He stopped, squinting at his tablet. “At any time during your interaction with Mrs. Wright, did she seem at all anxious about what her son’s therapy sessions might reveal?”

Charlotte immediately thought of Glynn’s admission to a relationship with a woman, but she didn’t think that was the type of information he was looking for, and she wasn’t going to give it up unless it was unavoidable. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I guess what I’m asking is if she ever gave you the impression she had something to hide.”

While it was true Glynn had been concerned about her personal information being revealed in the group sessions, she had relented in the end for Sebby’s sake. “I’d say just the opposite. She seemed more concerned her son might not be forthcoming in his therapy.”

Ferrin looked at her with apparent curiosity. “Did she mention any issue in particular he might keep to himself?”

“Things about her personal relationships . . . the person she was dating.”

“That was a secret?”

“I believe she was concerned about gossip.”

“Gossip? Was this a married person?”

Charlotte could feel the net closing. Ferrin would pursue this until he found out all there was to know, either from her, from Sebby or from Glynn’s congressional aides. Even Michael was on the edge of his seat waiting for an answer.

“No, it was a woman.”

Ferrin sat up straight, clearly stunned by the revelation. “Mrs. Wright is a lesbian?”

“I think bisexual is a better descriptor.”

“Do you happen to know if Mrs. Wright’s . . . ?” He stumbled on the words, shaking his head as though puzzled. “Is her bisexuality a recent discovery?”

“I don’t believe it is.”

“She’s been involved with other women in the past?”

Charlotte glanced at Michael, whose cheek was twitching with apparent irritation, as if hearing this for the first time. “Yes, I believe that’s correct.”

“And other than her husband, has Mrs. Wright had relationships with other men?”

“That I wouldn’t know.” Bas was the only man Glynn had mentioned, but that didn’t mean there weren’t others.

“Did Mrs. Wright ever indicate to you that she was unhappy in her marriage? Unfulfilled, perhaps?”

“No, quite the contrary. People with bisexual orientation are able to enjoy fulfillment in relationships with either gender.”

He scratched his head. “That’s one thing I don’t understand at all.”

“I’d be happy to provide you with some clinical resources,” she said tersely.

“That won’t be necessary.” He made some notes on his pad. “Mr. Gattison, do you have any questions for Dr. Blue?”

“Not at this time.” From his flat tone, Charlotte guessed he was fighting not to show emotion.

“Then I’d say we’re finished here. As I said, I may have some follow-up questions once I review Sebastian’s medical file. My office will be in touch about how best to go forward.”

Charlotte stood and gathered her things, avoiding Michael’s intense gaze. She had little doubt his next phone call would go to Glynn, demanding an explanation for why she had left out something he considered important to her defense.

Glynn nervously peeked again through the blinds, not seeing any sign of Michael. What she did see was two different cars on the street whose occupants were watching her house. They had followed her from the Capitol, not caring that she knew. They were most likely reporters, interested more in who came and went so they could jump out quickly and get quotes for their sensational stories.

Michael had left a message on her cell phone to go straight home from work, lock the door and talk to no one until he got there, not even her staff. From his tone, he wasn’t a happy man.

Something must have gone wrong today in Charlotte’s deposition. Maybe the DA found out she had stayed with Charlotte last week and felt it posed a conflict. That was more of a problem for Charlotte than for her, though, so it was hard to see why Michael would be so upset.

His Mercedes finally appeared at her curb and he got out, waving a dismissive hand at the cameraman who leapt from one of the cars. She met him at the door, instantly picking up his angry vibe.

“Do you have any more secrets you’d like to share with me before I find them out in front of the prosecutor?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d had relationships with women?”

Glynn was shocked by the question, even more by the realization that Charlotte had broken her confidence. “I didn’t think it was anyone’s business.”

“Everything about you is my business, Glynn—especially if it leads to Gerry Ferrin doing a happy dance in the hall because he now has a motive for why you’d kill your husband.”

“Let me see if I understand this.” Feeling betrayed and angry herself, she was ready to fight back. “I have a romantic liaison with a person of the same sex. Therefore, I must also be capable of murder.”

“That isn’t the point. The point is you felt trapped in a marriage to a man. You were unfulfilled, and you couldn’t risk a divorce because you were afraid of losing your son.”

“Michael, he’s pulling that out of his ass. If I was unfulfilled and trapped in my marriage, why was it almost five years before I got involved with someone else?”

“He doesn’t know those details of your love life, but don’t think he isn’t going to find out. He’s going to talk to everyone you know.”

“Roy and Tina are the only ones who can tell him anything . . . unless he goes back nearly twenty years to the people I knew in college.”

“Roy knows about this? Because Ferrin asked him all about your relationships—Bas’s too—and he didn’t say a word.” “I never told him any details, Michael. It . . .”

“It what?”

“I’ve always felt like Roy has feelings for me, but he’s never acted on anything other than to be the most loyal friend in the world. I didn’t tell him much about Stephanie because it would have been like rubbing his nose in it. So all he really knows is we were close—close enough that we needed to be careful of giving people something to gossip about.”

Michael looked at her with skepticism. “Who is Stephanie? Ferrin’s going to want to talk to her as well.”

Glynn’s panic rose as she considered the ramifications. “Does he have to? She could lose her job, and she had nothing to do with any of this. Michael, you have to do something.”

“What do you expect me to do?” he asked sharply.

“I don’t know. But they have to leave her out of it.”

“Who is she?”

“She’s Edwin Murtaugh’s chief of staff.”

“Oh, great. A full-blown political scandal. Like we need more of that,” he said sarcastically. “Jesus, what a mess.”

“I don’t see why this is even relevant.”

“Everything about you is relevant if they can tie it to their case.” He dropped onto her couch and ran his hands through his hair. “Maybe we can do a stipulation.”

“What’s that?”

“You file a statement with the court stipulating to the details of your relationships, and if he’s satisfied with it, he won’t call witnesses into court. But he’ll probably send out investigators to verify every word.”

“And if I don’t do that?”

“He’ll track down and depose everyone you’ve ever met and the Washington Post will print it all.”

Glynn slumped across from him in a chair. “I can’t believe Charlotte broke my confidence.”

“Her testimony was compelled by law because Sebby waived doctor-patient privilege.”

“You mean Mark McKee waived it.”

“Knock it off, Glynn,” he said sharply. “You need to start thinking of things in terms of what looks best for Sebby. Right now, Mark is the one who seems to care about your son.”

“Mark has the luxury of not having to defend himself against a bogus murder charge,” she snapped back. She stood abruptly and started to pace. “No one loves my son more than I do. If I thought it would help Sebby for me to confess to murdering his father, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But it won’t, because I didn’t do it. I know my son better than anyone on earth, and it’s eating him alive to do this to me. I don’t care what it takes, or what anybody thinks about me. The only thing that matters—the only thing, Michael—is that my son gets past this. And I can tell you right now, it isn’t going to happen unless I convince him I didn’t do it, and that I forgive him for even thinking I did.”

Looking considerably mollified, he nodded along with every word. “That’s exactly the attitude I want to see. You’re a lioness protecting your cub, and you’ll do whatever it takes.”

“And Ferrin better not forget it.”

“And you’ll start tomorrow by telling me everything I need to know about your past relationships. And I mean everything. Then I’ll talk to Ferrin and try to negotiate a stipulation agreement so we don’t have to do all these interviews.”

Glynn slouched again in her chair. “I need to call Stephanie and give her a head’s up. She’s going to kill me.”

“You need to call Charlotte too. She feels terrible about what happened. She tried her best to dance around it, but Ferrin honed in until she was forced to tell him or commit perjury.”

“I’ll do that.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Did Ferrin have a problem with Charlotte and me being friends?”

“Maybe a little at first, but he got over it. In light of her testimony, I think she convinced him she wasn’t holding back.” He stood and began to put on his coat. “I’m going to put out a feeler for a friendly reporter at the Post. I want you to get your story out there before Ferrin’s office springs a leak.”

“I’ve already got someone.” She went into her office and returned with the e-mail from David Pender. “This guy’s the education reporter. He’s been my outlet for a long time.”

“I was thinking we should use one of the political reporters, somebody with experience and clout.”

“No, this is who I am, Michael. David’s a nice guy, and he’s always been fair and accurate. He does his homework too, so maybe he can write this in the context of all the work I’ve done for kids in the House.”

He nodded. “That’s not a bad idea. But I’m going to be sitting beside you the whole time. Understood?”

“Whatever.”

“And sometime before the trial, I want you telling your side of the story on CNN.”

“Fine. So what is my side of the story?”

“We’re going to make it conditional. You tell the story you’ve been telling for the past eleven years. Then you float the sleepwalking defense because it’s the only possible explanation for Sebby’s version of events.”

“I can’t believe I’m actually going to go through with this.”

“More than that. I’ve made an appointment for you next week at the Center for Sleep Disorders. Plan to stay the night on Tuesday.”

“Wonderful,” she said sarcastically. “Don’t forget I have a radiation treatment at seven a.m., so I have to be out of there by then.”

“That’s another thing, Glynn.” He scrunched his nose, as if knowing his next request would be met with objection. “I’d like to get the word out about your breast cancer.”

Glynn balked at the idea of letting the whole world know something so personal. “My treatments don’t have anything to do with this.”

“I know, but frankly, we could use some sympathy. It’ll make Ferrin think twice before trying to make you look bad in the press. If he’s planning a future in politics, he won’t want to come off like an insensitive bully.”

“Great. So next week, I go back to work with a chamber full of men who will be trying to envision either my breasts or me naked with another woman. I can’t wait.”

“When are you due back in Indiana?”

“End of next week.”

“Good. We need to set up a town hall meeting so you can get your people behind you.”

“What if they aren’t?”

“That’s just it, Glynn. This is a test for us. If we can’t get your supporters behind you, how can we expect to get strangers on your side?”

Charlotte poured a glass of chardonnay, hoping it would help her relax. Michael had probably told Glynn by now about the deposition, and every minute that passed was a likely sign she was angry about her secret being spilled.

Troubled, she set her glass on the coffee table and eyed the stack of journals that had accumulated through the week while Glynn was staying with her. How ironic that she had broken up with Julie to get away from the regimented schedule, only to find herself at home on a Friday night catching up with her work. It had been worth it, though, she realized. Having Glynn around all week had been wonderful.

Who was she kidding? Having Glynn around had been excruciating. She had been forced to remind herself over and over that her growing interest in Glynn was far from appropriate. Glynn was probably more vulnerable now than ever, and if that weren’t enough to force her to keep her distance, she was a likely witness for her prosecution.

The phone rang.

“Charlotte, it’s Glynn.”

“I’m so sorry,” she blurted. “I tried not to say anything.” “It’s okay. Michael said you had no choice.”

“I just wish I had thought to warn you that this was a

possibility.”

“I don’t think either of us imagined this turn of events,

Charlotte. It doesn’t matter. It’s silly to worry about something

so trivial when all this other stuff is going on.”

“But I know it isn’t trivial to you. It’s going to have consequences for your job.”

“So is being accused of murder. Just the charges are enough

to make people think twice about supporting me, so what difference will it make if they find out I like women?”

“Does this mean you’re coming out?”

Glynn huffed. “I thing being dragged out is probably a better

way to put it. I have to go back to Indiana on Friday morning. I

just hope the prosecutor holds off on making a statement before

then.”

“So how was it going back to work? Are they calling for your

head?”

“Not yet. Fortunately, Alvin Baxter is a careless bigot, so my

party has its hands full trying not to alienate an entire race of

voters.”

“But you’ve got to like his timing.”

“No kidding. Whoever took that video probably had no idea

they were doing me such a favor . . . hmm.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I just had a wild thought. Forget it.”

“So what are you doing tonight?”

“Boring stuff.”

“Me too. Why don’t you sneak back over here? I’ll make an

ice cream run and set up the backgammon board.”

“That’s tempting.”

“Does that mean yes?”

Glynn sighed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, okay?” Charlotte stiffened, bracing herself for a polite but firm

brush-off. “Okay.”

“You’re my safety net. I hate to risk just hopping into my car and driving over, because I don’t want to be followed by the

press.”

“I get that. Why did you think I’d take it the wrong way?” “Because you’re more than just a place to hide. You’re the

only person who makes me forget just for a minute that all this

crap is going on.”

“Then logic should prevail. Your things are already here.

The fire is warm and toasty. And I’m in attack mode for

backgammon.”

“And I have at least two carloads of reporters parked in front

of my house. If I drive off, they’ll follow me.”

“Why don’t you slip out the back door and hop on the Metro?

I’ll pick you up at Cleveland Park in twenty minutes. You up for

that?”

“That sounds very sneaky, Charlotte. Do you do this sort of

thing often?”

“I’ll never tell. Bring something to wear on Monday, and I’ll

take you for your treatment before work.”

“You’re a lifesaver. Can we talk about Michael’s deposition

with Sebby, or is that off limits?”

“Ferrin knows we’re friends, and he didn’t advise me not to

talk with you.”

“Good. I really want your take on this, and I promise not to

put you in the middle of my war with Mark McKee.” “I appreciate that.”

Charlotte hung up and let her head fall back on the couch.

She was gradually giving herself permission to forge ahead with

Glynn, deciding once and for all that she wasn’t breaking any

ethical rules. That didn’t mean she was going to announce their

friendship to everyone at work, but she wasn’t going to lose any

more sleep over it. Her arguments were solid—Sebby was no

longer her patient, so his care could not be compromised. And

while Glynn was emotionally vulnerable, she was mature enough

to know the difference between a real friend and an authority

figure taking advantage.

• • •

Glynn dialed nervously and waited for an answer. “It’s ringing,” she said to Charlotte, who sat beside her on the couch. “Hi, stranger. It’s Glynn. How have you been?”

After a brief moment of silence, Stephanie answered. “Hi, yourself. I’ve been thinking about you.”

“I bet.” Glynn was relieved to hear what sounded like genuine friendship in Stephanie’s voice. “Before I say anything else, you know this is all a mistake, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. But what’s up with Sebby? Your son worships you. Why is he accusing you of this?”

Glynn filled her in on the details of her son’s suicide attempt and subsequent placement in a treatment center. “According to the therapist, this is something Sebby’s been suppressing for all these years. It’s really scary what little details he remembers about the day Bas died, but then he adds the big one that never happened. I don’t have any idea where he got this or why. Anyway, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. It seems the prosecutor thinks my proclivity toward women is a decent motive for killing my husband. And your name is bound to come up during depositions.”

“Am I going to be on TV? I’ll need a haircut.”

That reaction wasn’t at all what Glynn had expected. “Are you sure you heard what I said? You’re supposed to be freaking out.”

“I talked to Edwin about it last year when things got serious with Debbie. This living-in-the-closet shit is for the birds. Edwin’s okay with it . . . my family’s okay with it. So no big deal.”

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in trading jobs and families.”

“No, thanks. So is that what this is all about with Sebby? Is he still upset about you and me?”

“I don’t think so. Charlotte thinks he’s scared about the breast cancer thing, and that’s why he tried to hurt himself.” She related the news of her progress with her radiation treatments. “I haven’t even had time to worry about it. I know it’s going to hit me one of these days, but right now, I can’t even think about it.”

“If you need anything at all . . .”

“The only thing I need is to know you can handle what’s coming. My lawyer’s trying to draft a statement where I basically tell them everything and let them verify it so they won’t go digging around in my personal life and calling witnesses.”

“A stipulation.”

“That’s right.”

“Just make sure you spell my name right.” Her voice was warm and teasing.

“Stephanie, you’re a jewel.”

“And if you need a character witness, I’ll tell them what a character you are.”

“Thanks. Thanks for everything.”

Charlotte folded her arms and smirked. “I get to say I told you so.”

“Told me what?”

“I told you if you asked your friends for help, they’d be there.”

“So you did. But you’ll notice my family hasn’t exactly rushed to my aid. And when the part about Stephanie hits the papers, that’ll be all she wrote.”

“You don’t know that for sure, Glynn. Give them a chance.”

Glynn sighed. “The way I look at it, I’ve got three things to worry about—my son getting his head on straight, beating breast cancer and keeping myself out of jail—in that order. I don’t need to add parental hostility to the list. Their indifference is enough.”

Chapter 16

From her office window, Glynn had a slim view of the growing crowd on the Capitol steps. The better view was on television, where political analysts were gauging the fallout from Alvin Baxter’s gaffe, and assessing if his impending resignation after thirty-four years in the House would be enough to allow the Republican party to recover.

“Glynn?” Mary Ann appeared in her doorway. “Congressman Stines’s secretary is on the phone. They want a meeting at one thirty.”

Stines was the minority leader, and now that Baxter was history, Glynn was back in their sights. “Figures. They’re not even waiting for Baxter’s body to get cold.”

