“Tomorrow?” he said quickly, looking hopeful.

“Tomorrow what?” She was in a rush to leave, and he could see it.

“Tomorrow dinner?”

“Lunch. In the cafeteria. I’m on duty.” He could sense that it was the best deal he was going to get for now.

“Sounds good. So am I. I’ll check in with you at noon to see how your schedule is looking.” She nodded, touched her forehead in a military salute, and flew out the door, and he almost let out a whoop as he threw away his empty coffee cup and went back to the NICU. It had already been a terrific day, and it was just minutes after noon. He could hardly wait for lunch the next day.

Sasha was already in the labor room, checking her patient, who was handling the contractions well. The parents were so excited they were already crying, and it wasn’t even time to push. They could hardly wait to get their babies in their arms. But for now, the surrogate was her patient, and Sasha was focusing on her. The babies were lined up nicely, and the monitors looked good, and Alex Scott was the farthest thing from her mind.

—

The theater was dark on Monday nights, but Abby went in that afternoon anyway. She had more scenery to paint, and a little carpentry to do. She and a janitor did the heavy cleaning on Mondays, and she had been calling Ivan since that morning, but he didn’t pick up, and hadn’t returned her calls. He had been MIA since the day before, and by the time she got back to the apartment at six o’clock, she was panicked when she ran in to Claire in the hall. They came up the stairs together while Abby told her that she hadn’t heard from him all day.

“He’s probably just busy, or sleeping, or reading that girl’s play. You know how he is. Sometimes he just disconnects for a couple of days.” Claire tried to reassure her. He had done it before, but Abby had a bad feeling about it this time. She didn’t like the adoring look of that girl. And why was he reading other people’s plays when he still hadn’t produced hers?

They were both breathless when they got to the fourth floor and unlocked the door to the apartment. The others hadn’t come home yet. Claire knew that Morgan was meeting a client for a drink, and Sasha wouldn’t be home for several hours since she had only started work at noon.

“Try not to worry about it,” Claire told her soothingly, sorry for the state she was in. “He’ll turn up. He always does.” Unfortunately, she added silently. The best thing that could happen to Abby, she knew, would be if Ivan really did disappear, but she also knew how upsetting it would be for her.

Claire went to her bedroom and changed out of her work clothes, trying not to think about her problems with her boss. And her mother called her a little while later, just to see how she was. Claire tried to talk to her at least once a week, but sometimes she got too busy, or forgot, or the time difference was wrong.

Her mother told her that she had taken another small decorating job, but Claire’s father didn’t know. She didn’t want to upset him, and it was just freshening up a living room and two bedrooms for a friend. She always belittled what she was doing, and made it sound like a favor, instead of work, which was how she portrayed it to her husband if he saw her with samples or found out. She had been treating her decorating work that way for years, although she did a beautiful job and her clients loved what she did. She usually came in under budget, and had a knack for finding good-looking accessories and furniture at reasonable prices. She and Claire had decorated the loft together nine years before, and added new pieces from time to time, to keep it up to date and interesting-looking. The others loved what Sarah did for them. She had a great eye for color, and had found great resources online. She was always sending Claire new Web sites to check out, or sometimes she just sent her things as a gift.

Claire and her mother had a close relationship, and now that she was older, she appreciated even more the education her mother had provided for her, with her small but steady informal decorating jobs, that she passed below her husband’s radar so he didn’t get upset. Claire thought her mother should have established her own interior design firm years before, openly, regardless of what her father thought, but that wasn’t Sarah’s style. Her entire marriage had been spent soothing his ego, bolstering his self-esteem, and encouraging him after he failed again. Her mother had never given up on him. She even helped him sell real estate by staging houses for him. Claire thought she was a saint.

