She was careful not to eat or drink anything, although she longed for a cup of coffee, and as she brushed her teeth, she suddenly found she had to fight back tears. There was an overwhelming urge to run away, to hide from all of it, but there was no hiding now from the treachery of her own body. Instead, she stood up and looked at herself, with tears running down her cheeks, her toothbrush in her hand, as she stared into the mirror. She set the toothbrush down and dropped the straps on her nightgown. The silky gown fell easily to the floor without a sound, and she stood looking at herself, the small firm breasts that she had always taken for granted. The left was a fraction larger than the right, and she remembered suddenly with a smile that Annabelle had always preferred it to the other when she nursed her. She couldn't help but appreciate the symmetry of her breasts, and the long, graceful lines of her body. She had long legs, a small waist, she had always had a good figure and never thought much about it. And what would happen now? Who would she be, if she lost the breast today? Would she be someone else? Would she be so hideously deformed that Sam would no longer want her? She had wanted to talk about it with him, to hear him say that he didn't care if she had one breast or two. She needed to hear the words, but he hadn't been able to face even the idea of it, and he had told her all week that nothing was wrong with her and she was being morbid.

And now, she stood looking at herself, and she cried as she realized what might happen to her. She couldn't even imagine it. A breast was a small price to pay for a life, if it came to that, but she didn't want to lose it either. She didn't want to be deformed, or look like a man, or have reconstructive surgery. She didn't want any of it. And most of all, she didn't want to lose her breast, or have cancer.

“Hi,” Sam said sleepily, as he walked past her to the shower. She hadn't seen him come in, and he didn't seem to notice that she was crying. She turned away from him self-consciously, as though there were already something ugly about her, and covered herself with a towel. “You're up early.” What a surprise. Fancy that! The way he said it made her want to hit him. All the understanding he had ever had for her seemed to have vanished in less than two weeks of total denial.

“I'm having surgery today,” she reminded him in a constricted voice, as he turned on the shower.

“You're having a biopsy. Let's not get too dramatic.”

“When are you going to wake up?” she snapped at him. “When are you going to face this thing? After I lose the breast, or not even then? Is this so goddamn threatening that you can't reach out to me for a single moment?” He needed to hear it from her, needed to know how badly he was letting her down, but he couldn't face that either. He stepped into the shower without looking at her, and said something she couldn't hear as she stared at him in renewed amazement. She took two long steps over to him, and yanked back the shower curtain, until they were both soaking wet and she looked at him in complete fury. “What did you just say to me?”

“I said you're being melodramatic.” He looked both embarrassed and annoyed at her, as she stood there looking very wet and very beautiful and his body acknowledged her with an erection. But they hadn't made love once since she'd had the results of the mammogram. They had done nothing at all since “blue day.” First, she'd had the trial, and now she was dealing with the trauma of possibly having cancer. And he had made no overtures to her either. He was trying to avoid her.

“I think you're being a sonofabitch, Sam Parker. I don't give a damn if you're having trouble coping with this, so am I. And it's happening to me, not you. You could at least be there for me. Is that so much to ask? Is that so difficult for you, Mr. Important, Mr. Venture Capitalist, Mr. So Fucking Scared He Can't Face What's Happening?” She was so furious she wanted to hit him, but he pulled the shower curtain away from her, and turned to continue his shower.

“Why don't you go easy on both of us, Al? It'll all be over by this afternoon, and you'll feel a lot better.” They both knew that the Serophene she'd taken four weeks before didn't help her ability to cope, or her disposition, but this was also not about hormones. This was about real life, and a threat to her very survival and existence. It was a threat to everything she was, her health, her life, her looks, her femininity, even her ability to have children. What else was there? Many things perhaps, but she had not yet come to see them. Neither had Sam. He had his head in the sand and was seeing nothing.

Carmen arrived just as Annabelle woke up, and Alex went to talk to them while Annabelle got dressed, and Carmen noticed that she was extremely nervous. Alex hadn't said anything different to her than she had to Annabelle, only that she had to go away on business for a few days, and needed Carmen to stay at the apartment.