She closed her office door and dialed Michael’s cell phone. “Your favorite murder suspect has been summoned to a meeting with the top dogs at one thirty. Can you be there?”

“I have a meeting with Ferrin in twenty minutes to go over your stipulation, but that shouldn’t take long. I was just watching Baxter’s farewell speech. He still doesn’t get it, does he?”

“There are more like him waiting in the wings, I’m afraid, and they’re on both sides of the aisle.”

“All the more reason to convince your party leaders not to offer you up for slaughter too. Were those reporters still hanging out in front of your house this morning?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t go home. Charlotte dropped me off here after my treatment this morning.”

“You might want to consider making that a permanent move, depending on how this meeting goes. With Baxter gone, the press will be looking for a new amusement.”

“Did you call David Pender?”

“Yes, he’s putting together a few more questions, and we’ll all sit down together to talk about it for a piece in Sunday’s Post.”

“My official coming out party.”

“Oh, and we had a little setback this morning with Judge Bowers.”

“You mean this can get worse?”

“She’s allowing cameras.”

“How can they do that? Sebby’s a minor.”

“It’s a big case. Ferrin wants to be on television.”

Glynn sat in her chair and spun. “When this is over, I’m having him audited every year for the rest of his life. And Mark McKee too.”

He sighed. “I can see we still need to work on your public persona.”

“You mean my public façade.”

“Call it whatever you want. Just make sure you smile and offer your appreciation for McKee’s concern.”

“If you’ll excuse me now, I have to go throw up.”

He chuckled. “I’ll meet you in your office at one.”

Glynn dialed Charlotte’s cell phone, expecting to leave a message. She was surprised when Charlotte answered.

“Do you have a minute?”

“More like . . . forty-five seconds.”

“I just wondered if I’d worn out my welcome yet.” “Of course not.”

“That’s good. Now that Baxter’s old news, Michael thinks I ought to stay out of sight for a few more days until I leave for Indiana.”

“See you tonight then. I’ve got to run.”

Glynn closed her phone and allowed herself a smile. This wasn’t going to be an easy day, but at least she had something to look forward to.

Charlotte followed her patient into the lobby and checked her mailbox. “Is Brandon back from his seminar?”

“He just came in,” Joyce answered.

Charlotte walked down the hall and tapped on her colleague’s door, then entered his office. Without waiting for an invitation, she closed his door and took a seat on the couch.

Brandon set aside the folder he was working on and looked at her with amusement. “Something on your mind?”

“I need to talk to someone and you’re it.”

He came from behind his desk and sat in a chair next to her. “Is this about Julie?”

She cocked her head in confusion. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

He shrugged. “Nothing in particular. We both tend to shut the door when we talk about personal stuff.”

Charlotte thought about it and chuckled at the irony. “But when we talk about our patients, we leave the door open.”

“That’s right. I think we subconsciously separate professional confidences from personal ones.”

“This one is both.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What’s up?”

Charlotte nervously picked at the fabric on the couch, not making eye contact. “Remember a while back when I mentioned I’d had coffee with that congresswoman?”

“The one that murdered her husband?”

Charlotte bristled. “She didn’t murder her husband. Her son’s confused, and for some reason, Mark McKee isn’t asking enough questions to get to the bottom of it.”

He held up a finger as if to caution her. “Charlotte, it’s one thing to not want to believe something, but you can’t go around questioning another doctor’s treatment plan without solid information.”

She slumped against the back of the couch and sighed. “I know. It’s just that Sebby remembers parts of the story with amazing accuracy. But other parts seem like they’re just pieced together, like they’re fabricated.”

Brandon cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You and the congresswoman have gotten to be friends, right?”

She nodded.

“Are you sure you aren’t just believing what you want to believe because his mom says so?”

Charlotte sighed. It was a fair question, but she was prepared. “I think Mark has taken everything Sebby said at face value, and he stopped digging too soon.”

“Have you talked to him?”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“That’s why you shut the door, isn’t it?”

Charlotte shifted in her seat and looked at him sheepishly.

“Christ, Charlotte. Are you involved with her?”

“No . . . not technically.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

She didn’t like his judgmental tone. “Look, Brandon . . . we’re not lovers. Are you satisfied, or did that burst your titillated bubble?”

He glared at her angrily. “I didn’t deserve that.”

Charlotte took a deep breath and calmed herself. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“So what’s going on?” he asked, all traces of disapproval gone.

“She’s been staying at my house for the past week, hiding out from the press. And on top of murder charges and almost losing her son to a suicide attempt, she’s getting radiation treatments for breast cancer.”

He looked at her a long time before responding. “She’s definitely a sympathetic figure.”

“It isn’t just that, Brandon. I’ve heard her talk about her husband. She loved him, and they had a good life. They were happy. Even Sebby remembers that, which makes the rest of it not fit.”

“So what’s the story? I haven’t seen much in the papers.”

Charlotte filled him in on the background.

“You know what it sounds like?”

“I know what I think, but I want to hear it from you.”

“Sleepwalking.”

“Exactly. Part of me hopes they turn up something in a sleep test, but I don’t know how she’ll live with thinking she killed her husband in her sleep. And I don’t know if her son will accept that explanation.”

“Maybe not, but it’s better than life in prison.”

“Yeah, and it’s probably better than being found not guilty, but everybody thinking you probably did it and got it away with it. Sebby’s the one she has to convince.”

“Can I ask a question without getting my head chopped off?”

Charlotte took in his injured-puppy look and chuckled. “You want to know about Glynn and me?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s getting to me. I like her a lot.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He didn’t sound happy, which begged a question she didn’t really want to ask. “Do you think I’m doing something unethical?”

“It’s not for me to judge.”

“I’m asking you as a friend.”

“As your friend, I can vouch for you. The Charlotte Blue I know would never do anything improper.”

“Man, you have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

“Dr. Perdue might not be so trusting.”

Charlotte slapped her knees and stood. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Your opinion is the one that matters most.”

Michael held the door for Glynn. “Are you nervous about this?”

“Not really,” she said. “I pulled more votes in my district than either of these guys did in theirs. How did your meeting with Ferrin go?”

“He’s good with our stipulation, but he still wants to recall your staff to verify the dates you provided.”

“He can call Stephanie if he wants. She came out last year to her boss.”

Michael smiled in evident relief. “That should help us. If you’ll give me her number, I’ll pass that on.”

“Does he honestly think I offed my husband because I had a girlfriend waiting in the wings?”

“I don’t think so. He needs a theory, though, something to tie it all together. He knows the jury isn’t going to like his argument if he can’t offer a possible motive.”

Glynn shook her head. “That’s pretty flimsy.”

“That’s why I think we should steal his thunder and get it out there before he does. Since it’s coming out in the Post on Sunday, we might as well tell your party bosses this afternoon.”

“I think they would rather I just be a murderer.”

They reached the outer office of Allan Stines, Republican minority leader, where the receptionist greeted them. “Congresswoman, they’re waiting for you.” She knocked once and opened the door.

Glynn and Michael entered the office, an expansive chamber decorated in dark mahogany and upholstered in rich masculine tones. Stines immediately stood alongside Clayton Michener, minority whip. Both were sixty-ish white men in gray suits, the staple of their party, it seemed to Glynn. Stines obviously colored his hair, perhaps in deference to the younger woman rumored to be his mistress.

Glynn made the introductions and took the offered seat on the sofa. Michael sat beside her.

“Thank you for rearranging your schedule to meet with us, Glynn.”

“I’m eager to get out in front of this, gentlemen. On the advice of my attorney, I’ve been avoiding public comment, but I believe it’s time to take a stand.”

Michener spoke up. “In light of our recent experience with Congressman Baxter, the party feels a housecleaning might be in order. We were hoping you would help us avoid further scrutiny and criticism. We believe you should resign immediately . . . for the good of the party, of course.”

“You certainly don’t beat around the bush,” she said dryly.

Michael cleared his throat. “As the congresswoman’s attorney, I have advised a different approach. A resignation at this time would be disastrous to her defense, as she has done nothing improper. Some would view her departure as an admission of guilt.”

Stines lit a cigarette, a flagrant violation of rules within the Capitol complex, but one he flaunted as a party leader. “The problem of public image is a much bigger issue than the reputation of any individual within the party, Mr. Gattison. The congresswoman understands this position and has supported it herself in the past.”

“When did I—”

He picked up a clipping. “I have a public statement from you three years ago in which you were advocating the resignation of our Democratic colleague from Florida, Congressman Winters. You said it was in the best interest of everyone—including his entire party—for him to resign immediately.”

Michael laughed with obvious incredulity. “Winters was arrested for slapping his wife at a cookout in front of two dozen witnesses. You can’t possibly consider these two cases to be similar in evidence.”

Michener went on. “Glynn, we have in hand the results of some internal polling to gauge the fallout from the recent scandals. It is a fact that your continued membership in Congress is a detriment to our efforts to maintain a positive image with our values voters.”

“Did you ask specifically about Congresswoman Wright, or was this a generic poll?” Michael demanded.

“We did not mention the congresswoman by name, but a solid majority of voters agreed that murder charges against one of our elected officials reflect poorly on the party.”

“With all due respect, doesn’t that strike you as a loaded question? Of course voters are upset by allegations. But you didn’t demand your president resign when there were allegations of wrongdoing or when public opinion ran against him. Did you?”

“Gentlemen, let’s not debate this,” Glynn said. “I have no intention of giving up my seat unless the voters in Indiana decide they want someone else. I think this is a good time to remind people that our constitution guarantees the presumption of innocence. I did not commit a crime, and I will not resign.”

Stines blew out a thick stream of smoke and stubbed out his cigarette. “I hope you’ll reconsider, Glynn. We can’t afford to lose your seat or any others if this paints us all in a bad light.”

“I think it will be a worse reflection on our party if my resignation makes voters assume I’m guilty. I don’t know where my son’s allegations are coming from, but he’s had a great deal of difficulty dealing with his memories of his father’s death. If I’m guilty of anything, it’s of not being attuned to his emotional needs. I will rectify that. I love my son, and we will get to the bottom of this and put it behind us once and for all.”

She started to stand, but Michael tugged at her sleeve. “There are a couple of other things we should bring to your attention. In the next few days, the district attorney will begin putting his case together publicly. He will argue that Congresswoman Wright killed her husband to free herself from marriage so she could pursue relationships with other women.”

“Excuse me?” The veins on Michener’s forehead suddenly popped out. “Are you telling us you’re a lesbian?”

“No, Clayton. I’m telling you I’m bisexual. And while it grieves me to share such personal information with those who don’t know me or care about me personally, I’m not going to sit by in silence as if I’m ashamed of who I am.”

Michener slumped in his chair. “There go four million votes in the next general election.”

“That’s the party’s fault if you ask me,” Glynn said sardonically. “But no one ever does. They stick to their old conventions and lose more voters every year.”

“It’s about coalitions, Glynn. You know that.”

“I know it used to be. But this hard-line anti-gay stance is going to undermine our efforts to recruit younger voters.”

“We aren’t anti-gay,” Michener said. “We’re working from within to adopt a more inclusive position, but these things take time.”

“They take a lot longer when you backslide,” she said.

Michael took her elbow now and nudged her from her seat. “One other thing you should know . . . Congresswoman Wright is currently undergoing treatment for breast cancer. We would appreciate any support you can give her with the press, as it would free her to concentrate on a cure.”

Stines and Michener stood when she did, both wearing indignant scowls. Michael had them over a barrel, she realized. “As I said, if my voters call for my resignation, I’ll clear the deck. Until then, thank you for your understanding and support. It means so much at a time like this.”

• • • “Didn’t I tell you coming out was liberating?” Charlotte asked, pleased at Glynn’s blushing smile. They were enjoying hot cocoa on her couch, a soft fire setting a cozy mood.

“Yes.”

“Now don’t you wish you’d spoken up sooner?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. My constituents aren’t going to like

this at all. I just have to convince them I’ll keep working for the things they want.”

“You have a long list of accomplishments, Glynn. Surely, that will carry more weight than you having a girlfriend.”

“Except that homophobes aren’t really known for their rational thought.”

“True.”

“Did you ever have any problems when you came out?”

“Not really. Back then, I knew better than to mention my sexuality in my applications to medical school, but it isn’t a big secret now.”

“So everyone knows you’re a lesbian?”

“Probably.”

“How did your family react?”

“Mostly okay. They were far more scandalized when my sister had an affair with the minister. Those were exciting times.” Charlotte enjoyed Glynn’s laugh. “What? No one in your family ever did that?”

“If they did, they kept it quiet.”

“Claire doesn’t do anything quietly. At least she was between husbands at the time.”

“How old is your sister?”

“Forty-two. Currently separated from husband number three.”

“Wow.”

“The hardest thing about being around my sister is forgetting I’m a psychiatrist. She’s a walking personality disorder.”

Glynn shook her head. “How could two such different people come from the same family?”

Charlotte had asked herself that question many times. “I don’t know. Obviously, Claire doesn’t put much stock in fidelity or commitment, and that’s not what we learned at home. Our parents have been married forty-four years and they adore each other.”

“Aw, that’s sweet. So are you the fidelity and commitment type?”

“I’ve always thought so. That’s why I tried so hard with Vera, even after I knew she was screwing around.”

“I don’t know how you stood that. If Bas had ever cheated on me, that would have been the end of us.”

“I think that’s true of most people. I just kept hoping Vera would realize what she had at home was the real thing.”

Glynn turned sideways on the couch and crossed her bare feet next to Charlotte’s thigh. “Do you think you’ll love anyone that much again?”

“If I didn’t think I could do better for myself than Vera, I wouldn’t bother looking anymore. But I’m sure I can. I think I have a lot to give someone, but I only want to give it to someone who can return it.”

Glynn wiggled her toes against Charlotte’s leg as if giving her a pat. “You do have a lot to give.”

Their conversations had become increasingly personal, both peeling back the layers of their emotions. Charlotte had never talked this way with Julie. In fact, it was hard to remember ever talking this deeply with Vera, though she was sure they had in the beginning. “And what about you? Will you ever have again what you had with Bas?”

Glynn shook her head. “I don’t think so, but that’s because we had Sebby. And also because of the type of person Bas was. His political ambition was the center of our lives, even more than our son in some ways.”

“I can see how that would be pretty hard to replicate . . . unless you fell for another politician who wanted children.”

“A likelihood of zero. I hope I’ll find love again, but it won’t be anything like that.”

“What do you think it will be like?” Charlotte couldn’t resist asking the question any more than she could stop herself from grasping the toes that brushed against her thighs.

“I think it will be a woman . . . and our life will be about us. Sebby’s nearly grown, and I don’t plan on filling my empty nest with my job.”

Charlotte nudged the stack of journals on the coffee table with her foot. “I know what you mean.”

“But one thing I hope is the same. I want my lover to also be my best friend, like Bas was . . . someone I can talk to about anything, someone who will stand with me when I need it most.”

A shiver ran up her back as she met Glynn’s candid gaze, and an unspoken promise passed between them. If they weathered these trials, love might be waiting on the other side.

Chapter 17

Glynn spotted Michael’s car in the parking lot and directed Tina to the vacant space alongside. “I shouldn’t be long.”

“Thanks for coming back,” he said as he opened her door.

“I don’t have much time. My plane leaves at a quarter past ten.”

“This will be worth it.” He led her into the sleep center and past the reception area to an office that held several chairs and a large-screen television. “We don’t have long, Doctor. Can you fast-forward to the spot you wanted to show her?”

Glynn had left the center only two hours earlier, barely enough time for her treatment and the trip to her office and back here. She settled into a chair, eager to see what had Michael so excited.

The doctor who had directed her evaluation was poring over a graph. He used a remote control to advance the video. “You said this morning that you slept through the night.” “That’s right.”

“Do you remember waking at all? Maybe just a little disoriented?”

She shook her head. The physical exhaustion that had plagued her since her treatments began had brought her easy sleep, free of worry and discomforting dreams.

“Here’s what we saw at two twenty-three.”

She stared in amazement to see herself awaken suddenly, wide-eyed and seemingly alert. She had sat up straight in bed and looked around the room, her face blank. Then just as suddenly, she fell back and closed her eyes, fast asleep again.

“Do you remember sitting up, Glynn?” Michael asked.

“Not at all.”

“I’m not surprised,” the doctor said. “This is the most common manifestation of somnambulism . . . sleepwalking. Not all of those who experience it actually get out of bed, but nearly all of those who do get out of bed also have episodes much like this one.”

“So . . .” Glynn looked from the doctor to Michael and back. “You’re saying that I walk in my sleep?”

“You certainly have that propensity. Your brain activity clearly showed a semiconscious state, which is very difficult to simulate if one is actually aware.”

