The clinic waiting room was filled with old people. On her left was a silver-haired man with a rattling cough; on her right was a woman with hands so gnarled by arthritis she could barely zip up her purse. Taryn was the youngest person in the room, and as she dutifully filled out the health questionnaire, marking no to every question, she noticed glances from the other patients, who were no doubt wondering why someone so obviously healthy was here to see the doctor.

She signed the completed form, handed it to the receptionist, and sat down to wait.

The old man with the cough went in first, then a man with a cane, then the woman with the gnarled hands. By the time the nurse finally emerged and called out, “Taryn?” she was the last patient in the waiting room. The nurse led her down a short hall into the exam room and handed her a paper gown. “Everything off except your underwear,” she said.

Taryn would rather not meet her rival while half-naked, but she undressed as instructed and once again sat down to wait. On the wall hung a framed diploma from Boston University School of Medicine and, beneath it, a certificate from the American Board of Internal Medicine, proof that Margaret Dorian was a woman to be reckoned with.

But Taryn was the one her husband lusted after.

There was a knock on the door, and Dr. Dorian stepped in, carrying a clipboard with Taryn’s patient questionnaire. Even though it was nearly five in the afternoon and she had probably been seeing patients all day, she looked relaxed and unhurried, her hair neatly swept back in a ponytail, a stethoscope casually draped around her neck.

She greeted her patient with a smile. “Hello, Taryn. I’m Dr. Dorian. You’re here for a physical?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned to the sink and washed her hands. “Is this for a job?”

“For school. I’m hoping to start a graduate program this fall. English lit.”

“Good for you.” She dried her hands and glanced at the clipboard with the questionnaire. “From what I see here, it looks like you’re pretty healthy. Any current medical problems? Complaints?”

Taryn shrugged. “I’m a little stressed. You know, senior year.”

She smiled. “Take the time to enjoy it. I guarantee, when you get older, you’ll look back at this year with nostalgia.”

As Dr. Dorian leaned in close to peer into her eyes and ears and palpate her neck, Taryn took a close look at her, noting the strands of silver streaking her red hair and the laugh lines creasing the corners of her eyes. Though she was somewhere in her late thirties, she was still pretty; in her twenties, she must have been stunning. If she really was pregnant, as Jack claimed, it didn’t yet show. Had he lied to her? Was it merely an excuse he’d invented to break things off between them?

Dr. Dorian pressed the stethoscope to Taryn’s chest. “Take a deep breath.”

Taryn inhaled the other woman’s scent of soap and disinfectant. Certainly it was not a scent to inspire passion. So this was what Jack went home to every night, the smell of sterility and exam rooms. To a woman who spent her day pressing aging flesh and peering into orifices. Why would he choose this over what Taryn could offer him?

She stretched out on the table so the doctor could examine her abdomen. As she felt the doctor’s warm hands press against her belly, Taryn thought of the baby now growing in Margaret Dorian’s abdomen. Jack’s baby. Neither Jack nor his wife was young, and Taryn wondered why they hadn’t had children up till now. Because they couldn’t, or because they’d chosen not to? That baby was the reason Jack had left her, and even though it was now just a ball of cells that was probably no bigger than her thumb, she hated it. As Dr. Dorian felt for her liver and spleen, Taryn stared at the other woman’s belly, willing the baby inside her to shrivel up and die. If it did not exist, Jack would still be with her.

“Everything seems normal,” Dr. Dorian said, straightening. “You’re a perfectly healthy twenty-two-year-old. Now it’s up to you to stay that way. Do you smoke cigarettes or use drugs? Alcohol?”

“I have a drink now and then.”

“Unprotected sex?”

If only you knew.

“I try to be careful,” Taryn replied. “But sometimes, you know how it is. You get carried away.”

“I can order a pregnancy test. If you think you need one.”

That was something Taryn had not even considered. “No,” she finally said. “I don’t need one.”