“Is everything okay, Mrs. Parker?” Carmen said suspiciously, she had never seen Alex look quite that way, and for a minute, Alex was tempted to tell her. But it made it too real to confide in her. It was easier just to pretend that she was going away on business.

“Everything's fine, Carmen, thanks.” But Carmen was suspicious again when Alex came back dressed in jeans and a white sweater. She never wore clothes like that when she went away, she didn't even have stockings on, just bare feet in loafers, and she was wearing no makeup. Carmen frowned as she looked at her, and then glanced at Sam, who was drinking coffee, eating eggs, and reading the morning paper. He was dressed normally, in a business suit, and when he put the paper down to talk to them, he seemed unusually cheerful. He didn't say anything to his wife, but he was particularly funny with Annabelle and Carmen. And she didn't know what was happening, but something in her gut told her she didn't like it. But Annabelle was aware of nothing.

At seven-fifteen, Alex reminded him that they had to leave, and he picked up his briefcase and Alex's bag, and promised Annabelle he'd be home for dinner. He kissed her, rumpled her curls, and then he went to ring for the elevator, while Alex stood there and held her baby.

“I'm going to miss you a lot,” Alex said huskily, feeling herself shake as she held her. She didn't want to give away too much, but she wanted more than anything to hold her for as long as she could. But the elevator had already come and Sam was calling her. “I love you, baby, I'll see you soon … I love you …” she called over her shoulder, as tears streamed from her eyes, and she ran for the elevator as Carmen watched her. Annabelle was already watching cartoons on TV by then, but Carmen was haunted by the look on her employer's face, as she put Sam's dishes into the sink, and then she remembered that Alex hadn't eaten anything, she hadn't even had a glass of juice or a cup of coffee. Something was very wrong. She just knew it.

By then, Alex and Sam were in a cab, on the way to the hospital, and he was making easy conversation, while she wished he wouldn't. It was almost worse than talking about what was happening, and all she could think of was Annabelle's sweet little face when she left her, or the way she had felt in her arms when she'd kissed her good-bye. It was almost beyond bearing.

“We have another group of Arabs corning in today, and some people from the Netherlands. I must say, Simon knows some extraordinary people. I was really wrong about him.” He chatted on as they headed east to New York Hospital, where they were going to meet Dr. Peter Herman.

“I'm glad to hear it,” Alex snapped at him, indifferent to Simon's virtues, or their potential clients. “Are you going to stick around for this, or are you going to the office?” Nothing would have surprised her, but he also knew she wanted him to be there.

“I told you I'd stay, and I will. I had Janet call the doctor and he said what with the anesthetic, the procedure will take about half an hour, forty-five minutes if they get delayed. You'll be down shortly after that, and you can sleep it off until the afternoon. I thought I'd hang around till ten-thirty or eleven, you'll be awake by then, or you'll have woken up and gone back to sleep in your room. And then I'll come back this afternoon and get you.”

There was a long silence as she nodded and stared out the window. “I wish I shared your optimism.” She had already told him that she had opted for a “one-stop” procedure. She was going to sign a permission form that would allow the doctor to do whatever he had to once he got there. So that if the biopsy brought bad news, he would perform all the needed surgery that day. She didn't want to come back again after an agonizing wait, knowing that she had to lose the breast anyway. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen today, biopsy, mastectomy, or lumpectomy if the problem was minimal enough to warrant taking out only the lump. But she already knew Dr. Herman's thoughts on that subject. She wouldn't know what he'd done to her until she woke up. But at least she only had to face the terror once. Sam still thought she was crazy.

“You really trust this guy that much?” he asked again, as they crossed York Avenue and the hospital loomed ahead like a dinosaur ready to devour her.

“His reputation's excellent. I checked him out thoroughly. And I got a second opinion.” She had never even told him. “The second doctor completely agreed with what he'd said, Sam. It's pretty clear, but not very pretty.”

“I still wouldn't give him too much leeway. Take it one step at a time.” But she didn't agree with him, and when she'd called John Anderson to discuss it with him, he had thought she was doing the right thing. He told her to trust Peter Herman completely.