“This is very good news, Glynn,” Michael said.

She fought back a wave of nausea. “Except that it means I might have killed my husband.”

“. . . but the funeral is first on our schedule at two o’clock,” Randy explained, handing Glynn an updated copy of her itinerary for the next two days. “These are the Walcotts. Their daughter June was one of the Marines killed by that car bomb at the embassy in Jakarta.”

Glynn shuddered with sadness. Her own troubles paled against the task of burying a child. “I need to go home and change into a dark suit.” The bright red one she had worn from Washington wouldn’t work for a funeral.

“Let’s grab a quick bite and I’ll take you by your house.” “And are we set for the town meeting?”

“Six thirty at the community center.”

Glynn got up from behind her desk. “My attorney is flying

in this afternoon. I told him to come straight here to the office.

Will you see that he gets there?”

“I’ll ask Susan to give him directions. Is he renting a car?” “No, I’m sure he’s hired a limo from the airport.” “He must have money.”

Glynn snorted. “Yeah, my money.” She had already paid

Michael a fifty-thousand-dollar retainer to cover his preparation time and expenses. By the end of her trial, the price tag could double, practically draining her savings. At least Sebby had the trust from Bas’s estate.

“I still can’t get over this, Glynn. Is there any more news about where Sebby could have gotten all this?”

She sighed and came around her desk to sit in a chair next to her aide. “We’re pursuing a few things, Randy. I spent last night at the Center for Sleep Disorders. It turns out my sleep patterns are very similar to those of confirmed sleepwalkers. In fact, the doctor thinks it’s entirely possible I could have done this in my sleep, acting out some sort of trauma from the things I saw in Bosnia.” Each time she related the doctor’s findings, her stomach lurched. “On the one hand, it’s the only thing that could explain what Sebby claims to have seen.”

“And on the other . . .”

“It means I killed my husband,” she said softly. “I wish there were another explanation, but Sebby’s memory is matching up to some of the details in the police report, things he couldn’t have known.”

“Is there any chance someone planted the idea in his head?”

That was an avenue Glynn had thought about quite a bit, especially during the night she spent in jail. The idea that someone was using her son to frame her for murder was so far-fetched she didn’t dare bring it up for fear of sounding paranoid. “Who would want to hurt me, Randy? What have I ever done to deserve something like that?”

He shook his head. “I can’t imagine it, Glynn. But I can’t imagine you killing Bas either, not even in your sleep.”

“Look, I need to give you a heads-up about something. There’s going to be a story about me in the Post on Sunday. I told them a few things I haven’t told many people, and there might be some fallout when it hits the wire.”

Randy nodded earnestly. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.”

“I hope we can. The reporter I talked with was David Pender, who did that series last summer on the preschool bill. He’s a friendly, but I went on the record about some things that are going to raise eyebrows. The first is this sleepwalking defense. I didn’t say it happened, but I told him it was the only possible way Sebby’s story could be true.”

“That shouldn’t hurt us too bad, but there will probably be a lot of people who don’t buy it.”

“I know that. And there will be a lot more people who won’t like the next part of the story, which is that before Bas and I were married, and again several years ago, I had romantic relationships with women.”

Try as he did, Randy couldn’t conceal his shock.

“The prosecutor plans to argue that I killed Bas because I was trapped in our marriage and unfulfilled. Nothing could be further from the truth. I wanted to grow old with Bas Wright, and I would have been fulfilled with him until my last breath.”

“It, uh . . . it would probably help us if you went on camera and said that last part.”

“I will, but not until the story breaks. I’m scheduled to go on CNN next Monday, and I’ll probably do the morning news shows later in the week.”

Randy nodded as she spoke, scribbling furiously into his notebook. “I’ll try to line up supporters here to talk to the press.”

“That’ll be great, Randy. And the other thing . . . I’m sorry I haven’t told you this already. I had a breast exam about six weeks ago and they found a small growth. I had it removed and I’m getting radiation treatments. I didn’t want to tell anyone about it, but frankly, I could use the sympathy.”

Randy shook his head, his mouth agape in apparent disbelief. “Glynn, that’s awful. You should have said something. I could have rearranged everything and let you take it easy.”

“It’s all right. I caught it early and it’s under control. And I only have one more week of treatments, which means I’ll be getting more rest.”

“I can’t believe all this shit you’re going through. One person shouldn’t have to deal with all this.”

“Fortunately, I’m not dealing with it alone. Tina and Roy have been rock-solid, and I have a good friend who’s driving me to my treatments every day and even hiding me from the press.”

“And Mrs. Wright?”

Glynn shook her head sadly at the mention of her mother-inlaw. “I’ve left her three messages since my arrest and she hasn’t called me back.”

“She’s probably just confused by all of this.”

“Maybe, but I would have thought eighteen years as a part of her family would be worth the benefit of the doubt, or at least a willingness to listen to my side of the story.”

Randy checked his watch. “We need to go so you’ll have time to change. You’re handing out trophies tomorrow at the youth recreation league. Why don’t you go see Irene when we’re finished?”

She met his grim look. “I need her, don’t I?”

He nodded. “If she comes out against you, you’re toast.”

Charlotte opened the manila envelope and withdrew the documents.

After reading the transcripts of Sebby’s evaluation, the prosecutor had no additional questions for her regarding the boy’s psychiatric condition or care. Instead, he had zeroed in on Sebby’s recounting of the events surrounding his father’s death, highlighting the recollection that his mother had told him what happened. Charlotte was instructed to prepare to appear in court to testify regarding the authenticity of the transcript.

It was better than she expected, since Ferrin’s accompanying letter excused her from testifying about Glynn’s request to keep her relationships with women out of her son’s therapy sessions. The downside was, as a witness, she was barred from attending the trial, which meant she couldn’t come to the courtroom in a show of support for Glynn.

She scrolled through the calendar on her desk. A small red asterisk marked the start date for Glynn’s trial, only a month away. Michael said they would likely kick off with two days of pretrial motions and jury selection, meaning the trial itself would start on the seventh of April. Given the witness list, he expected it to last no longer than two weeks.

She pulled a form from her desk and filled in the dates. If she timed her vacation request right, she could catch it gavel-togavel on the Court Channel, and be close by for Glynn whenever she needed encouragement or help.

“. . . and I’m certain the ethanol bill working its way through the Senate now is going to be a boon to our corn farmers.”

She looked at her notes for more good news, increasingly wary of throwing the floor open for questions. Over sixty people had shown up for the town hall meeting. At least a third of them appeared to be press.

“And that summarizes my legislative agenda. I know a lot of you turned out tonight hoping to hear more about the big story in the news . . . about the allegations I was involved in my husband’s death. I want all of you to know these charges shocked me as much as they did you. Many of you knew Bas, and—”

“If the charges aren’t true, why is your son lying?” a voice shouted from the back of the room. Other reporters chimed in with similar questions, all clamoring for a sound bite.

Randy jumped to his feet. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. This is not a press conference. The congresswoman called this meeting to discuss her legislative agenda with her constituents, and their questions are her priority.”

A hand went up in the audience and Glynn sucked in a breath. “Yes?”

Marlon Calder, an area farmer, was a regular at her public events. He cleared his throat as he stood and looked around nervously, apparently intimidated by the presence of so many cameras and reporters. He nodded as he addressed her. “Congresswoman.”

“Yes, Mr. Calder. Do you have a question?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s sort of like the one that fellow just asked. As you know, my son Virgil was a friend of your husband’s, and because of that, I always supported him . . . and now you. I met your boy a few times, and I always thought he was a nice young man.”

“Thank you. I think so too.”

“Can you tell us why he’s saying you killed Bas?”

Glynn left the microphone and paced slowly in front of the crowd, rubbing her chin pensively. “I wish I knew the answer to that, Mr. Calder. The fact is my son has had a great deal of difficulty dealing with the loss of his father. I think part of the problem stems from the fact that Sebby—my son—was the one who discovered Bas after he’d been electrocuted in the bathtub. I have always maintained that I was asleep when the accident occurred. I had returned from Bosnia only two days earlier and was jet-lagged. My son awakened me after the accident and I found Bas dead. That, Mr. Calder, is absolutely all I know.”

On Michael’s advice, she was careful not to say anything that would contradict a defense of sleepwalking.

“Thank you.”

Several hands went up as he sat back down. Glynn called on Warren Pewter, a Democratic activist who dogged her at nearly every public event. “Have you considered stepping down and allowing the governor to appoint someone to fill out your term?”

It was exactly the question she would have expected from Pewter, especially since Indiana’s governor was a Democrat and more likely to appoint someone from his own party. “No, I have not.” Without hesitation, she pointed toward a woman on the front row, a face she didn’t recognize.

“I just wanted to say that I’m embarrassed about being the laughing stock of the whole country because people think we elected a murderer to represent us. Whether you did it or not, I agree with that man. You should resign for the good of the whole district.”

Her comment brought a murmur of discussion, which erupted into argument in only a matter of seconds.

Glynn held up her hand to quiet the crowd. “I’m sorry you feel embarrassed, and I can understand that, but here’s how I see it. If I resign, some people will think it’s because I’m guilty. I’m not. Furthermore, our constitution says I’m innocent until guilt is proven beyond a reasonable doubt. And that’s a very important distinction. When my trial begins, that man over there”—she pointed to Michael—“will defend me against the charges. You will probably hear conflicting versions of events. Jurors will have to decide if the evidence against me proves beyond a reasonable doubt that I committed the crime for which I’m charged. You’ve all read that in books or seen it on TV, right?”

Heads bobbed up and down.

“How many of you have sat on a jury before?”

Several hands went up.

“You know, then, that if the evidence against me causes a reasonable person to have doubts about my guilt, I should be acquitted of the charges. But no matter what the jury says, I know all of you will be sitting in judgment too. You’ll go to the polls next year and decide if I’m the person you want to represent you in Congress. I’m not asking for your vote for next year. This isn’t the time for that. I’m asking for your vote of confidence today, and for your commitment to the principles of justice that make this country great.”

She hoped her words would buy her some time and leeway, but there was one more thing she wanted to say tonight, perhaps the most important message she could convey.

“I want everyone here to know how much I love my son. Nothing he might say could ever change that. This is a very difficult time for us, but we will beat this together, and we will heal. I want to ask all of you to please respect my son’s privacy on these matters as much as possible.” She pointed to the reporters at the back of the room. “And that goes double for you guys.”

On that note, Randy was ready to wrap things up, but one woman jumped to her feet, insistent on making a statement. Valerie Clarkson, a school curriculum supervisor, smiled warmly at Glynn.

Glynn hoped Valerie would remind people one last time of the positive impact her legislative acts had had on local issues, and she wasn’t disappointed.

“I just want to say thank you, Congresswoman, for all the hard work you’ve done on our behalf in Washington. That preschool bill you’ve been pushing in Congress is just what we need to get our test scores up and get more funds for our schools.”

Glynn smiled her appreciation for the praise.

Valerie turned and faced the audience. “And as far as that other stuff goes, I think everyone should also keep in mind that this woman lost her husband tragically, and she’s obviously still heartbroken about that, or she would have married again.”

Glynn felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach as she watched the crowd nod in unison. They weren’t going to like it on Sunday when the other shoe dropped.

“All in all, I think it went about as well as we could have expected,” Michael said. They had managed to escape the meeting without a confrontation with the press, and were now debriefing in the living room of Glynn’s modest home. “You did a great job of choosing your words about what you remember. It’ll be easier later if we have to go with the sleepwalking defense, because you won’t be on record saying Sebby’s making this up.”

“I hate this, Michael. I hate even thinking I might have killed Bas. How could I have done something like that and not even remember a thing about it?” She kicked off her shoes and crossed her feet on the coffee table.

“You heard what the doctor said. Most sleepwalkers remember nothing.” Michael relaxed too—as much as Glynn had ever seen—by slightly loosening his tie.

“I also heard him say most sleepwalkers do it on a regular basis. If that’s the case, why hasn’t anyone else ever noticed me walking around at night in a coma?”

“Perhaps that’s because no one has been there to notice. You haven’t slept with anyone regularly. Have you?”

Glynn shook her head. “Even when I was seeing Stephanie, we rarely stayed the night together. Just a handful of times when we went out of town.”

“So for all you know, you walk in your sleep all the time. You leave doors open, lights on, dishes in the sink.”

“That’s what Charlotte said. But I told her it was hard to separate what might be me sleepwalking from what is definitely typical after-hours behavior of a teenager.”

“You need to stop making assumptions that work against you and try seeing the other side. What if it wasn’t Sebby doing those things? What if it was you all along?”

Glynn still didn’t want to think about it, because her mind’s eye conjured a scene in which Bas frantically pleaded with her not to push the television into the tub. She could almost see it, but she couldn’t bear to think it might have happened.

“I got this report before I left my office. You might want to take a look.” He handed her a two-page executive summary of an opinion poll from her district. The lead question asked if voters would support her in the next election.

“I’ve lost twelve percent.”

“I know. Your vote tallies from the last race are on the second page. I think it’s going to be an uphill fight to keep your seat, Glynn.”

“The election’s nineteen months away. What’s my job approval?” she asked, scanning the bullet points.

“We got a lot of neutrals. They’re reserving judgment.”

“So that’s not a problem if I’m acquitted.”

“You said it yourself, Glynn. Reasonable doubt isn’t going to satisfy everyone, especially if we go with the sleepwalking defense.”

“What are you saying?”

“I think the sleepwalking thing is a last resort. But that’s because my job is to get you acquitted, not to get you re-elected. You need to decide what’s important here before we start playing it up. If getting re-elected is what you want, we need to forget about you sleepwalking and go for broke that Sebby didn’t see what he claims.”

“My list is already long enough.”

“What list?”

“I was telling Charlotte the other night that I had three priorities—getting Sebby back on track, beating breast cancer and staying out of prison. That’s enough to worry about. I’m not going to add getting re-elected on top of it.”

“I’ve got to agree with you on that.” He stood and pulled on his overcoat. “And on that note, I think I should go and let you get some rest.”

“You’ve missed the last plane back to D.C., you know.”

He shrugged. “I’ll manage.”

“Don’t go ordering a private jet, okay?”

“I guess I should have rented a compact, huh?” he said, nodding through her window to the curb, where his limo waited.

“That’s what I do. Or I have Randy pick me up if I’m going to be here more than just a couple of days.”

He smirked and picked up his briefcase. “Since you bring that up, I think you ought to cancel any more trips back here before the trial. I’m going to need you in D.C. to prepare your defense, and I hate to think how much things are going to heat up once the story breaks about Stephanie.”

“I can’t bother to care, Michael. Being around Charlotte has helped me see another side to all of that. If you can’t be happy in your own skin, you can’t be happy anywhere.” She walked him to the door.

“I like Charlotte. She’s been a big help to us.”

“I like her too. She’s been the only good thing to come out of this.” Glynn could feel her face getting red, and bit her tongue before saying too much. “See you Monday?”

“Come to my office when you finish for the day. We can prep your appearance on CNN. It will all be old news by then.”

She watched him walk to the waiting car, then shut her door and locked it. Not since her first visit home with Bas had she felt so out of place in rural Indiana.

Glynn drove by the farmhouse twice, confirming that her mother-in-law’s car was parked in the back. On the third pass, she turned into the driveway, her stomach in knots as she readied herself for what would surely be an awkward meeting.

As a mother, she understood Irene’s perspective. The woman had lost her husband and son tragically, and the only sliver of each that remained was Sebby. Irene had to cling to her grandson, even if it meant alienating her daughter-in-law.

By coming to the house today, Glynn hoped to convince her they could fight this together, that it might take both of them to pull Sebby from the dark abyss where he had spent the past eleven years. He would know more loss in his lifetime, and she and Irene could share with him the strength they had developed through losses of their own.

Her hands shaking, she turned off the engine and got out. The seven steps to the front porch felt more like seventy, but she finally reached the door. Drawing a deep breath for courage, she knocked sharply on the wooden screen. The sound of footsteps inside quickened her pulse further.

And suddenly, there he was, facing her from the other side of the screen. “Mom?”

“Sebby,” she whispered, her knees almost giving way. “Oh, son . . .”

“Go away,” Irene barked, appearing abruptly to step between them at the door. “Go now, or I’ll call the sheriff. You’re trespassing.”

Glynn stepped back in shock as the door slammed in her face. If she lived to be a hundred years old, she would never forget the look of anguish in her son’s eyes.

Chapter 18

“I can’t believe this is happening again,” Tina said, laughing as she reached for more chips.

Roy grabbed the remote and turned up the volume on Charlotte’s television. “Hush, I want to hear what Thomason says.”

Glynn came up behind them with a tray of cheese and crackers. “I’m starting to think I have a guardian angel who sneaks around and takes compromising videos and posts them on the Internet just when all the cameras are about to point in my direction.”