“Well, just keep being careful,” Dr. Dorian said and gave Taryn’s shoulder a squeeze. She was not yet a mother, but already maternal gestures seemed natural to her. “Now, do you have any school forms for me to fill out?”

“I’ll mail them to you.”

“Certainly.” She jotted a note in the chart. “Which grad school will you be attending?”

“Commonwealth.”

She glanced up. “Oh? My husband’s on the faculty there.”

“Yes, I know. I took one of his seminars. It’s called Star-Crossed Lovers.”

“What a small world!”

“Yes, isn’t it?”

“So what will you be studying in grad school?”

“English lit. I never would have gotten into the program without your husband’s help. He wrote me the best recommendation letters, and that made all the difference.”

Dr. Dorian smiled. It was not a fake smile just to be polite; no, this was a smile of genuine delight about her husband’s good deed. “He loves it when he finds a student who really shines.”

“When I was looking for a doctor, I noticed your name was Dorian. That’s kind of the reason I picked you.”

“Really? I’ll have to thank him for the referral!”

“Be sure to tell him I said hello. Tell him I’ll never forget all the lessons he taught me.”

“I certainly will.” She gave a breezy wave as she headed for the door. “Good luck in grad school, Taryn. In case I don’t see you again.”

Oh, you’ll be seeing me. Sooner than you think.

CHAPTER 31

JACK

It was hard to believe that Charlie was dying when he showed up at their house looking almost as hale as he had before his diagnosis. His glacier-blue eyes still flashed the chilly sharpness that could bring criminals to their knees. He might have lost some weight from the radiation therapy, but years of regular workouts at Gold’s Gym had built a sturdy frame, thick with muscles, and he did not project the shrunken look Jack had seen in other cancer patients.

And tonight, he’d arrived in high spirits and waving a bottle of sixteen-year-old Lagavulin whiskey—his favorite brand, which made it Jack’s favorite as well.

As rib eye steaks broiled in the kitchen, Charlie poured the whiskey and handed glasses to Maggie and Jack. “No better time than the present to celebrate being alive,” he said. “And from now on, only the expensive stuff will do!”

Both Charlie and Jack gulped down the whiskey, but Maggie quietly set hers down untouched, a detail Charlie—observant as always—did not miss.

“Not going to join our toast, darling?” he asked.

“Actually, Dad, I have a good reason not to. Jack and I have some news.”

“It’s something big,” Jack said, grinning. “Really big.”

“Well, I hope it won’t be that big,” Maggie said, laughing. She went to stand face to face with her father. “Dad, we’re going to have a baby.”

Slowly Charlie put down his glass. For a moment he could not speak; he simply stared at his daughter, his beautiful daughter.

“It’s going to happen in October. My doctor says the pregnancy looks good, and I’m feeling great. Dad, aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Oh dear God. My Maggie. Is this real?”

“It is.” Laughing and sobbing at the same time, she took Charlie’s hands in hers. “It is, it is! You’re finally going to be a grandpa!”

In all the years that Jack had known him, he had seen Charlie cry only once, at the funeral of Maggie’s mother, Annie. But at that moment his face crumpled, and suddenly all three of them were hugging and weeping. They wept for joy. They wept in gratitude for this chance at a family again. They wept in hope that this time he and Maggie would have a baby to love, even as Charlie was facing the end of his own life. Jack also knew that part of his own reaction rose from the stress of the whole Taryn affair—from the annihilating guilt of cheating on Maggie, from the lies and deception, from not stopping himself from using Taryn and adding to the scar tissue of men who had abandoned her. And from the prowling fear of it all coming out.

To give them some privacy, Jack retreated to the kitchen. He pulled the steaks out of the broiler, tossed the salad, and opened a bottle of wine. Charlie’s heart-healthy diet was now out the window; in the months left to him, he’d eat all the steak he damn well wanted. When Jack returned to the living room, father and daughter were sitting on the sofa, Charlie’s arm slung over her shoulder, his cheeks flushed with happiness.