“He's great to Annabelle,” she said kindly about Brock.

“I'm glad. Is he good to you?”

“Very.”

“Then I'm happy for you.” But he wasn't, and they both knew it. More than anything, even though he had known it couldn't lead anywhere, he had wanted her to know how much he still loved her.

“Take care of yourself,” she said as they turned up Seventy-sixth Street toward the Carlyle. She lived only half a block away, and she was determined to walk home alone, but he wouldn't let her.

“I'll try. I have no idea where they'll send me. Probably Leavenworth,” since there were both state and federal charges. “I hope it's civilized at least.”

“Maybe Phillip will do something miraculous, like get you a deal at the last minute.” But he had held out no hope of that to Sam. He'd have to go to prison, though he hoped not for too long. And after the first few months, or years, maybe he'd get transferred to one of the “country club” prisons.

When they passed the Carlyle, he tried to talk her into coming upstairs with him, but she wouldn't. She knew better than to trust him, or herself. And when they got to her building, she kissed him on the cheek, and thanked him for a nice evening. And as she went upstairs, she felt quiet and pensive. There was a lot to think about, a lot of feelings to sift through.

Brock didn't question where she'd been the night before, but there was an odd atmosphere between them all the next morning in the office. It was as though he knew, but refused to ask her. And then finally, at lunch, he couldn't stand it any longer.

“You were out with him last night, weren't you?”

“With whom?” she asked stupidly, feeling her heart pound and hating herself for lying as she ate her sandwich.

“Your husband,” he said coolly. He knew. He had good instincts.

“Sam?” She paused, prepared to lie finally, and then decided not to. She owed Brock more than that and she knew it. But his jealousy scared her. But so did her feelings. The worst thing was that she loved both of them, and she knew it. She owed Sam for years past, and Brock for the past year. But what did she owe herself? That was the question she just couldn't answer. “He wanted to have dinner to talk about Annabelle … I didn't think you'd mind,” she said, lying to him again, but he knew it. She felt so uncomfortable and so confused. She wanted to hate Sam for it, but she didn't.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Brock asked her, looking worried and unhappy.

“Because I was scared,” she said honestly, “that you'd be angry, and I wanted to see him.” It was hard telling him the truth, but she knew she had to.

“Why did you want to see him?”

“Because he's going away for a long time, and I feel sorry for him, and as you put it, he's still my husband.” She looked sad and confused and unhappy. And her eyes told their own story.

“Did he kiss you?” He was no fool. And his jealousy jumped out on his skin like gooseflesh.

“Brock, stop it.” She tried to avoid him but he wouldn't let her.

“You didn't answer my question.” He was pushing at her, pressing her, daring her to answer, and then finally she snapped, mostly out of guilt, but also out of anger.

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes a difference to me.” She almost wondered if he'd followed them, but she didn't think he'd do that.

“All right, I kissed him. So what? That's all that happened.”

“That guy is a real sonofabitch,” he blazed, as he stormed around her office. “He's going to jail, and he wants to get you wound up again. What does he want? For you to wait for him for twenty years? How nice for you. What a great guy he is, or don't you see that? He's completely selfish.”

“Okay, you win, he's selfish. But he's also human, and scared, and in his own way, he loves me.”

“And do you love him?”

“I was married to him for eighteen years, that's worth something. Friendship, if nothing else. I think all he wants is to make peace before he goes, to heal old wounds, and settle his affairs. He knows he's going. He's not trying to take me with him. He filed for divorce, didn't he?”

“And if he doesn't go?” He turned suddenly on her, and she was startled.

“He's not going to get off, Brock. He doesn't have a chance of that. You know that.”

“And if he did, would you stay married to him? Would you go back?” It was a difficult question, and she didn't want to answer it. For herself as much as him. There was no chance of his not going to prison. She knew that and so did Sam. Phillip Smith had left him no illusions. But the issue was not whether or not Sam was going to prison. The issue was not that simple.

“It doesn't have anything to do with that. If I really loved him, I'd be with him, whether or not he went to prison. I'm with you, Brock. That must mean something.”