Michael and Charlotte joined them just in time to hear the Senate majority leader respond to the commentator’s question. “Anytime we have an abuse of the public trust, we take it seriously. Our party leaders are going to have a long hard look at Senator Woodson’s behavior, and if he is found to have committed ethical breaches, he will be held accountable.”

“I would think soliciting a prostitute meets that threshold,” Roy said. “Some might even call it a criminal offense.”

“Nah, Democrats don’t consider that criminal,” Tina joked.

“Hey, watch it,” Charlotte said. “Some of us are enlightened liberals.”

Michael watched the interview from over their shoulder. “I think it’s amazing someone just happened to be there with a camera to film that. What are the odds?”

“It’s common knowledge in congressional circles that Woodson’s been doing this for several years. It was just a matter of time before someone made hay of it,” Roy explained.

“And he’s not the only one,” Tina added. “One of these days, they’re going to catch—” She covered her mouth and mumbled something that sounded like Allan Stines.

“Well, whoever did it, I appreciate it,” Glynn said. “I need all the help I can get.” At Charlotte’s urging, she had gathered her closest friends on the eve of her trial. Roy was set to testify in her defense, describing her marriage to Bas as a happy union. Tina wasn’t involved in the trial, so she was charged with minding the office.

“You’re going to get through this,” Roy told her, though his voice didn’t sound as optimistic as his message. Of all her friends, he was the one who seemed most worried, not so much about the outcome, but her well-being.

Glynn said, “I got another request from Allan Stines last week to step down. He said they were negotiating with the governor to appoint a Republican to fill my seat.”

“I hope you told them where they could stick that,” Charlotte said, handing Glynn a steaming mug of lemon verbena tea.

“I don’t know. The only two people in Congress who’ll take my calls are Madge Heflin and Thad Culbertson. I always said I’d step aside if my constituents called for it, and the last round of numbers from Randy doesn’t look too good.” Glynn nodded over to her aides. “Tina told me coming out of the closet would be political suicide. Looks like she was right.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I made a whole career of getting inside people’s heads, but that one still escapes me.”

“There’s Glynn,” Tina said, pointing to her head shot on television.

“Jury selection begins tomorrow in the trial of Indiana Congresswoman Glynn Wright, who is charged with murdering her husband, former Representative Sebastian Wright, eleven years ago. In the studio with us today, from the school of law at American University, are legal experts . . .”

“Great. Trial by pundit,” Glynn said wryly. “Aren’t people tired of hearing this? There hasn’t been anything new to talk about for three weeks, but they can’t let it go.”

Roy snorted angrily. “They won’t be happy unless they ruin somebody. They’re all despicable.”

“Just wait until Wednesday when they start playing snippets from the Court Channel,” said Michael. “Do we all have something nice to wear?”

Glynn slipped back into the dining area and sat down at the table, glad to be surrounded by her friends. Anyone looking in might have thought the casual, relaxed gathering was a game day party. In fact, the pressure had been building on all of them as the trial grew closer, and this was the perfect chance to vent together, since Michael had asked everyone not to speak about the trial to others. It was also a reminder for Glynn of Charlotte’s mantra, that sharing the load meant a lighter yoke for everyone.

Charlotte had single-handedly lifted a heavy burden from her shoulders, opening up her home for Glynn to hide from the press’s constant badgering for a comment, and to have meetings with attorneys and expert witnesses out of the watchful eye of speculative reporters. These days, she seemed to rest better at Charlotte’s house, especially after her radiation treatments had ended two weeks ago. Being around Charlotte relaxed her, and she was already dreading a return to her quiet home once the trial was over. Only Sebby could fill the void in their brownstone, and each time she allowed herself to entertain the idea that he might not return she found herself drawing closer to Charlotte for comfort and support.

It might be difficult for Sebby to come home, Charlotte had said, no matter how the trial finished. Either he would believe she murdered his father and resent her, or he would accept an alternative explanation and feel guilty for bringing this upon her. It might be many months before they could talk again, and that thought was almost more than Glynn could bear.

But two weeks from now, at least this horrid chapter would be over. Michael maintained her odds of acquittal were high, as he was certain he could introduce to the jury either reasonable doubt about what Sebby had seen, or explain how it wasn’t her fault. But that was little consolation if she couldn’t win her son’s faith again.

A warm hand rested on her shoulder and she dipped her cheek to touch it, instinctively knowing who was at the other end. Charlotte somehow sensed each time she let herself get mired in her troubles, and always came forth with a show of support.

“I’m glad your friends are here.”

“It was a good idea to invite them. I should have asked Saul and Melinda over too.”

Charlotte gestured toward the flower arrangement. “They’re here in spirit. That was nice of them to send flowers.”

Glynn chuckled. “I told Saul I would call him when they started to droop so he could come by and pick them up. Then I wouldn’t have to declare a gift.”

“You guys are silly.”

“You say that now. My luck, I survive this trial and get my son back, and then have to face an ethics probe into improper gifts from a lobbyist.”

Charlotte took a chair next to her at the dining table. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“Anxious is probably a better word. Michael thinks it’ll be a week before Sebby comes to court to testify.”

“Looks like I’ll be going on Thursday.” She blew out a breath. “I wish I didn’t have to.”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty about this, Charlotte. It’s part of your job. Besides, you’re only there to report what Sebby said, not what you saw or felt.”

“I know. What I really wish is that I could be in the courtroom with you. But since I’m a witness, it isn’t allowed.”

“At least you won’t miss anything. You can watch every minute of it on TV.”

“I plan to do that.”

She looked back over at her guests. “I guess I should go be sociable. Every so often, it occurs to me I could go to prison soon.”

Charlotte shook her head. “That isn’t going to happen.”

“You’ll have to smuggle me pizza.” Glynn got up and joined the others near the television. “Anyone saying anything interesting?”

Tina shrugged. “This one guy is arguing that a credible eyewitness trumps just about anything.”

“He’s right,” Michael said. “And witnesses like Sebby can be tough to deal with, because they’re sympathetic and fragile. It’s hard to go after their testimony without coming off as a bully.”

“But you will, won’t you?” Roy asked, looking anxiously at Michael. “Go after him, I mean. You can’t just let him tell that story and not challenge it.”

“Oh, I plan to challenge it. But I need to do more than cast doubt in the jury’s eyes. I want to cast doubt in Sebby’s until he backs off what he’s saying.”

“That’s the plan, Roy. And Michael has to do it without hurting him,” Glynn said. “If Sebby doesn’t budge, we’ll come back with the sleepwalking defense.”

“That’s when your testimony will come into play,” Michael added. “You knew Bas better than anyone, and you spent a lot of time with Bas and Glynn together. That’s one of the reasons Ferrin was so eager to accept Glynn’s stipulation. He didn’t want to have you on his witness list painting a rosy picture of their marriage.”

Tina muted the television and turned in her seat to join the conversation. “So how do you break down Sebby’s story?”

Michael gestured toward Charlotte. “That’s where it helps to have a psychiatrist on your team. Charlotte says we keep asking for details until he can’t provide them anymore, or until he starts to contradict himself. That will show the jury that his memory is suspect. We also have to get him to go deeper on why he didn’t tell anyone before.”

“I thought Charlotte said he suppressed it,” Roy said.

Charlotte stepped up to answer. “I think he pushed away most of his memories about his father’s death. But the real question is why. Ferrin thinks it’s because Glynn manipulated him into lying to the police, and that’s his whole case. But we all know it isn’t what happened, so there must be something else. Maybe he—”

Michael cut in. “The other psychiatrist we hired to evaluate it couldn’t break it down either, so I’ll have to keep pushing Sebby when he takes the stand.”

“But your psychiatrist also said he thought there was more to it than what Sebby was telling. Won’t that be enough?” Tina asked.

Glynn shook her head. “We don’t get to put our witnesses on until Ferrin finishes with his case. So that means Michael has to cross-examine Sebby before we present our side.”

“Our hope is that we won’t even have to present a defense, that the prosecution’s case unravels first,” Michael explained. “That’s the best outcome for Glynn, especially if Sebby recants his testimony.”

Glynn took in the faces of her friends. She knew Tina and Roy well enough to sense their worry. “No matter what happens, I want you guys to know how much I appreciate you standing by me. I’ll never be able to repay that, but I’m going to try.”

Tina got up and gave her a hug. “I’m just so sorry all of this has happened. You don’t deserve any of it, Glynn.”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

Roy followed with another embrace. “I know you, Glynn. You’re more worried about Sebby than you are about yourself, but you have to fight this. And I want you to know”—the look he gave her was the most earnest she had ever seen—“I would do anything to help you both.”

Something about his words jarred her, stirring sadness and guilt that she could never reciprocate his unconditional pledge. “Thank you, Roy. I’ve always known you’d be there for us.”

“And on that note, I’m heading out,” Michael announced, picking up his coat. “Let me add my thanks to everyone for stepping up. You may not realize it, but keeping everything else on an even keel lets us concentrate on what we have to do. I’m very grateful for your help.”

Tina and Roy took their cue as well, and Glynn saw each one off with another hug and her heartfelt thanks. When she finally closed the door, she turned to Charlotte and groaned. “I think they’re even more worried than I am.”

“Given the circumstances, I’m not surprised. They aren’t facing a possible prison sentence, but someone they care about is. You should know from how worried you are about Sebby that it hurts more when things happen to people you love.”

“I guess.”

“And I know this isn’t their biggest worry, but Tina and Roy have to be concerned about their future too. If you step down, they’re out of a job.”

“They’ll be all right, especially Roy. I get calls all the time asking for permission to talk to him about openings. But he won’t even listen to their offers, even when I encourage him to.”

“That’s because he’s in love with you.”

Glynn couldn’t help but smile with embarrassment. “I’ve always tried to play that down. He’s never actually forced the issue, thank goodness.”

“Has that just been since Bas died?”

“I never noticed it before then. But Roy’s always been there for Sebby and me, and he was really loyal to Bas.”

“It must have been hard for him to see you with Stephanie.”

Glynn thought back to when she first told Tina and Roy of their relationship. “I know he didn’t like the idea, but I always thought that had more to do with the political risks. Maybe it was more. I never talked to him about it much.”

“I’m sure it got to him, but it says a lot that he stuck with you anyway.” Charlotte put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher. “What do you say we turn off the TV and try to talk about something besides this trial?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Anything. Let’s just relax so you can rest tonight. I heard you wandering around last night. You weren’t asleep, were you?”

Glynn chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be something? No, I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and played solitaire on my laptop for a couple of hours. But then I stayed in bed this morning until nine, so it all evened out.”

“I think I’m going to change into my pajamas, but I’ll be right back down.”

“I’ll do that too. I just need to make a phone call.”

As Charlotte disappeared up the stairs to her room, Glynn pulled out her cell phone. She smiled to herself as the number rang through.

“Hi, stranger. It’s Glynn.”

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

She could hear a smile in Chip Cichetti’s voice. “I can tell. Do you have any more surprises up your sleeve?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” He laughed.

“I actually wondered about it when the Baxter video popped up. But when Woodson’s story landed today, I realized it couldn’t be a coincidence, and there was only one guy out there sneaky enough to pull that off.”

“I’m glad to hear you’ve become such a fan of technology.”

“How do you like working for Thad Culbertson? Isn’t he a great guy?”

“He is. I appreciate you pulling those strings.”

“And I appreciate all you’ve done for me. But I’m worried this stuff might get traced back to you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said coyly. “I just play with my cell phone once in a while and pick up things.”

“Just don’t get caught.”

“I won’t. Good luck to you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Chip. Thanks for everything.”

Charlotte set her journal aside and watched as Glynn walked down the stairs. “It won’t be long before you can put your flannel pajamas away. We’re supposed to reach the high sixties tomorrow.”

“I can wear flannel all year ’round, no matter how warm it gets. Bas used to say it was like sleeping with a lumberjack.”

“Sounds like Bas was a good sport.”

“He was. We could laugh about anything.” She assumed her usual position at the other end of the couch, but with her feet in Charlotte’s lap.

Charlotte wrapped her hands around the bare toes and rubbed them gently to keep them warm. “It’s a rare man who endures his wife coming to bed in flannel pajamas.”

“That was Sebby’s fault, believe it or not.”

Charlotte enjoyed the faraway smile on Glynn’s face. “Something tells me I have to hear this story.”

“It might be too much information.”

“Now I know I have to hear it.”

Glynn smiled, but didn’t make eye contact as she reminisced. “Sebby was about two-and-a-half-years-old, just old enough to wander around the house by himself, but not old enough to go back to sleep after a bad dream.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah, so one night, Bas and I were making love rather . . . feverishly. We were”—she held up her thumb and forefinger— “this close, and probably making way too much noise. And then all of a sudden this little pint-sized guy in Batman pajamas just waltzes in and climbs into our bed.”

Charlotte couldn’t help being titillated by the visual of Glynn engaged in feverish sex. “That must have been hilarious.”

“Oh, yeah . . . hilarious. We, uh . . . stopped . . . obviously. I still remember Bas rolling away and shaking all over trying not to laugh out loud. And Sebby just snuggled right up to me and closed his little eyes. I was lying there naked, sweaty, panting . . . and oh-so-unsatisfied.”

“And I bet you started locking the door after that.”

“You can’t lock the doors with little kids. And you can’t let them think it’s wrong to come in your room . . . not until they’re like . . . twelve. Then it gets a little dicey.”

“So you started wearing your flannel pajamas to bed.”

“Damn right.”

“Fortunately, two-year-old brains don’t retain much, and I’m pretty sure he had no idea what you were up to.”

“Amazing how much more he remembers three years later, huh?”

Charlotte could have expounded for hours on brain development in toddlers, but she knew Glynn’s was a rhetorical question. “It’s hard to let go of what’s going on, isn’t it? Even for a few minutes.”

“Three months ago, Sebby and I were so happy. All he could talk about was basketball and how he was going to get a college scholarship. I had so much support back in Indiana that we hardly spent anything in the last election. And Saul and I were riding high on the preschool bill, thinking it might even launch a whole series of education reforms. I can’t believe how fast everything fell apart.”

“What happened first?”

“The mammogram.” She stared at her lap, lost in thought for the moment. “Ironic, isn’t it? The thing that triggered all of this is the only thing that came out all right.”

“It had to.” Charlotte leaned over impulsively and grasped Glynn’s hand. “I know you probably don’t think about it much, but there isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not grateful you followed through the way you did.”

“What choice did I have?”

“Some people might have decided to skip the radiation, or they would have screwed around with the schedule when it was inconvenient or uncomfortable. But you saw it through, and I’m proud of you for that. And very glad.”

“I bet I would have blown it off that one day it was so cold if you hadn’t shown up at my house with your warm car.”

“It was the least I could do.”

Glynn scooted closer and pulled Charlotte’s hand to her chest. “I don’t even want to think about what would have happened these last few weeks if you hadn’t stepped up and offered to be my friend. I don’t think I’ve ever needed a friend as much in my whole life, and you knew that before I did.”

“Being your friend is easy.” She looked down at their joined hands and moved her face toward Glynn’s. “The hard part is being only your friend.”

In the next few seconds, they locked in a smoldering gaze that confirmed their desires, no matter who objected or why. Then Glynn closed the distance and touched her lips to Charlotte’s.

Swept up in velvety warmth, Charlotte let go of her reservations, reveling in the growing intimacy of their kiss. She shifted, drawing Glynn into a lover’s embrace. Her mouth opened in a quest for more, and Glynn responded by grasping her head with both hands.

The rest of their world fell away in this, a stolen moment Charlotte wouldn’t allow to end. With Glynn finally in her arms, she unlocked her heart and let her feelings pour forth. “I’m so in love with you,” she whispered into Glynn’s open mouth.

Glynn answered with a moan and raked her nails through Charlotte’s hair. Not giving up the kiss, she lifted herself on one knee to press her body closer.

Charlotte’s hands flowed like mercury over Glynn’s writhing form. With passion spinning rapidly out of control, she boldly slipped inside the elastic waistband.

Every caress lowered the pajama bottoms another inch, until Glynn broke their kiss abruptly to push her pants to the floor. Naked from the waist down, she straddled Charlotte’s lap. “I need to feel your hands on me.”

Charlotte pulled off her T-shirt and worked the buttons on Glynn’s flannel top, eager to feel the heated skin against her breasts. The shirt opened to reveal bare breasts, one of which was marred just above the nipple. “So pretty.” Her thumbs brushed both nipples at once as she buried her face into Glynn’s neck. She was hungry to have it all at once, but she slowed her desire to relish every new sensation, fighting not to maul the sensitive breast or bite the tender skin beneath her lips.