Sarah loved hearing about New York from Claire. Thirty years after she’d left and moved to San Francisco with her husband, she still missed it, and the more interesting life she had led there. And their life in San Francisco had shrunk steadily over the years. Embarrassed over his many failures, Jim no longer wanted to travel or entertain, and Claire thought they led a sad life. He hated the opera, symphony, and ballet, which her mother loved, never went to the theater, and they had few friends. The only two bright spots in Sarah Kelly’s life were her daughter and her work, which didn’t seem like enough to Claire. She wished she could do more for her mother to repay her for everything she’d done for her growing up. But she seldom went to San Francisco, except for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and it always depressed her when she did. She wished that she could kidnap her mother and take her back to New York with her, and free her from the dreary life she led. She deserved so much better, but her mother insisted she was fine. Things hadn’t turned out as she’d hoped, but she was an intrinsically cheerful person and never complained. And she was happy for Claire that she was living in New York, which was where she would have liked to be herself.

“When are you going back to Italy?” her mother asked her as they chatted. She lived vicariously through her, and loved knowing that Claire got to Europe for work.

“Not for a few months. Maybe after Christmas, when our spring line is in production. I’m still working on the designs.” She didn’t tell her mother how bored and unhappy she was at work. She didn’t want her to worry about her. She had enough on her plate, listening to her husband complain. Claire didn’t want to add to it.

They chatted for half an hour and then Claire hung up, happy to have talked to her. And by then, Claire realized that Abby had reached Ivan, and was questioning him intensely, which Claire thought was a mistake. It was more attention than he deserved after disappearing and not returning her calls.

“Why didn’t you call me back?” Abby asked him, sounding strident. “I left you six or seven messages yesterday, and five today, and I texted you too.”

“You know I hate technology,” he said. “And my cell phone died. I couldn’t find the charger. I just found it under the bed.”

“So what did you think of Daphne’s play?” Abby got right to the point, and sounded jealous, which Ivan could hear clearly. Claire silently cringed when she heard the question.

“It’s very good,” he said, seriously. “Not as good as yours, but I can honestly tell her father she has talent. I’m going to call him tomorrow, but I wanted to call you first and make sure you were okay. I was worried about you.” But not worried enough to call earlier, yet Abby was instantly snowed by what he said. All she heard was that he was worried, which was what she wanted to hear, that he cared about her. Her parents had been busy when she was growing up, and never there. They left her with a nanny, while they pursued their careers, and she had been starving for affection ever since. They loved her, but just didn’t have enough time for her. Even now, she had to speak to assistants when she called them. Her father was always in a meeting, and her mother was on the set of a new TV series.

“What are you doing tonight?” Abby asked him in a gentler tone, hoping he’d suggest they get together.

“I have a meeting with another potential backer. We need money to pay the rent.” And the theater wasn’t profitable yet. It never had been. He borrowed from Peter to pay Paul, and was always begging money from ex-girlfriends or friends. He owed everyone a fortune. And he was right, they needed an angel very badly. Maybe Daphne’s father would be it. “I’ll see you at the theater tomorrow,” he said in a loving tone, and a moment later he hung up.

“Where was he?” Claire asked her, trying not to sound as angry as she felt, on her friend’s behalf. But Abby looked relieved to have heard from him, and seemed satisfied with what he’d said.

“His cell phone died, and he couldn’t find the charger, so he didn’t get my messages. He was reading Daphne’s play, and he’s meeting with a potential backer.” It all sounded like gibberish and lame excuses to Claire. Ivan was the consummate bullshitter, but it always worked, because Abby wanted to believe him, and disappointment had become a way of life for her. It didn’t even surprise her anymore.

“What did he think of her play?”

“He said it was good. And supposedly her father is willing to put up some money. Ivan really needs the help.” Claire thought he needed a good swift kick in the ass instead, but she only nodded. There was nothing left she could say. They had said it all in recent years.

Abby told Ivan again how worried she had been when she saw him at the theater the next day.

“I was suddenly terrified you were with Daphne,” she said, embarrassed to admit it, and he put his arms around her and held her tight and then looked into her eyes.

“She’s just a kid. You know I love you.” But Abby also knew that she was a kid with a great figure and a pretty face. And a rich father.