“It does, but when he's gone, he'll be writing to you, wanting you to visit. You're still in love with him, Alex. Why don't you just face it?” He was hard on her, and she was angry at him for it. He wanted everything all at once, and life didn't work that way. She knew that better than he did.

“It takes old wounds time to heal, Brock. It doesn't happen in an instant. Be patient.”

“Why don't you admit what you're feeling? I think you're going to go back to him.”

“Why don't you grow up, Brock, and stop pushing?” she snapped at him in answer.

“Because I love you.” There were tears in his eyes suddenly when he said it. He loved her, and he wanted her, but there was no use denying that she still loved Sam. She did, and he knew it. He just didn't know what she'd want to do about it, in spite of all her denials.

She clung to him then, and they both cried. Nothing was ever simple. But she wanted to explain to Brock that she needed time to mourn Sam, and to change the subject, she started talking about his sister. And as soon as she did, he looked stricken. She asked him why, but at first, he wouldn't tell her, and then finally he knew he had to. He had meant to for a long time, but it had been better not to, for her sake. It had been particularly difficult when he and Alex talked about getting married, and she said she wanted to invite his sister.

“My sister's dead, Alex,” he said miserably. “She's been dead for ten years. She had just what you had. She had a mastectomy, and chemo, and she couldn't take it. It was too hard for her, and she decided to stop the chemo, and die instead. Actually, her cancer had already spread before they took her breast off. But she gave up.” He started to cry as he remembered, and Alex stared at him in silent amazement. He had never told her. He had encouraged her to believe that his sister had made it, so she would stick with her treatment. “She just quit. She wouldn't take the chemo. It took her a year to die … I was twenty-one, and I took care of her for a year. I wanted to make her live, but she was just too sick. And her husband was a real bastard, like Sam.” He looked at her pointedly. “He never lifted a finger for her till she died, and he remarried six months later. She was thirty-two, and so beautiful …” He sat silent for a long time, as Alex held him and cried for both of them.

“Oh God, I'm so sorry, why didn't you tell me?” She felt terrible. He had given her so much hope, and now she realized all he must have gone through with his sister.

“I didn't want you to give up,” Brock explained, as he wiped away tears, remembering his sister, and loving Alex more than ever. In a way, loving Alex had been like a second chance to save her. And in some ways, Alex was a great deal like her.

“That's why I kept wanting you to do your chemo … I didn't want it to happen to you, and I didn't want you to know she'd died, or I thought you'd give up, like she did.”

“You should have told me.” He said nothing, he only sat quietly remembering, as Alex watched him. “I should have known,” Alex reproached herself, as he blew his nose in a paper napkin she handed him. She wondered what else he hadn't told her, but not telling her about his sister had been a kindness.

“I'm just so scared,” he admitted to her as they sat in her office. “I'm so scared you'll go back to him … he still loves you. I saw it all over his face … I can't stand seeing you with him.” She knew what he said was true, about Sam loving her. And she couldn't change it. She knew she loved Sam too. But it was too late. It was over. And he'd be gone soon, and then she wouldn't have to see him anymore, or ask herself what she felt. It would only be memories, and regrets, and disappointments. And the happier memories from before she got sick. But those were the memories Brock was afraid of.

They went back to work after that, and the next day she had to get ready for Annabelle's birthday. But she knew Sam would come too, and she hoped Brock wouldn't go crazy. In the end, he decided it would be easier for everyone if he wasn't there. And Alex didn't disagree with him, although Annabelle was disappointed.

“I wonder how old I'll be when I get out,” Sam said matter-of-factly, as he ate birthday cake, and Alex groaned at the lack of subtlety. Sometimes he couldn't resist a little dark humor, but ever since their dinner together, he seemed in better spirits.

“A hundred, I hope, and too old to remember you ever knew me,” she answered.

“Don't count on it.” And then, as he set the cake down, “I'd like to have dinner with you again next week, before sentencing, if that's convenient. There are a lot of details about Annabelle I want to go over with you. I still have some money set aside for her support and education.” He had sold the apartment the month before, some of it was going to pay for his attorneys, and the rest he wanted to give to Alex for their daughter.