Glynn moaned with pleasure and pulled her by the hair into another kiss, this one searing like a flame. Their fervor unleashed, neither seemed interested in slowing the course.

Charlotte trailed her fingers from the taut nipples, gliding over curvy hips to cup Glynn’s round bottom. She kneaded with abandon, tugging her closer as their hips thrust seeking contact. With her eyes closed, she tried to visualize the path of her fingers as they began to tickle the damp folds. Finding the source of the wetness, she spread it generously over her fingers and answered Glynn’s silent demand by entering her as she rose and fell in a rhythmic dance.

“Oh, Charlotte,” she murmured, slipping almost off the fingertips before sliding back down. Each time, she fell with more force, as if to impale herself deeper. Still gripping Charlotte’s hair, she held her close, panting with every thrust.

Charlotte had been using her free hand to help Glynn move up and down, but when she felt the slickness on her stomach from Glynn grinding against her, she reached around to find her clitoris.

After only a few gentle strokes, Glynn began to quiver. Then she drew a deep breath and held it as her whole body went rigid.

Sensing the imminent climax, Charlotte pressed her thumb lightly against the swollen shaft and made small circles, gradually decreasing the speed of her pumping fingers, but not the depth of her reach.

Glynn suddenly exhaled with a moan and collapsed onto Charlotte’s fingers, her center throbbing a powerful release. She held Charlotte’s head in place against her neck, as if to hide her eyes from the lusty display.

Charlotte savored the intimate tremors until a hot tear splashed onto her cheek. “Are you all right?”

Several seconds ticked by before Glynn answered. “I don’t deserve this.”

She eased her fingers out and wrapped both arms around Glynn’s shoulders. “You do. We both do.”

“Why does it hurt so much to let go?”

“It’s just stress, Glynn. All of your emotions are running out through an open door.”

Glynn answered with a deep sniff and a shaky sigh.

Leaning back, Charlotte took Glynn’s face in her hands. They had come too far to put the barriers back in place. “Did you hear what I said? I’m in love with you.”

“I’ve done nothing but take from you.”

“That isn’t true. I’ve been so much happier inside since we met.” How could she possibly explain the simple joy she drew from their quiet talks? Or how just knowing Glynn was planning to stay the night made her whole day brighter? “The pendulum always swings, and when it does, I know you’ll be there for me.”

Glynn rested her chin against Charlotte’s forehead. “I want to be so close to you.”

“You are. Let me be what you need right now.”

“Sleep with me . . . hold me all night.”

A wave of relief washed over Charlotte. “If you’ll let me hold you, I won’t ever you let go.”

Chapter 19

Maintaining a neutral expression was harder than it sounded, Glynn was finding. Michael had explained that a constant visage of seriousness and respect was necessary, but nothing that showed anger, doubt or even satisfaction. And she was never to make eye contact with anyone in the jury.

Eight women and four men would decide her fate. Michael was generally happy with the composition, except for the woman who had raised fourteen foster children. She would likely be overly sympathetic to Sebby, and more dismissive of Glynn’s claims of innocence.

“All rise! The Superior Court of the District of Columbia is now in session, the Honorable Rebecca Bower presiding.”

Glynn came to her feet alongside Michael and watched as the stately woman entered from a side door. She was all business, apparent from her tough scrutiny of jurors’ attempts to shirk their duty and her admonitions to both Ferrin and Michael to restrict their questioning to appropriate topics. She began the trial this morning by throwing back Michael’s last-ditch request for a change of venue based on a new survey that showed practically everyone in the District was familiar with the case. She was happy with this jury, whether the legal parties were or not.

“We’ve wasted enough time this morning, gentlemen. Are you ready to begin?”

Both attorneys responded in the affirmative, and Ferrin rose first to lay out his case to the jury.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very serious case before us today, an unusual case, if you will. It isn’t often we go to trial to prove a murder that has gone unpunished for eleven years. And it’s even less often we go to trial based on the eyewitness testimony of a five-year-old. Some people might think that’s unreliable. But we’re going to convince you otherwise. We have what’s called corroborating evidence—evidence that supports the claims of a child who saw his mother murder his father eleven years ago.”

Ferrin was poised and personable as he walked in front of the jury box, talking with his hands to invite agreement with his story. As Michael had predicted, he turned often to face the gallery, probably not for any strategic reason having to do with his case, but to ensure his face would be seen clearly on the cameras positioned at the rear of the courtroom.

“Congressman Sebastian Wright was murdered in cold blood as he soaked in a tub. A person he trusted”—he swung his arm dramatically in Glynn’s direction—“his wife, in fact, caused his electrocution when she pushed a live television into the water where he sat.”

Glynn fought the urge to glare at him in defiance. Michael had coached her to watch Ferrin’s shoulder instead of his face so as not to give away emotion.

“Today, her son has come forward with the true story of that crime. He was five years old when he watched his mother do that terrible thing, something so horrifying he buried the memory until only a few weeks ago, when it was uncovered during extensive psychotherapy by a psychiatrist trained to peel back the layers of trauma that caused this boy, now sixteen years old, to try to take his own life to escape the horrible memories.” Ferrin turned again to face the gallery, striking a pose that almost caused Glynn to roll her eyes.

“Over these next few days, you’ll hear a remarkable story. The police detective who investigated the scene will tell you how they struggled to balance the evidence of a crime with the story they heard from the only other adult at home, Glynn Wright. He’ll tell you how a confused little boy explained what had happened, but using the words his mother told him to say. And he’ll show you the evidence that proves beyond a reasonable doubt the eyewitness testimony you’ll hear from a boy who sees things more clearly now, a boy who now remembers the truth.

“You’ll hear testimony from two psychiatrists, one who will show you the depth of this boy’s denial, the other, the light of his awakening.”

Glynn wondered who had written such a hokey line. “And you’ll hear from the boy himself, who will tell you the heartbreaking story of how he watched, hidden from view, as his mother killed his defenseless father. And how afterward, she told him what to say to police to absolve her of the crime.” Ferrin took up a new position beside the jury box and pointed at her, as though standing alongside her fellow accusers. “By all accounts, Glynn Wright had the perfect life. She had a loving husband who was respected across the nation as a member of the United States House of Representatives. She had a beautiful, healthy son and a fine home in Woodley Park. What more could a woman want? For Glynn Wright, the answer is simple. She wanted another woman.”

Glynn concentrated hard to maintain her dispassionate look as he paused for dramatic effect.

“Glynn Wright would never be happy as a congressman’s wife, or anyone’s wife, for that matter. A woman inclined to be with other women could never be fulfilled in a life with a man. So why didn’t she divorce Congressman Wright? Again, the answer is simple. She was afraid of losing that perfect life, afraid to walk into a divorce court and have her husband accuse her of affairs with other women, and win custody of their son and freedom from financial settlement.

“For eleven years, Glynn Wright has not only gotten away with murder, she’s thrived on it. She’s a congresswoman herself now. She took over her husband’s seat on the good faith of the people who put him in office. I wonder if they would be satisfied with anything less than a sentence of life in prison for callously killing their favorite son.”

“Objection, Your Honor.” Michael was on his feet. “The prosecution is discussing sentencing for a defendant who is still innocent in the eyes of the law.”

Judge Bowers looked at the prosecutor. “Would it be too much trouble to meet your burden of proof first, Mr. Ferrin?”

“No, Your Honor.”

Glynn fought the urge to smirk. Judge Bowers had proven to be an equal-opportunity chastiser, and probably would do the same to Michael before long. Glancing at Michael as he returned to his seat, she caught an image behind her that sent a chill up her spine. Irene Wright was boring through her with angry eyes.

“What a peacock,” Charlotte muttered to herself as she watched on television. If Michael got up there when it was his turn to talk and strutted like Ferrin, she was going to give him hell. A reasonable jury would be offended by such a phony display. Fortunately, Michael knew better. This was exactly the behavior he had predicted from the prosecutor if the judge consented to allowing the trial to be televised.

Glynn appeared calm and collected this morning—quite a contrast to last night when she had come home from the jury selection flustered and full of doubts. Michael had arrived soon after to assure her he was pleased with the mix, but Charlotte could tell he was bothered. Later in the kitchen, he related his concerns about the foster mother. If she held out for conviction out of sympathy for Sebby, the jury would hang and they would have to do this all over again.

At least Glynn was getting her rest. Ever since the night they had made love on the couch, they had slept together, flannel pajamas and all. They had kissed and held each other, but it was clear Glynn was holding back, not yet ready to give herself permission to enjoy intimacy again until she felt able to reciprocate. Charlotte understood that, even if she didn’t agree with it. Her job right now was to keep Glynn upbeat and focused.

Roy and Tina were handling things at the Capitol, and Randy was holding the angry constituents at bay. It was too soon to tell if even a full exoneration would be enough to quiet the objections of voters back in Indiana. The phone calls coming into the office seemed to suggest most were withholding judgment about the murder charges, but greatly bothered by her admission of relationships with women.

When Ferrin wrapped up his opening statement, the camera that was situated behind the jury box zoomed in on Glynn. Her eyes shifted from one place to another, finally settling on her own folded hands, and she wore an unmistakable frown. Something she had seen had rattled her.

“Do you have an opening statement, Mr. Gattison?” “I do, Your Honor.” He stood and addressed the jury. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you all for your willingness to serve this court. It is a sacred duty to hold justice in your hands, and I appreciate that each of you has promised to assume my client’s innocence unless the prosecution convinces you— beyond a reasonable doubt—that she is guilty. She is not, and despite the elaborate tale Mr. Ferrin weaves, he cannot prove otherwise.”

Glynn liked Michael’s voice. Unlike Ferrin, he didn’t sound like a cheerleader for his cause. He came off as a calm authority, a man who respected the wisdom of the jury, and trusted them to steer through the shadows and mirrors and find the truth.

“Mr. Ferrin has told you an interesting story . . . a fictional story, his own conjecture of what had to happen in order for these charges to be true. Every piece of his fictional tale depends on the assumption that all the other pieces are true. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call a house of cards. You’ve seen such a thing. If only one card from that house is removed, the whole structure falls. And in this case, if only one piece of his fictional story is disproved, you have reasonable doubt to believe the rest of his story is true.”

She barely caught Michael’s wink as he returned to the table to pick up a yellow pad and his glasses.

“I made a few notes while the prosecutor was spinning his tale. Please allow me to straighten out some of the curves. He claims the police had doubts all along about the guilt of my client.” Looking over his glasses to the jury, he asked, “Does that sound as convenient to you as it does to me? Please think about it. If the police truly had doubts about the circumstances surrounding the death of someone as important as a U.S. congressman, would they not have investigated further? Kept an open file? They didn’t do either, and now, I have to wonder if perhaps these recent doubts have been manufactured to bolster Mr. Ferrin’s case.”

He checked his notes again and returned the tablet to the table. Glynn peeked over to see arrows and asterisks among the scribbled words, a code only Michael understood.

“He’ll put his expert witness on the stand to testify as to how forgotten memories are recovered. As you listen to that, ladies and gentlemen, please keep in mind that psychotherapy is not an exact science. There are differing opinions among the experts on how best to recover memories, and the method one chooses can influence the outcome. Our expert witnesses will cast reasonable doubt on the validity of the memories that were supposedly recovered in this case.”

Glynn fidgeted uncomfortably, knowing Michael would go next after the testimony of her son. They had talked about it ad nauseum, how to attack Sebby’s story without attacking him. It was understood by all that she had the final say. If she thought at any point Michael’s questions were hurting him, she would signal him to back off—even if it meant hanging herself out to dry.

“And you’ll hear from a five-year-old boy. Yes, Sebastian Wright is sixteen now, but his memories are those of a child, things seen through a child’s eyes that can be distorted, misconstrued or even imagined. I believe the evidence we show will convince you beyond a reasonable doubt that Glynn Wright loved her husband very much, that theirs was, in fact, the perfect life Mr. Ferrin was mocking earlier. We’ll prove to you the defendant wasn’t a political climber, that as an expert in early childhood education, she already had a respectable career with the United Nations. In fact, only two days before her husband’s death, she returned from five months in Bosnia, where she had served war-torn communities of children. And while she slept on Saturday morning to recover from jet lag, a horrible accident happened. A five-year-old boy was the first to discover the gruesome scene, and he has spent eleven years trying desperately to understand why such a terrible thing happened.”

It was all Glynn could do not to watch the faces of the jurors as Michael summed up the case. He wanted them to doubt Ferrin’s evidence before they ever heard it.

“You’re going to like Sebastian. He’s a nice young man, and he loves his mother very much. She loves him too, but as you can imagine, there is a gulf between them of gigantic proportions. Convincing you she didn’t do this is the smallest part of her battle. For Glynn Wright, it’s more important to convince her son she didn’t do it. Because, you see, the only possible way she could have done the things he claimed he saw her do”—he paused for effect—“is if she did them while she was asleep and totally unaware of her actions.”

That covered all the bases. She didn’t do it, and if she did do it, she didn’t realize it because she was sleepwalking. Now all they had to do was make their case better than Ferrin made his.

“Thanks to all you’ve seen on television, you probably know how this works. Mr. Ferrin gets first crack at proving his case. That means for the next few days, you’re going to hear all of his evidence against Congresswoman Wright. You’ll be tempted to believe it because you’re hearing only one side of the story. I’m asking you not to draw conclusions until you’ve heard both sides.” He smiled warmly and started back to the table, but stopped abruptly and turned. “Unless, of course, you want to conclude that Mr. Ferrin doesn’t have a case.”

“Where did you find Michael?” Charlotte asked, kicking off her shoes to join Glynn on the couch. This was the most relaxed she had seen Glynn in weeks, and she gave all the credit to Michael for how he had handled their first day in court. “He’s a major league ass kicker.”

Glynn scooted under Charlotte’s arm. “I met him through Saul and Melinda. Their son married his daughter, and as soon as Saul heard I’d been arrested, he called him and he came straight to the jail.”

“I remember you weren’t too happy with him after having to stay the night.”

“I got over it. That first day I was here I wasn’t happy about anything.”

“Talk about understatement.”

“You were great to me that day,” Glynn said, letting her fingers tickle Charlotte’s thigh. “And every day since.”

Charlotte squeezed her shoulder. “I was worried about you.”

They both shifted sideways so that Glynn was leaning backward against Charlotte’s chest. “That’ll teach you to take in strays. You fed me and I never left.”

Charlotte draped an arm across Glynn’s chest and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be sure to keep feeding you then.”

Glynn kissed her shoulder in response. “What time do you have to be at the courthouse?”

“Ferrin said nine, but I’m not his first witness, so who knows how long I’ll be hanging out.”

“Where are you supposed to go?”

“I have to meet someone from his office first and sit in the hallway until they call me.” She nodded toward the growing stack of neglected medical journals. “At least I have plenty to keep me entertained.”

“You’ll miss the detective’s testimony.”

“I’ll record it to watch tomorrow night if you can stand to sit through it again.”

“I can always go upstairs and hide my head under the pillow. Or I can stay at my house.”

Charlotte squeezed her possessively. “Don’t do that. I like you here.”

“I like being here too. I hate being at home without Sebby, especially knowing he’s with Irene.”

“It must be hard to see her turn on you like that.”

“You should have seen the look she gave me today in the courtroom. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much hatred from someone in my whole life.”

“Didn’t you say you’d always gotten along with her?”

“We’ve had our differences. I’m not sure anyone was good enough for Bas as far as she was concerned, but she accepted me. And when Sebby came along, we got even closer. She’s been an anchor for both of us all these years without Bas.”

“It’s amazing how fast she turned her back on you, and without even talking to you.”

“I think she feels like she has to support her grandson. He’s all she has.”

“And what’s going to happen when you’re acquitted? When you and Sebby heal things, won’t that leave her out in the cold?”

“I won’t do that do her, but she might do it to herself. If I know Irene, the lesbian thing isn’t going to go away even if everything else does. She’s always going to think it means I couldn’t have loved her son.”

“Maybe when this is over, you can talk to her. A lot of people have trouble with the idea of bisexuality. I can get you some resources if you think it would help.”

Glynn sighed. “I can’t even think that far ahead. I just need my son back.”

“Which brings us back to Michael. He did a great job today.”

“Didn’t he, though?”

“Do you realize this could all be over in a couple of weeks?”

“Yeah . . . at least this part. Even if it turns out all right, it could take months—years even—to pick up all the pieces.”

One thing Charlotte knew for sure was that a boy as fragile as Sebby wasn’t going to have a sudden epiphany that washed away eleven years of emotional struggles. No matter how this resolved, he was sure to need therapy for years to come. “Like you always say, the only thing that matters is for you and Sebby to work things out.”

“That isn’t all that matters anymore, Charlotte. You matter too.”

