They sailed for a half hour or so before she brought the picnic basket up from the galley. Carlynn seemed more relaxed now, her smile almost genuine, and they ate sourdough bread and Monterey Jack cheese and toasted the new boat with champagne.

“I wish you’d leave Lloyd’s office and come work for Carlynn and me,” Alan said to Lisbeth as they ate. It was not the first time he’d made the offer, but this time he sounded truly serious. “Our office is getting out of hand.”

“Getting out of hand?” Carlynn said.

Lisbeth occasionally thought about working for Carlynn and Alan, but she’d been with Lloyd Peterson for more than a decade, and her loyalty to him was strong. Lloyd had taken in a couple of partners, and she’d enjoyed the challenge of learning new skills and training the girls who worked under her. Still, she knew things had grown wild at Carlynn and Alan’s office and that they desperately needed someone with experience to come in and take charge.

That one simple article in Life two years earlier had spawned dozens more, and Carlynn’s reputation had grown more quickly than any of them could have imagined. People came from as far away as Europe and Africa and Japan to see her, and some of her patients were celebrities—a couple of movie stars, an injured baseball player and a politician from the Midwest. Even Lisbeth didn’t know their exact identities, since Carlynn honored their pleas for confidentiality. They didn’t want to be perceived as kooks, as Carlynn often was herself.

“What I wish,” Alan said as he polished off his second glass of champagne, “is that Carlynn could train people to do what she does. There’s only one Carlynn to go around, and it’s just not enough.”

“I hate turning people away when I know I can help them,” Carlynn agreed. “And it’s not like there’s someone I can refer them to.”

“Do you think that what you do is a trainable skill?” Gabriel asked. “Or do you think it’s a true gift?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Carlynn said. “I barely understand it any better than I did when I was sixteen.”

“She’s tried to train me,” Alan said with a self-deprecating smile that Lisbeth found endearing. “I’m apparently untrainable.”

“I believe that my…techniques, for want of a better word…may be something other people can learn to do,” Carlynn said, “in spite of Alan’s experience. My fantasy is that, if I could figure out what works and what doesn’t, and we could somehow prove that what I do has validity, and we could offer a scientific explanation for it…then I could train people in what works, and those people could train other people, and there would be a whole lot more healing to go around. But it would require years and years of research to get to that point, and I don’t have enough time to breathe right now, much less add another facet to my work.”

“What if you could create an institute of some sort, where you could just focus on the research?” Gabriel cut a piece of cheese and handed it to Lisbeth with a chunk of bread.

Carlynn and Alan exchanged a look. “We’ve actually talked about that,” Alan said. “It’s a pipe dream, though. We couldn’t afford to give up our practices, and it would take a lot of money to get something like that off the ground and keep it going.”

“Well,” Gabriel said, “maybe you could treat people there as well as do the research. You’d just have to get enough funding for it so you weren’t dependent on seeing X number of patients a day.”

“Oh my God,” Carlynn said, looking up at the sky. “How I would love that!” Lisbeth couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard such enthusiasm in her sister’s voice.

“I could help you apply for grants,” Gabriel said. “I’ve written so many grant applications for research at SF General that I could write them in my sleep.”

“Where would they apply?” Lisbeth asked her husband. It was one thing to find grant money for the customary studies SF General would embrace. How would Gabriel find money for something most of the world considered quackery?

“In the beginning, you’d need some seed money to get you started,” Gabriel said. “Then once you’re up and running—and showing some results—it shouldn’t be that hard to get more.” He smiled ruefully. “Not impossible, anyway. And I love a good challenge.”

“Are you serious, Gabe?” Carlynn asked him.

“Completely serious.”

“This would be great.” Alan sat up straight, a look of excitement on his face. “Carlynn and her reputation would be our draw, of course, and I could design and direct the research. You could be our financial guy, Gabe. And Lisbeth could run the whole shebang.”

“What would you call it?” Lisbeth asked.

