Eventually, Annabelle calmed down again, and they put her to bed together. She seemed so happy to see them that way that it tore at Alex's heart. Later when they went out to the kitchen, Sam looked embarrassed.

“I didn't realize you'd lost your hair,” Sam said, as he helped himself to one of Santa's cookies. They had less of everything this year. Fewer cookies, fewer Christmas cakes, fewer presents, less cheer. Even their Christmas tree seemed smaller. With Alex sick, no one else had put in the same effort. And they hadn't sent Christmas cards either. She didn't have the energy, and she wouldn't have known how to sign them. From Alex …and maybe Sam …sort of.

“I didn't think you'd want me to announce it, about my hair,” Alex said, trying not to think of the woman she'd seen him with the day before. The hardest thing was that it was obvious that it wasn't a casual affair. When she'd seen them together, they looked married.

“It'll grow back,” he said, feeling helpless again. He always felt inadequate and uncomfortable around her.

“My hair will. Our marriage won't,” she said sadly. She knew they had agreed not to discuss it for another month, but it was difficult not to.

“Are you sure of that?” He looked her in the eye, and waited for her answer.

“Aren't you? I get the impression you've already made your mind up.” She had certainly gotten that impression watching him with the English girl outside Ralph Lauren.

“You can never be sure. It's hard not to remember the good times.”

“They don't seem that long ago to me,” she said honestly. “Maybe you were unhappy for longer than I was.”

“I don't think unhappy's the right word. Confused. I've been confused ever since you got sick. It changed you.” It wasn't even an accusation. It was a statement. And for him, it justified his behavior and was a ticket to freedom.

“I think it changed both of us. I don't suppose things like this ever leave you where they found you. It's a long, hard road to survival.”

“It must be terrible,” he said, sympathetic for the first time. He was gentler these days, she realized now. Falling in love had mellowed him. But she didn't find that as touching as she might have. “You've been through an awful lot.”

“With more to come,” she smiled. “Four and a half months exactly.”

“And then what?”

“Then I wait to see if I get a recurrence. Five years seems to be the magic number. Supposedly I had the right kind of tumor for the good odds, and the chemo is supposed to give me extra insurance. I guess you just go on with your life, and try not to think about it. The women I know who've survived for a long time claim that they don't think about it anymore except when they go in once a year for routine checkups. I'd like to be there now. This is still pretty scary.” It was the first real conversation they'd had in three months, and she was amazed he was willing to talk about it. Whoever the girl was, she had almost made him human. But Alex didn't feel grateful to her, only envious and sad, and angry.

“If you get a recurrence,” he tried to sound encouraging, “you just fight it again, I guess.”

“Not likely,” she said matter-of-factly, wishing she could take her wig off. It was very itchy. But she wouldn't have dared to let him see how she looked now. “Except for very rare cases, you don't survive recurrences. You die. That's why they're so aggressive the first time, about treatment.” He understood it better now, but he was shocked by what she had told him. He didn't think he'd heard it quite so bluntly before, or maybe he just hadn't listened. Seeing her now, after being with Daphne, tore at his heartstrings, but nothing else. For him, the rest was over. All he felt for her now was pity, and tenderness for the memories of better times.

“What are you doing while Annabelle's away?” he asked, trying to change the subject. It was getting a little heavy for him.

“Nothing. Sleep, rest, work. My social life is not exactly overactive these days. I only have so much energy. I use it on Annabelle and my cases.”

“Why don't you go away? It might do you good. Or can you do that?”

“I could. I get a two-week break from treatment every month, but I'd rather stay here.” She didn't want to go away with Brock, though he had invited her. In spite of their close working relationship, she hardly knew him. And she didn't want to go alone. There was no point. She was better off in her own apartment, her own bed, with her own things, close to her doctor, if she had a problem. She was very introverted these days, and very dependent on the familiar. There were too many frightening elements in her life now to make her open to new ones.

“I hate to think of you here alone,” he said guiltily. It was odd, now that Daphne was gone, he suddenly felt more responsible for Alex. It was like an illness, pulling him this way and that, and he didn't really like it. He was happy that he was taking Annabelle away the day after Christmas.

“I'll be fine. I really don't want to go anywhere. And I've got plenty at the office to keep me busy.”