It seemed almost selfish to welcome those words, but Charlotte couldn’t help being thrilled to hear Glynn was including her in the picture when she looked ahead. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll make it easy, whatever you need.”

Glynn sat up and turned. “What do you mean you’ll make it easy? I hope you don’t think I’m going to push you back into the shadows.”

“No, I just mean I’ll give you whatever space you need to smooth things over with Sebby. If it bothered him when you were seeing Stephanie, he isn’t going to like you seeing me.”

“But it’s not the same thing. Maybe if I don’t treat it like it’s such a big secret, he won’t feel so tense about it.”

“You won’t be dealing with just Sebby. Are you sure you’re ready for that kind of personal scrutiny?”

“I can’t imagine anything could be worse than it already is,” she answered glumly, settling back into her position against Charlotte’s chest. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

The question came as a shock. “About us? Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Nothing, just . . . I feel bad that I haven’t held up my end.”

“Your end of what? You ate more than half the pizza.”

Glynn chuckled. “My end is that I’m in love with you too.”

A ripple of euphoria caused Charlotte to hug Glynn closer. “Excuse me. Did you just say you were in love with me?”

“Sorry . . . I think I might have been asleep. Was I talking? The doctors said I tend to do that.”

Charlotte poked her in the back. “Say it again.”

“I’m in love with you.”

She sighed dreamily and put her lips next to Glynn’s ear. “Now say it about a million more times.” They lay together quietly for several minutes, Charlotte soaking up Glynn’s affirmation.

“This is the only place I ever feel safe anymore.”

“That’ll change, Glynn. You’ll get your life back soon.”

“I don’t want that old life back. It was full of pretense.”

“What do you want your new life to be like?”

“I want my son back. I want all of this to have been some kind of horrible mistake we can both put behind us. I want him to come to terms with losing his father, and to go forward without being scared of losing me.”

“What else?”

“I want us to have a chance. I want to be able to love you and not care who knows it. And I want you and Sebby to be friends so we can all have a normal life.”

“I want those things too,” she said, kissing Glynn behind the ear. “And what about your seat in the House?”

“I’m starting to think that’s the biggest pretense of all. Those people belonged to Bas, not to me. I’ve been representing them all this time like a paid lobbyist, there to do their bidding.”

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“Yes, but maybe they should give that job to one of their own, not to a lesbian from California who happened to marry their favorite son.”

“Are you thinking of giving it up?”

“I’m starting to think I might not run for re-election, no matter how the trial turns out. I got an e-mail from Saul. He told me not to worry about a job because he had a senior position waiting for me at the institute any time I wanted it. I have to admit, that would be a nice life.”

“You deserve a nice life. And I’m glad to hear you want me in it.”

Glynn suddenly turned and delivered a deep kiss. “How would you feel about going upstairs now so I can hold up my end?”

“I think my heart just stopped. You might have to carry me.”

She took Glynn’s outstretched hand and allowed herself to be led up the stairs to the master bedroom, where they had slept entwined for the past three nights. Neither spoke as Glynn helped her out of her T-shirt and pajama pants before stripping off her own. She loved the feel of Glynn on top of her as they fell onto the downturned bed.

Charlotte’s lips sought contact with whatever she could reach . . . Glynn’s shoulder, her neck and finally, her mouth. This submissive role wasn’t one she experienced often, but she loved the sensation of being claimed, and she opened her legs to allow Glynn to settle her hips between them. They soon found a rhythm, one that nearly drove Charlotte crazy as Glynn’s pubic mound ground against hers.

“You feel so good,” she murmured.

As Glynn slid lower to lavish attention on her breasts, Charlotte raised her head from the pillow, watching as her body came alive. One of her nipples was being fiercely pinched, the other raked between Glynn’s teeth. Her focus drifted from one to the other and back as she grappled with which was the most exquisite sensation. Complicating her choice was the tiny jolt her clit received each time she thrust her hips upward into Glynn’s belly.

As her excitement soared, she fell back against the pillow in surrender. Glynn abandoned her breasts and moved lower, wedging herself between Charlotte’s legs. Charlotte tingled with anticipation until the moment Glynn’s tongue parted her labia and plunged inside. It was all she could do not to scream her need—which was something touching her clit now.

Instead, she rode the wave that climbed steadily as Glynn caressed every fold with her lips and tongue, teasing her clit only sparingly until Charlotte found herself high off the bed, one leg wrapped tightly around Glynn’s neck. When she was sure she could stand it no more, Glynn honed in on her clit and slid two fingers inside as Charlotte thundered her release.

“God,” she moaned, her arms flopping to her sides as she slowly brought her hips back to the bed. “Republicans are my new thing.”

Chapter 20

“The District calls Detective Roger Luckett to the stand.”

Glynn peered over her shoulder to watch Luckett’s entry through the back door of the courtroom. Though he had lost most of his hair and gained about twenty pounds, she recognized him immediately as the detective who had investigated Bas’s death eleven years ago.

“Make sure you don’t react to anything,” Michael whispered. Ferrin approached the witness stand and smiled warmly. “Detective Luckett, you’ve had quite a long career with the Metropolitan Police Department. Is that correct?”

“Yes, twenty-two years with the force, eight as a patrolman, fourteen as detective.”

“And you participated in the investigation into the death of Congressman Wright, did you not?”

“Yes, I did. I was the lead investigator at the scene.”

“Can you describe what you found when you arrived at the Wright home?”

His belly strained against the buttons of his sports coat as he turned to direct his comments to the jury. “I arrived approximately thirty minutes after the call came in to dispatch. Patrol officers had secured the scene. Mrs. Wright and her son, Sebastian, Jr., were sitting in the boy’s bedroom. I remember that the boy was crying, but Mrs. Wright seemed calm and composed.”

All Glynn remembered was the flurry of people who had swarmed her house that afternoon, taking pictures and talking to both her and Sebby. She had a vague image of Bas’s body being removed, zipped inside a dark bag and strapped to a gurney.

“And the scene in the bathroom?”

“We found the congressman in the tub. A small portable television had apparently fallen into the water from a nearby shelf. The medical examiner determined that it caused his death by electrocution.”

Ferrin returned to his table for a set of photos, entering them into evidence.

Michael stood and intercepted the copies before Ferrin could place them on their table. He slid them facedown underneath his tablet, knowing Glynn had no need to view the official photos of her husband’s body.

Luckett described each one, a copy of which was passed around to the jurors.

“Detective, when you investigated this scene, did you consider the possibility this was a homicide?”

“We did. In fact, we discussed it at length, because it didn’t make sense to anyone how the TV could have fallen diagonally into the tub.”

“What do you mean diagonally?” He handed Luckett an enlarged photo of the shelf.

“From the dust prints we found on the shelf, we concluded the TV was sitting approximately here.” He indicated a position on the shelf about one foot away from the edge of the tub. “If the TV had simply fallen off the shelf, it would have landed on the floor. Instead, it traveled diagonally to land in the tub. That suggested someone else pushed it.”

“Did you wonder if perhaps the congressman had accidentally pulled it into the tub?”

“Based on the stories we got from Mrs. Wright and her son, that’s what we eventually concluded in our official report, that he was adjusting the volume or channel and accidentally slipped, catching the cord and pulling it in.”

Ferrin handed him another photo. “Can you identify this picture?”

“That’s the master bedroom. You can see the doorway to the bathroom where Congressman Wright was found, as well as the doorway out into the family room.”

“And what about this picture?”

“Those were cookies. We found two cookies on the floor at the foot of the bed. The cookies were homemade. There were others like these in a jar in the kitchen.”

Ferrin leaned against the jury box. “Let’s talk about Mrs. Wright’s story. Where was she during this accident?”

“She told us she was asleep in her son’s room.”

Ferrin’s assistant produced a poster-sized diagram of the home, showing the master suite on one end of the house, with the kitchen and Sebby’s bedroom on the other, separated by an expansive family room. “In other words, she claimed she was nowhere near the master bathroom when the accident occurred.”

“That’s correct. And that she heard nothing until her son woke her up.”

“Where was her son when this happened?”

“She said they were sleeping together, but that he must have woken up and gone out, because he came back and told her something had happened to his father.”

“Detective, did you have any reason to doubt Mrs. Wright’s story?”

“It seemed overly convenient, but we had no direct evidence to disprove it.”

“Overly convenient,” Ferrin repeated, putting his hands in his pockets as he turned to face the cameras at the back of the gallery. “And what did Sebastian have to say?”

“When I first tried to ask him questions, he wouldn’t talk to me. He kept looking at his mother. So I asked to take him in the other room.”

“Did Mrs. Wright object?”

“As I recall, she didn’t seem to want him to leave at first, but she allowed him to.”

“I see. She didn’t want him to leave.”

“He was scared half to death,” she whispered to Michael, who patted her arm without looking her way.

“And what did Sebastian have to say when you finally got him away from his mother?”

“His story was basically the same, that he went to sleep with his mother, got up and found his father, and came back to wake her up. But I remember that it didn’t sound right. It was almost like he had practiced what to say.”

“Why do you say that?”

“His story seemed very simple, very rote . . . no details at all, like he was hiding something.”

“I have to ask this, Detective. If you had doubts about the truthfulness of Mrs. Wright and her son, why was this death ruled an accident?”

“Because we had no way of proving otherwise. It was very frustrating for all of the investigating officers, but we knew the DA wouldn’t even listen if we didn’t bring him more evidence.”

“No further questions.”

Michael stood immediately and walked toward the witness stand, his attention focused on a folder in his hand. “Detective, I have a copy of the police report from that night. I’d like to go over a few things with you, if I may. First, you testified only a few moments ago that Mrs. Wright seemed calm and composed when you arrived on the scene. Can you read this highlighted sentence from the report you filed only six hours after arriving at Mrs. Wright’s home on the day her husband died?”

Luckett took out his glasses and peered at the document. “Mrs. Wright appeared to be in a state of shock.”

“Are those things the same to you, Detective? Does a person in shock exhibit behavior that is calm and composed?”

“A person in shock does not usually exhibit behavior that is loud and frantic. So yes, they tend to be calm and composed.”

“So by describing Mrs. Wright as calm and composed as you did today, that’s just another way of saying she appeared to be in shock?”

“Yes,” he conceded, obviously annoyed.

“I have a few additional photos I’d like to enter into evidence, Your Honor.” Michael distributed sets to the judge and Ferrin. “This photo . . . do you recognize this room?”

Luckett studied the picture for a moment. “That was the son’s room, where Mrs. Wright reported she was sleeping during her husband’s death.”

“Have a look at the drapes, please, Detective. Are they closed or open?”

“Closed.”

“Approximately what time of day did this accident occur?”

“It was late morning, about eleven thirty.”

“Does that seem to be consistent with Mrs. Wright sleeping at that hour, that she would close the drapes to make the room darker?”

“It could mean that. Or it could mean she didn’t want people looking in.”

“Were any of the other drapes closed? Were they closed in the living room? In the master suite?” He handed over two other photos.

“No, it doesn’t appear they were closed when we arrived at the scene.”

“Are you suggesting, Detective Luckett, that Mrs. Wright might have closed the drapes in her son’s room and perhaps opened others after placing the emergency call that her husband had been killed in the bathtub?”

“I suppose it’s possible.”

“Does it seem likely to you she would do this while in an apparent state of shock?”

Luckett shrugged and cast a skeptical glance toward the jury. “After twenty-two years, I’m not usually surprised by what people can do to cover their crimes.”

“That wasn’t my question, Detective. Does it seem likely to you Mrs. Wright could have staged this scene while in the state of shock you reportedly observed?”

“If it actually was a state of shock, it seems unlikely,” he admitted.

“Thank you.” Michael placed another photo in front of the policeman. “Do you recall this scene from the kitchen?”

“Yes, we found a stool by the counter where the cookie jar was kept. That indicated to us that the child had retrieved cookies on his own, and took them into the master bedroom.”

“In other words, no adult was present when Sebastian wanted cookies, so he used the stool to get his own.”

“We assumed it meant no adults were present in the kitchen.”

“But you noted in your report that Sebastian told you he got his own cookies because his mother was asleep, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“But now, eleven years later, you have doubts about her being asleep, despite recording it in your report as to what occurred.”

“I’ve always had doubts,” he said, glaring directly at Glynn.

“Detective, I notice also that you ruled out the possibility that Sebastian had pushed the television into the tub. What led you to that conclusion?”

“First of all, we couldn’t imagine a five-year-old would know that such an action would be fatal.”

“Would that preclude an accident?”

“No, but the shelf was higher than the boy could reach. That was the main reason we ruled it out.”

“I see. But you observed the child had used a stool in the kitchen to retrieve cookies that were also out of reach. Is it possible Sebastian could have used that same stool or something else in the bathroom?”

He shrugged. “I suppose, but we had no—”

“As a detective, do you often file preliminary reports within six hours of an incident when you have doubts as to whether or not a crime has been committed?”

“Preliminary reports are just that—preliminary. It doesn’t mean the investigation is over.”

“I see. And other than the toxicology reports, which showed no presence of drugs or alcohol, were there any amendments to the preliminary report you filed six hours after the incident?”

“No.”

“So you had doubts, but you never expressed them until Mr. Ferrin interviewed you as a witness in this case seven weeks ago. Correct?”

He scowled. “I expressed them. Just not officially.”

“Did you ever report them to your superintendent?”

“No.”

Michael glanced at his notes again. “You said earlier that Sebastian appeared to have been crying when you arrived. Would you characterize him as upset?”

“Yes, I would.”

“In your vast experience as a patrolman and detective, did you ever come across children who were reluctant to talk to strangers when they were upset?”

Ferrin shot to his feet. “Objection. Speculation. If counsel wishes to conduct a case review, there’s a proper way to do it.”

“Withdrawn,” Michael answered before turning back to Luckett. “Did you take fingerprint samples at the scene?”

“Yes, we did. We found several sets of fingerprints throughout the house, aside from those belonging to Mrs. Wright and her husband.”

“Did you find other fingerprints in the master bath?”

“We found one other set. We asked Mrs. Wright who else may have had access to the room, and she told us there was probably a cleaning lady who came before she arrived back in the States.”

“Did you find this cleaning person and match her prints?”

“We did not. The house was relatively clean, and Mrs. Wright said she hadn’t touched a thing since arriving home, so we assumed she was correct that a cleaning lady had been in the house.”

“But you found dust prints around the television, indicating the bathroom might not have been cleaned.”

“She might not have been particularly thorough. Some aren’t.”

“Detective, is it normal police procedure not to follow up on identifying those who might have been present at a crime scene?”

“It was never designated a crime scene.”

“But eleven years later, it is?”

“So it would appear.”

“And you want this jury to believe you see things more clearly eleven years down the road than you did six hours after you visited the scene?”

“Objection, Your Honor. Mr. Gattison should save his conclusions for closing arguments.”

“Sustained.”

“No more questions.”

In the deserted hallway outside the courtroom, Charlotte absently flipped the pages of her journal. She should have known it would be impossible to concentrate. For one thing, the wooden bench had numbed her bottom over an hour ago. And each time she heard a noise from within the courtroom, she expected the door to open.

That finally happened at ten thirty when a woman appeared to escort her. They stood quietly in the hallway until the bailiff opened the door and motioned them in.

Michael had asked her to avoid eye contact with Glynn and with the jury as well. She was there to describe Sebby’s psychiatric diagnosis and recommendations for treatment, and to confirm the statement from his evaluation. Unless he thought it absolutely necessary, he would not cross-examine.

Since many of her patients were crime victims, Charlotte was familiar with the procedures involved in courtroom testimony. She took the oath, sat down and stated her credentials for the court.

“Dr. Blue, how did you first meet the defendant in this case, Congresswoman Wright?”

She was momentarily taken aback by the question, since Ferrin had indicated he would seek testimony about Sebby, not Glynn. “I was on call when her son was admitted to the emergency room after a suicide attempt. She was at his bedside when I arrived to conduct my initial examination.”

“Did you have an opportunity to conduct a thorough examination of Sebastian’s mental condition?”

“I did. Using standard diagnostic instruments, I determined that he suffered from a post-traumatic stress disorder, which is an emotional difficulty resulting from past trauma, determined in this case to be related to the events surrounding his father’s death.”

“Were you able to draw any conclusions as to which specific events were causing him to have this stress disorder?”

“No, but he indicated in his answers to my questions that his father’s death still caused him a great deal of anguish. When he was unable to specify the source of that anguish, I further diagnosed dissociative amnesia, which means he had either forgotten or suppressed memories related to that which caused him stress.”

“So let me try to sum this up in layman’s terms. Sebastian was troubled by the traumatic aspects of his father’s death, so much that he suppressed his specific memories. But whenever those memories threaten to surface, he suffers more stress.”

“That’s correct.”

“When you conducted your evaluation of Sebastian, you made a recording and then a transcript. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you recognize this as the transcript of that evaluation?”

Charlotte looked at a document he was holding. “It appears to be.”

“Would you read this highlighted portion for the jury, please?”

She turned her head toward the jury, but, remembering Michael’s instructions, did not make eye contact with anyone. Then she read the passage from the transcript where Sebby said he didn’t remember coming in to get his mother, but she had told him he had.

“So at the time of his evaluation, Sebastian did not remember the details, only what his mother had told him had happened.”

“That’s what he reported.”

“Dr. Blue, when you released Sebastian from your care, did you recommend follow-up treatment?”

“Yes, I referred him to a residential program that had experience in treating adolescent post-traumatic stress disorder and dissociative amnesia.”

“And did Mrs. Wright have any reservations at all about his continuing therapy?”

Charlotte hadn’t expected this part, but it made sense that she was his gateway toward introducing his theory that Glynn killed her husband because she was a lesbian. “She was concerned at first that Sebastian might be forced to talk in group therapy about a relationship she had with another woman, but she—”

“Your Honor, I would like to introduce into evidence a stipulation statement from the defendant, who admits to having relationships with women prior to and following her marriage to Congressman Wright. Could I have this read into the record, please?”

The judge looked at it and handed it to the court reporter, who read the brief statement aloud.

“I have no further questions.”

Michael stood and looked her directly in the eye, his face giving away nothing. “I have no questions of this witness.”

“You may step down.”

Glynn rose to her feet beside Michael as Judge Bowers returned to the courtroom from the lunch break. Mark McKee would take the stand momentarily.

The trial was moving along faster than anyone had expected because Ferrin had abruptly dropped two other detectives from his witness list. Michael said it was probably due to Luckett’s poor showing, and that was good news for them. However, he was frustrated at not being able to cross-examine Charlotte. She could have been a good witness for them, he said, because she was the only one with firsthand knowledge of Glynn’s state of concern for her son.

All of that would have been tainted, though, had Ferrin followed with a redirect, because he surely would have asked Charlotte to describe her relationship with Glynn. She had confided in Michael this morning that their relationship had changed, and such revelations would have embarrassing results.

Mark, looking uncomfortable in a necktie, took the oath, seated himself and stated his credentials, just as Charlotte had done. Then Ferrin walked him through a description of the treatments at the Rawlings Center, finishing with an emphasis on Sebby’s program.

“Dr. McKee, would you describe Sebastian’s program as intensive?”

“I would. Sebby—that’s what we call him—arrived shortly after a suicide attempt, and we all felt an urgency to get to the root of his problems as soon as possible.”

Glynn seethed inwardly as she listened to Mark’s story of how he suspected right away there was something bitterly wrong between Sebby and his mother.

“Can you elaborate?” Ferrin asked.

“From the beginning, there were things Sebby was reluctant to talk about, all related to his mother. It obviously bothered him that she had a relationship with another woman. He wouldn’t talk about it at all, wouldn’t even mention the woman’s name. And what seemed very peculiar was his lack of concern for his mother’s health, considering she was undergoing treatment for breast cancer. He didn’t want to talk about that either.”

“So you got the impression there was a serious rift between them.”

“I did. And the more Sebby talked about his father’s death, the more I began to suspect it was the root of this estrangement.”

It was all Glynn could do to hold her emotions in check. She wanted to shake her head in disbelief, to shout at Mark that his suspicions were totally off-base. What bothered her most was his characterization of Sebby as dismissive of her relationship with Stephanie and unmoved by her health issues. Neither was the loving son she knew, and she refused to accept that Mark knew him better.

For more than an hour, Mark described the phases of Sebby’s treatment and how they led to the revelation he had watched from the bedroom as his mother killed his father.

“And did this breakthrough produce the expected drop in stress?”

“No, quite the contrary.” Mark tugged to loosen his collar, his discomfort apparent. “After telling us what he saw, he withdrew immediately into a shell. He wouldn’t talk to anyone. He was sitting on the floor in his room. He wouldn’t eat or drink anything. It was as if he was trying to kill himself again with the only means at his disposal. Protecting his mother was so ingrained in him that he was willing to sacrifice himself in order to keep from revealing her role.”

“And how was he finally convinced to come forward?”

“We put him on a ’round-the-clock suicide watch and launched into crisis intervention mode. Our goal was to make Sebby feel safe, to assure him he wasn’t in any danger, and that coming forward with his story was the only way to break the cycle of pain for both him and his mother. We encouraged him to tell the story over and over in order to vent, to discover more details about the incident.”

“And how did Sebby feel about his memories?”

“He was devastated.”

“But now he wants to tell this story?”

“He remains deeply conflicted. He knows that by telling the story, he’s hurting his mother. But he wants to do what he promised, which was to get to the bottom of this. I feel he’s also trying to honor his father’s memory and help himself by ending this cycle of secrecy once and for all.”

“They must have followed Michael’s car from the garage,” Glynn said dismally, peering out at the small crowd of journalists gathered in front of Charlotte’s town house.

“It doesn’t matter. Why would they care where you’re staying when they have so much other news to report?”

“Because I’m staying with you, and that’s going to whip them into a froth.”

“I don’t care, Glynn.” That wasn’t entirely true. If the papers linked their names in a personal way, Charlotte would probably have to answer for it at work. The hospital didn’t like this sort of publicity, but she saw no need to add to Glynn’s list of worries. There was nothing either of them could do about it.

“What did you think of Michael’s cross-examination of Mark?” Glynn asked.

“I think he asked all the right questions, but Mark fielded them pretty well. I know you don’t want to hear this, but it sounds like they did everything by the book at Rawlings.”

Just as she feared, her assessment of the afternoon’s testimony brought tears to Glynn’s eyes. “Do you really think it’s possible Sebby saw me kill his father?”

“I still have a hard time believing it.” She led Glynn to the couch, the place they always seemed to go when they wanted to talk. “I sent Michael an e-mail right after the coverage ended on TV. If there’s one thing I’d nitpick about Mark’s therapy, it would be the way he focused on having Sebby tell the story over and over. That’s always good, because a person keeps remembering little details. But I would have liked to have pushed the timeline past what he remembers about the bathroom to what happened next.”

“What difference would that make?”

“I’m not sure it would make any. But it’s odd for Sebby to have such a crystal clear memory of that moment, and not remember finding his father or coming to wake you up. I think Mark should have kept after that until it came out in more detail.”

“So maybe Michael should do that with Sebby on the stand.”

“That’s what I said in my note. He should try to do exactly what Mark did—take him back to that day and have him talk about everything. He might start to get confused, maybe even realize he’s mistaking something he saw in a movie with real life. It happens.”

“God, I wish it were that simple.”

“And even if he stays with his story, if Michael can get him to remember waking you up, you’ll have a better shot at a sleepwalking defense.”

“That may end up being my only shot.”

Charlotte put both hands on Glynn’s shoulders and looked her squarely in the eyes. “It might very well be the truth.”

Chapter 21

Glynn’s eyes never left her son as he walked from the back of the courtroom to the witness stand. He wore the dark gray suit she had bought him for Christmas, and a blue tie from his father’s collection. Her heart soared just to be in the same room, but sank to realize as he took the stand that he would not look at her. Like her, he probably had been coached to avoid eye contact as much as possible.

Ferrin walked slowly to the witness stand and smiled. “Thank you for coming, Sebastian. I know this is difficult for you.”

Sebby nodded slightly but didn’t speak.

“You have an amazing story to tell the court today, but before you do that, I’d like you to answer one question I know everyone here wants to know.” Ferrin turned to face the cameras and put his hands in his pockets. “Please tell us the one person in the world you love most.”

Glynn’s heart hammered as she waited for Sebby’s response.

“My mom,” he said, just loud enough for the people at the front of the courtroom to hear.

“Are you aware the story you came to tell is going to hurt her?”

He nodded.

“I need you to answer, son, so we can get it in the record.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“Can you tell the court why you’ve decided to come forward?”

“Because my mom would want me to. She told me . . .” He looked at her for the first time, tears filling his eyes. “She told me I had to follow through, no matter where it took me. She always wants me to do what’s right.”

“All right, son. I know this is going to be hard, but I need you to tell us what happened the day your father died. Are you ready to do that?”

Sebby nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Glynn’s heart broke as he began to talk in a shaky voice, wishing she could put her arms around him and tell him it was going to be all right.

“The first thing I remember . . . about the day my dad died . . . was Mom making cookies. We were in the kitchen and she was mixing stuff together and putting the dough on the pan. I helped her a little bit, I think. I remember standing on the stool while she was mixing. We were talking about stuff because she’d been gone for a few months. And when the cookies got done, she gave me some. I remember sitting at the table and eating while she was still standing at the counter. I think she was washing dishes, but I don’t remember for sure.”

“I’d like for you to think hard about something for me, okay? You said you sat at the table. Are you sure you didn’t get up and walk around with your cookies? Go into another room maybe?”

“I’m pretty sure I sat at the table the whole time.”

“Thank you. Where was your father while you and your mother were in the kitchen?”

“He wasn’t home. He always played football with Roy on the weekend . . . that’s my mom and dad’s friend. When Mom was gone to Bosnia I went with Dad sometimes and watched, but I didn’t go that day because Mom had just got back and we were making the cookies.”

“You were close to your father. You did things with him a lot. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir. Especially when Mom was gone.”

“All right. Go ahead with your story, please.”

Glynn remembered the morning very well. Sebby had talked a mile a minute about school, the farm in Indiana, and how he and his father had gone so many places with Roy and Marcella, how Bas had held his staff meetings at the house. In fact, she remembered feeling jealous to have missed out on things, and amazed at how much Sebby had grown in only five months.

“When I finished my cookies, we went into my room to take a nap. She laid down beside me on the bed and we went to sleep. I don’t know how long I was asleep, but I heard Dad come home. I got up and went to look for him. He was in the bathtub so I went in the kitchen to get more cookies.”

“You couldn’t reach them, though.”

“No, I dragged the stool over to the counter and climbed up. That’s when I heard voices coming from their bedroom, and I got scared because I didn’t want to get in trouble for getting more cookies.”

“Whose voices did you hear?”

“Mom and Dad. It sounded like they were arguing. I went to their bedroom door to listen. They were both in the bathroom, so I sneaked into the bedroom and got behind the bed.”

“Why were you sneaking, Sebby?”

“I wasn’t supposed to be in their bedroom.”

“Why not?”

“I wasn’t allowed.”

Ferrin presented the diagram so Sebby could show exactly where everyone was.

“I couldn’t see my dad because the door wasn’t open all the way, but I could hear him. Mom had her back to the door. That’s when I saw . . .” He glanced at her briefly before looking back at Ferrin. “I saw her push the TV into the tub.”

“You saw her push the TV into the tub,” Ferrin repeated, obviously for dramatic effect. “And then what happened, son?”

If he called Sebby son one more time, she was going to scream.

“She turned around and started to open the door, so I ducked down and hid. I didn’t want her to see me.”

“Because you weren’t supposed to be in their bedroom.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where did your mother go when she came out of the bathroom?”

“I don’t know. I guess she went back to my room.”

“So what did you do then?”

Sebby shook his head. “I don’t remember anything after that, except when the policemen came and went into the bathroom.”

Ferrin picked up a copy of the police report. “Your mother told the detectives that you woke her up and told her your father was in the bathtub. Do you remember doing that?”

“Not really.”

“Not really . . . does that mean you don’t remember, or that you maybe remember?”

“I don’t remember that part. It’s really confusing.”

“I have no further questions.”

Judge Bowers leaned forward from her perch and addressed Michael. “Counselor, we have thirty-five minutes before our scheduled lunch break. Do you think you can be wrapped up by then?”

He stood. “No, Your Honor.”

“Then why don’t we break now and be back at one thirty?” She turned to address the jury, reminding them as always not to discuss the case with anyone.

Michael touched Glynn’s wrist gently as she squirmed to get up. “We should wait a couple of minutes and give him time to get out and clear the hallway.”

“I just want to . . .”

“I know. You want to hug him and tell him you love him, that you support him doing what he thinks is right.” His brow creased with an iron-like resolve. “But he’s going to be back this afternoon, and I need you focused on yourself, now more than ever.”

“Why is he saying all this, Michael? Did I murder my husband?”

“I need to shake him up, Glynn.” He put up both hands to ward off her objections. “I promise I won’t hurt him, but I’ve got to get him to back off his story. If he’s not sure what happened next, maybe he’s wrong about what he saw. I need to get him to at least admit he might not be remembering everything just right.”

The last of the crowd filed out the door, leaving them alone in the courtroom.

Michael pulled his pager from his belt. “This thing went crazy a couple of minutes ago. I need to . . .” He studied the display.

“What is it?”

“It’s Charlotte. It says ‘urgent your office.’”

“Call her.”

He opened his cell phone and dialed the number, leaning close to Glynn so she could hear. “Charlotte, it’s Michael.”

“I’m on my way to your office. I have something to show you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s too complicated to go into over the phone. I think I know why Sebby’s doing this.”

The burgundy carpet seemed as thick as the mattress on her bed, Charlotte thought. Michael and his partners were doing very well.

“Through here,” the receptionist said, leading her into a large mahogany office lined with law books. Michael and Glynn jumped to their feet when she entered.

“What did you find?” Glynn asked, her voice anxious. “Mark stopped his sessions too soon. He didn’t push him far enough,” Charlotte answered, dropping her folder on a large conference table. “This thing about seeing you in the bathroom . . . that isn’t what Sebby has been hiding all this time. The real secret is what he says he doesn’t remember.”

Michael reached for the folder. “You think he’s still blocking on something?”

“I’m not even sure he’s blocking. I think he might be digging in. And he won’t tell because he’s afraid of something even worse than having his mother go to prison.”

Glynn joined them at the table. “Charlotte, you’re not making any sense.”

“I know. Sit down and let me explain.” She opened the folder and pulled out the transcript of her session with Sebby. “When Sebby was on the stand this morning, he said it was confusing. That’s what he always says when he doesn’t want to talk.”

Michael gave her a puzzled look. “I don’t get it.”

“You will.” She looked at Glynn. “What are the three things Sebby won’t talk about?”

“He won’t talk about Stephanie at all, not even to say her name.”

“Right, because you asked him not to. That’s when you said he started having problems—not when you told him you loved her, but when you told him not to tell anyone.” She flipped to a page she had marked earlier. “I asked him why he stopped wanting to do things with her and he said, ‘I don’t remember that. It’s too confusing.’ Those are his exact words.”

Michael looked at his legal pad. “You’re right. He said that this morning too.”

She turned again to Glynn. “And that’s what he said when I asked him if he was worried about your breast cancer. You kept that quiet, Glynn. Did you ever tell Sebby not to tell anyone about it?”

“Just his grandmother . . .” Her eyes grew wider as she remembered. “It was the weekend right before he tried to kill himself. We went to Indiana and I asked him not to tell Irene.”

“That’s what I thought. And any time someone starts pulling at his secrets, he answers by saying he doesn’t remember because he’s confused. And then he follows it by trying to hurt himself. He did that with Stephanie. He did it with your breast cancer. And he did it when Mark pressed him to go further. So this business about seeing you kill Bas is not the secret. The secret is whatever happened next.”

“That’s nice to know, but what good does it do us if he remembers seeing his mother commit a murder and won’t tell us anything else?” Michael asked.

“Look, whatever he’s hiding about this is what started everything. It’s what scares him so much about keeping secrets.”

Now it was Glynn with the bewildered look. “I always thought what scared him was that something bad would happen to me like it did to his father.”

Charlotte played the words over in her head. “That’s it.”

“What?” Michael and Glynn asked in unison.

“That’s exactly what he’s afraid of.” Charlotte grabbed Michael’s tablet and opened to a fresh page. “Here’s what you have to do.”

Glynn smiled as Sebby entered the courtroom and returned to his seat at the front of the chamber. She was finally free to show her emotions because Michael said the jury would want to see the love she had for her son.

Judge Bowers leaned over to the witness stand. “Sebastian, I just want to remind you that you’re still under oath. You have to tell the truth to Mr. Gattison.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Michael stood and walked toward Sebby, his face set in a stern but fatherly expression, as if about to deliver a serious lecture. “Your mom calls you Sebby. Is it all right for me to do that?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks. And thanks for coming today and telling that story. I know it must have been really hard to do, especially since it could mean your mom having to go to prison.”

“Objection. Sidebar, Your Honor.”

The attorneys mumbled too softly for Glynn to hear, but it sounded as if Michael was being admonished for trying to push Sebby off his story for her sake. Glynn tuned it out. She was riveted to her son, who had looked at her twice since coming back from lunch. It was clear he was anguished, but his willingness to meet her gaze was all the encouragement she needed to believe they would end this day on the road to healing.