“There's more to life than work,” he said with a smile, and she looked right at him in answer.

“Is there, Sam?”

He walked out of the kitchen then without giving her an answer. But he wondered if she had a sixth sense about Daphne, or if someone had told her. He doubted it. She was too involved with herself right now to even think there was someone else. She couldn't possibly suspect it.

All of Annabelle's presents were wrapped and hidden in a locked closet. They set them out under the tree shortly after nine, and then they retired to their own rooms, like strangers. She read for a little while, and she heard the phone ring at midnight. But she let him answer. She knew it wouldn't be for her. And she was right. It was Daphne, freshly arrived in London, and missing him already. It made him feel wonderful talking to her, and when he did, he realized again how much it depressed him to be around Alex. She wasn't exactly fun these days. She seemed to have given up on life, and everything about her seemed to be falling away and dying, her spirits, her hair, their marriage. He knew he should be more supportive, but he just couldn't.

“I miss you terribly, darling,” Daphne reassured him. “I'm not going to be able to bear it without you. You'll have to hurry over. My God, it's cold here.” She had forgotten the miseries of the bitter London winter, and the heat in her flat wasn't working. All she had was the fireplace, she complained, and no Sam to keep her warm.

“Stop,” he said, almost wincing with the pain of missing her, “or I'm going to get on the next Concorde.”

“I wish you would.” But they both knew he couldn't. They both had to fulfill their parental duties. “I can't bear it.”

They hung up finally, and his whole body keened for her, as he lay in bed and thought of the remarkable young woman who had changed his whole life since Thanksgiving. He had never known anyone quite like her. Even Alex, at her best, had never had that much passion.

Annabelle woke at six a.m. on Christmas Day, and it was a long, happy day for her, and a nice one for Sam and Alex. Annabelle loved all her gifts and Sam was touched by the lavishness of Alex's gift to him, and he said he loved it. She liked the watch, although she understood the message he had been giving her, that this was no longer a time for personal gifts between them, and the clarity of it hurt her feelings. But other than that, they had a very nice time together.

She managed to cook a roast beef and popovers for all of them, and to conceal how sick she felt through most of it. But it wasn't nearly as disastrous as Thanksgiving. She lay down afterwards to rest, and just for the fun of it, since they were at home, she wore her short wig, and she and Annabelle looked like twins. Sam even said he liked it.

She wore a red sweater and black suede pants, and she looked surprisingly pretty. Her face had filled out a little bit, and she had gained some weight, but not enough to object to. It was odd, given how sick she had been, but that was what Dr. Webber had predicted.

They went out for a brief walk that afternoon, and Sam hailed a cab and took them to Rockefeller Center to watch the skaters. But looking at them only reminded him again of Daphne.

Alex was exhausted then, and they had to take a taxi home. It was obvious that she couldn't go a step further, and he even had to help her to her bedroom. Her joints were aching, and she was too exhausted to go another step without assistance.

“Is Mommy all right?” Annabelle asked worriedly, and he nodded, torn between sympathy for his wife, and anger over the anxiety she caused their daughter with her illness.

“She's fine,” he said firmly.

“Will she be all right when we're in Florida?”

“She'll be perfect. Carmen will be here to take care of her.” She found his answers very reassuring, and later Alex got up to pack Annabelle's suitcase. It was fun packing all her little things, but suddenly, as she did, Alex felt a wave of panic come over her. What if a day came when she could no longer take care of her, and Annabelle had to go to live with Sam? What if she lost her, too? Just thinking of it made her feel ill again, and as she sat down, her whole body was shaking. She forced herself to get up again after that, and finish packing the suitcase. She was not going to let anything like that happen, she was not going to lose her to Sam, or that woman. Fearing that made her stay up for dinner with them that night, although she was truly exhausted after all the efforts of Christmas. But she had dinner with them, and then went to bed, and slept until her alarm went off in the morning.

She helped Annabelle dress, and reminded her to have a good time, and call when she felt like it, and swim, and have a great time with Daddy. And then she pulled her close to her, and held her as though she were afraid she might never see her again. Sensing her mother's panic, Annabelle started to cry when she left her, and they clung to each other for a long time. Annabelle knew how much her mother loved her, and instinctively felt how alone she was.