The gavel slapped. “Objection sustained.” She turned toward Sebby. “Sebastian, I want to remind you that the truth is what matters here. The outcome of this trial isn’t your concern. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sebby, I want to ask you some questions about your story, but I have some other things I’d like to know first. Can you tell the court what you remember about how your mother and father acted when they were together? Were they happy? Did they argue a lot?”

“I guess they were happy. I never heard them fight about stuff.”

“Did you all have fun together?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What kinds of things did you do as a family?”

Sebby crinkled his nose, which Glynn recognized as a sign he was thinking hard. “We went on picnics and stuff. We went to the farm in Indiana and chased each other in the barn.”

“Do you ever remember your parents fighting?”

He shook his head.

“You have to answer out loud so people can hear you.” “No, I don’t remember them fighting.”

“Ever?”

“No, sir.”

“So did they act like they loved each other?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But you said you heard them yelling at each other in the bathroom that day. Had you ever heard that before?”

“No.”

“So it was very unusual what you heard.”

“I guess.”

“Did you ever hear your mom argue with Stephanie?”

Sebby suddenly shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I don’t remember.”

“That was just . . . what? A few years ago.” Michael looked back at Glynn and she nodded.

“I don’t . . . I don’t remember her very well.”

Michael walked to the table where the exhibits were displayed. “Sebby, did you know your mom told the reporters a few weeks ago about Stephanie? It was in the papers. And then she signed a statement that we read in court yesterday that told all about how they loved each other. So everyone knows now. It isn’t a secret anymore.”

Sebby looked at her, his eyes big and questioning. She nodded and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Do you have a question, Mr. Gattison?” Judge Bowers asked.

“Yes, Your Honor. Sebby, if your mother tells you that you don’t have to keep that secret anymore, does that make you feel better?”

“Your Honor,” Ferrin whined. “Objection. He’s leading the witness.”

“Overruled.”

“Yes, sir,” Sebby answered. He visibly relaxed.

“So it feels good to get secrets out in the open, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I think most people feel that way. There was another secret your mother asked you to keep. Do you remember that one? You don’t have to say what it is. Just tell me yes or no.”

He nodded. “Yes, there’s another one.”

“Did you also know your mom went on television a few weeks ago and told everyone she was being treated for breast cancer?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“She did. So that isn’t a secret either. She’s releasing you from those secrets now, because they aren’t secrets anymore. She also said the doctors thought she was probably cured, that they got the cancer early and it won’t be back.”

Glynn’s heart nearly melted when Sebby gave her a full-on smile.

“You really love your mom, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” he said. The tips of his ears were turning red.

“Are you keeping any more secrets for your mom, Sebby?”

He shook his head adamantly. “No.”

“So . . . she didn’t ask you to keep any secrets about the day your father died?”

“No, sir.”

“Did someone else ask you?”

The smile left his face, but he didn’t answer.

“Sebby . . .” Michael put his hand on the rail in front of the witness stand. “I think there’s one more thing you’re hiding, and you have to tell us what it is.”

“I don’t remember. I get confused.”

“I know you do. But you really have to think hard this time. You made a deal with your mother, remember? She had the surgery and did the radiation treatments so she would get well. You went to Rawlings to go through the program so you would get well. She held up her end, and she even told everyone her secrets. Now you have to hold up yours.”

Sebby was in a state of near-panic, breathing faster and starting to sweat.

“Let’s go back and finish your story. You went into the bedroom when you heard the voices. You were hiding behind the bed. Why were you hiding?”

“I wasn’t allowed in their room.”

“Who told you that? Who said you weren’t allowed in their bedroom?”

He shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

“Was it your mother?”

“No.”

Michael glanced back at Glynn with an affirming nod. Then he turned back to Sebby. “What did you see from behind the bed?”

He gulped for air and blurted, “I told you. I saw her push the TV into the water. That was all.”

“You saw your mother do that?”

He started to cry. “I can’t tell. Something bad will happen.” It tore her apart to see her son in such pain, but Charlotte had pleaded with her to let Michael lead him to the truth. If Sebby didn’t face this, he would never be safe from the demons that tortured him.

“Are you keeping a secret for someone because you think something bad will happen?”

He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “It already did. Something bad happened to Dad.”

Michael looked back at Glynn, bewildered. “Because you told the secret?”

He nodded, burying his face in his hands.

“Who did you tell?”

“I accidentally told Mom.”

Glynn couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. She didn’t remember him saying anything shocking or secretive in the short time after she came home.

“Told her what, Sebby?”

“I don’t remember,” he wailed.

“Yes, you do. You told your father’s secret and something bad happened to him. Now you’re afraid if you tell it again, something bad will happen to your mom. Is that right?”

He nodded vigorously. “Yes.”

“Sebby, your mother is safe. She was very brave and told her secrets. Nothing bad happened to her. Now you have to be brave and tell yours.”

“Dad said she wouldn’t be there anymore, and not to say anything to Mom.” Tears rolled freely down his cheeks. “But I did. I told Mom about her when we were making cookies. And she came back and killed Dad.”

“Who did, Sebby?”

“Marcella . . . Marcella Stroupe.”

The courtroom went deathly silent for several seconds before murmurs erupted from the gallery. Judge Bowers slammed her gavel. “Quiet or you’re all going out the door!”

Michael looked at Glynn with dismay, and then at Ferrin, who was staring agape as his star witness. “Your Honor, I think we need a recess.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Chapter 22

Glynn’s knee bounced uncontrollably as she waited with Michael. “What’s taking so long?”

“Ferrin’s trying to salvage his case.”

“Why? He knows by now I didn’t do it.”

“He needs to make sure Sebby isn’t going to change his mind as soon as we walk out. He can’t charge you again because of double jeopardy.” He reached for his belt and removed his pager. “Charlotte’s outside.”

“Can we go?”

“The hallway’s going to be jammed with press, Glynn. I don’t want to make any premature statements.” He answered the text message, telling Charlotte to wait.

The door opened at the back of the courtroom and one of Ferrin’s assistants came in with the bailiff. “Mr. Gattison, Mr. Ferrin would like to meet with you and your client in the secondfloor conference room. Bobby’s going to guide us up the back steps.”

Glynn followed anxiously, ready to put this behind her. What she didn’t expect was to find Sebby already seated on the far side of the table, his grandmother at his side. She ignored Irene and hurried around, arms wide to receive her son.

He stood and reached out, wrapping her in a powerful embrace. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I got mixed up. I know it wasn’t you.”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I knew there had to be something wrong.” She basked in the relief of holding him tight, finally letting herself believe this saga would soon be over.

“If we could all have a seat . . .” Ferrin gestured at the table.

Glynn sat on Sebby’s opposite side, gripping his hand. She wasn’t yet ready to speak to Irene.

Ferrin took the seat at the head of the table. “We have a lot of questions that remain unanswered, but Sebastian is adamant that it was not his mother he saw commit the murder, so our office has no choice but to drop the charges.”

Michael cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Gerry, I’d like to see your office drop this case with the same zeal with which you took it up. My client has suffered tremendous harm from this prosecution, and you owe her more than a simple acknowledgment that you have no case.”

“Michael, we prosecuted her in good faith.”

“And we’ll accept that. But your public statement should acknowledge my client’s innocence, not your lack of evidence.”

It was clear to Glynn that avoiding public humiliation was high on Ferrin’s agenda. But finally he sighed in resignation.

“Very well. I’ll issue an apology when we announce we’re dropping the charges. But I still want Sebastian to clarify some of our questions. And by the way, I’ve just received word that Marcella Stroupe was taken into custody a few minutes ago, and they’re already working on matching her fingerprints to the scene. We’ll be questioning her, but it’s difficult to say whether or not she’ll be charged.”

Irene pounded the table with her fist. “What do you mean difficult to say? She killed my son!”

“Maybe she did, Mrs. Wright. But we now have a credibility problem with our eyewitness because he’s already told all of America his mother did it.”

“I thought it was Mom at first,” Sebby explained. “I could only see her from the back. I wasn’t used to seeing her with short hair. That’s why I got confused. And because . . .”

“Go ahead, son.” Glynn patted his arm.

“Dad promised me Marcella wouldn’t be coming over anymore after you got home.”

“And this Marcella Stroupe . . . she and your father were having an affair?” Ferrin asked.

Glynn wished she didn’t have to hear this part—the idea that Bas had cheated on her while she was gone made her sick to her stomach—but the fact Sebby had carried this horrible secret for so long by himself made her feel obligated to listen.

Sebby began to push his hair against the grain, clearly upset. “I walked in on them one night. That’s when Dad told me not to come into the bedroom anymore. And then before Mom got home, he made me promise to keep a secret. He said if I told Mom that Marcella had been there, something bad would happen to them.”

“So what really happened that day, Sebby?” Michael asked quietly.

“It was like I said. We were making cookies in the kitchen and Mom was asking me all these questions about what I’d been doing while she was gone. I don’t remember everything I said, but I know I told her Marcella had been at the house. It just slipped out. And then I got really scared when I remembered it was supposed to be a secret.”

“And what happened when your father got home?”

“I got up when I heard him and went to get more cookies. They were yelling at each other in the bathroom. I went in and hid behind the bed, and I saw her push the TV into the tub. Then she turned around and came out.”

“Did you see her face?” Ferrin asked, making notes as fast as he could.

“Yes, I was . . . I was surprised it was her, like I said, because at first I thought it was Mom. She went out the door. I can still hear her heels clicking on the floor.” He shook his head. “Mom never wears shoes in the house.”

Glynn laughed nervously, still squeezing his hand.

“Then I went into the bathroom. Dad was slumped over in the tub. I called to him but he didn’t answer, so I went to my room to wake Mom up.”

Ferrin stopped writing and leaned back, folding his arms. “Why didn’t you tell the police what you saw?”

He drew a deep breath and choked back a sob. “I was afraid Marcella would kill my mother.”

Tears filled her eyes as Sebby finally let go of his last demon. Charlotte had said he would need a lot of help to get over this once and for all, but getting the secrets out was the biggest step. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, son.”

As he leaned into her for another hug, she looked over his shoulder at her mother-in-law and her resolve to hold out dissipated. Irene’s face was lined with despair, and Glynn couldn’t help but give her an encouraging smile.

“I’m so sorry, Glynn.”

Glynn knew Irene too was taking Bas’s infidelity hard, and she probably was panicked at the prospect she might be cut off from her grandson after her behavior since Glynn’s arrest. “We’ll all be okay, Irene.”

Michael stood and held out his hand to Ferrin. “Good luck with your case, Gerry. Who do we see about the custody transfer? Can we do that today?”

Ferrin’s assistant stepped up. “Sebastian’s social worker is downstairs. We can put an order in front of Judge Bowers right away.”

“You want to come home, Sebby?” she asked, smoothing his hair where he had played with it.

“God, yes.”

“Irene?”

“I think I should stay in a hotel tonight and let you two have some time,” she said. “Maybe I’ll come around tomorrow.”

“Come for lunch. We’ll have pizza,” Glynn said with a broad grin.

From her vantage point near the top of the steps, Charlotte watched with amusement as the eager crowd of reporters milled about anxiously. Ferrin’s statement had them itching to get back to file their reports, but no one wanted to miss the next act, which would be Glynn and Michael trumpeting her innocence. If the press’s questions for Ferrin were any indication, the lead story was already framed as a colossal screw-up from the DA’s office. Glynn’s statement probably would warrant little more than a sound bite.

Charlotte enjoyed the anonymity afforded by her sunglasses, cap and casual attire. The last thing she wanted was a microphone in her face like the one Mark McKee was dealing with on the sidewalk below her. A persistent reporter was badgering him to admit he too screwed up, but Mark, dour-faced and clearly agitated, was standing by his work. Charlotte wasn’t as confident in her own judgment, and was kicking herself for missing Sebby’s critical diagnosis, an obvious psychotic break. Like Mark, she too had settled quickly for the easy answers.

And just in case her own feelings of culpability weren’t enough, Trevor Perdue was on her case as well. He apparently had seen her name linked to Glynn’s in the Post this morning and had left a priggish message on her home machine demanding to know more about their relationship.

A rush of the mob alerted her to Glynn and Michael’s emergence from the courthouse. They were smiling, but not overtly celebratory.

Michael was first to speak. “Obviously, we’re pleased.” Reporters shouted questions all at once.

“No, my client has no plans to seek recrimination against

the court. As Mr. Ferrin said, the district attorney’s office operated in good faith. He had some pretty incredible evidence, but we had the luxury of knowing all along that Glynn Wright was innocent.”

Charlotte finally caught Glynn’s eye and gave her a tiny wave, getting a wink in return. Glynn was stepping up to face the press.

“First, I’d like to say thank you to all of you who have shared your support through this difficult time. Your letters and calls meant more to me than I can ever say. And I truly appreciate the concern you expressed for my son. He’s a remarkable young man.”

She stopped to listen to a question from a nearby reporter. “No, Sebby and I plan to take a few days away before returning to our home”—she gave them a teasing grin—“and we’re desperately hoping you’ll give us some privacy for a change.”

Michael stepped in front of her to ward off more questions, but Glynn tugged gently on his elbow.

“There’s one more thing I’d like to do while I have everyone’s attention. I want to thank the people of Indiana for honoring my late husband as you did by electing me to the House of Representatives. Working together, we’ve done some wonderful things, and we’ve shared your Indiana values with all Americans.”

By the sound of it, Glynn had changed her mind about running next year for re-election, and was ready to launch her campaign.

“But now I hope you’ll understand my next request—to release me from my current term.” She grinned. “I know politicians always tell you when they resign that they want to spend more time with their families, but this time it happens to be the truth. It has been an honor to serve you, and you’ll always hold a special place in my heart.”

• • •

Charlotte collected her shoes and purse from the security bin and followed the signs for the tram that would take her to the gate. Her fellow travelers seemed subdued, not surprising for the pre-dawn hour.

Getting out of town for two weeks—one of which Perdue had given her as suspension for getting involved with a family member of a patient—was the best way to deal with this, she had decided, especially when the offer materialized for a condo in Nassau. One could leave the world behind in a place like that, and that’s exactly what she had in mind.

In the departure area, she spotted an empty chair beside a woman and her teenage companion. “I don’t know about you, but I packed enough to stay till summer.”

“So did we,” the woman said, peering over her reading glasses. She already wore a straw hat in anticipation of the Caribbean sun. “You remember my son?”

The young man was already on his feet and Charlotte put out her hand. “I sure do. How are you, Sebby?”

“I’m great,” he said, grinning broadly. “This is going to be so cool.” He sat back down and slid his earphones into place, his thumbs already working on a handheld game device.

Charlotte gave Glynn a skeptical look.

“I swear he’s fine. Except I told him you were my psychiatrist now, not his, so he’d have to go somewhere else for therapy.”

“How did the therapy part go over?”

“I think he’s okay with it.” Though still looking at Charlotte, Glynn draped a hand behind her across her son’s arm. “He knows he hasn’t finished his part of the deal yet. But I promised him there wouldn’t be any more secrets to keep.”

“And how did it go with Irene?”

“Not too bad. In fact, she bought our plane tickets . . . well, not yours. I bought yours. She’s having a little trouble with the bisexual thing, but I explained to her that Bas knew all along and didn’t have a problem with it.” She let go of Sebby and looped her arm through Charlotte’s. “We’ve dropped totally off the radar in just two days, by the way. There isn’t a word about us in the Sunday Post.”

“That should make this trip even better.”

“I don’t think it could get better than me having my two favorite people along for nothing but relaxation and sun. And here’s the best part—Allan Stines got my paperwork through last night, so I’m officially out of the House. That means I don’t have to declare this week as a gift.”

“It was nice of the Harringtons to lend us their place.”

“It belongs to Melinda’s family. They were so excited when I said we’d go. And I’m slated to meet Saul’s board at the institute as soon as we get back. If that works out, I’m taking Tina along as my administrative assistant.”

“And what about Roy? Has he lined up his next job?”

Glynn sighed. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to Roy. Michael said Ferrin’s out for blood because he perjured himself in his deposition. He knew about Bas and Marcella, but he lied to keep Ferrin from using it against me as a possible motive.”

“I wonder if Roy thought you did it.”

“I’ve tried not to think about that part.”

“Love makes you do strange things,” Charlotte said, taking stock of her own actions over the past few months. The risk was nothing compared to the reward.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the departure lounge for Flight 1061, nonstop service to Nassau, Bahamas. At this time, we’d like to begin . . .”

Charlotte stood and slung her bag over her shoulder, already thinking ahead to the hammock on the tropical beach, the one that filled her fantasy of the perfect getaway. She smiled to herself as Glynn’s hand grasped hers. She hoped that hammock held two.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

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