“The Healing Research Institute of San Francisco,” Alan said, and Lisbeth knew this was not the first time he’d said that name to himself.

“We need Carlynn’s name in there, though,” Lisbeth said. “People need to know she’s behind it.”

“The Carlynn Shire Center for Healing,” Alan suggested.

“No,” Gabriel advised. “Leave out the healing part. The word is too charged. Just call it the Carlynn Shire Medical Center.”

“You’re all just dreaming, right?” Carlynn asked. “You’re tormenting me with this.”

“Everything worthwhile starts with a dream, Carly,” Alan said, and he passed her the bottle of champagne.

Carlynn was coming back to life, and she hadn’t truly known she’d been away. She chattered endlessly as she and Alan drove south toward Monterey the day after they’d survived sailing with Gabriel and Lisbeth.

“I really, really want to do it,” she said. “The research center. Or institute. Or whatever we call it.” She was turned in her seat so that she could face Alan as he drove. They’d been talking about starting a research center all the night before and that morning, but their conversation had focused on the type of work they could do there, not on the feasibility. “Do you think we can? I mean, I know it would mean we’d lose a lot of our income, at least initially, but, Alan, this is so important. There are answers we need to find.”

Alan let go of the steering wheel to reach across the seat and take her hand. “I don’t care about the money,” he said. “I don’t care if we never live in a beautiful home in Pacific Heights. I care about two things: your happiness and using your gift to the fullest. A research center seems the best way to do it. And Gabe made it sound as though it really could work.”

“But we can’t have him writing grant applications for us for free. We have to pay him.”

“Yes, we’ll have to pay him,” Alan agreed, and it pleased her to realize that he’d been thinking about this just as she had. “We’ll need him working full-time to handle all the financial aspects of the center as well as the fund-raising.”

“You’re serious about this!” Carlynn could barely contain her enthusiasm.

“You bet. We’ll need to ask him if he’ll do it. Then he can work out our business plan and our budget, and give himself a nice fat salary. And then we have to see if we can get Lisbeth away from Lloyd Peterson.”

“This is so wonderful!” Carlynn threw her arms up in the air. “All of us working together. I would absolutely love it.” After a moment, though, she leaned her head against the headrest, suddenly somber. “How the heck do we get something like this off the ground? Gabriel said we’d need seed money. Where does that come from?”

Alan glanced at her, but it was a minute before he spoke. “I’m surprised you haven’t thought about the answer to that question,” he said quietly, and she knew he had thought through this part of the plan as well. “How about the woman we’re on our way to visit?”

“Mother?” she asked, surprised.

He nodded. “What do you think?”

Carlynn stared out the window as they passed the Santa Cruz exit off Highway One. Delora Kling was an undeniably wealthy woman. She’d been born to money and had inherited even more when her husband died, and she regularly donated large sums to charities. This would not be a charity, of course, but she had never been shy about publicizing Carlynn’s gift.

“I hadn’t thought of her,” Carlynn said, “but she just might be willing.”

There was a new servant at the mansion, a fat and sassy Negro woman named Angela, who was working as Delora’s personal aide, helping her get around when her vision did not allow her to move independently. Carlynn wondered just how poor her mother’s vision had become. Did she know this was a Negro she had come to depend upon?

She did, indeed. Over lunch on the terrace, Delora spoke about how fabulous it was to have someone to find her hairbrush for her when she’d misplaced it or to guide her to a chair on the terrace so that she didn’t tumble off the edge.

“Even though she’s colored,” Delora said as she sank her fork into the salad in front of her, “she has been a splendid help. I don’t know how I got along without her.”

Carlynn took courage from her words. Maybe her feelings about Angela would have softened her attitude toward Lisbeth and Gabriel. She glanced at Alan.

“Mother, Alan and I would like to talk to you about a plan we’re considering.”

“What’s that?” Delora lifted an empty fork to her mouth, having missed the salad altogether this time, and Carlynn’s heart broke a little for this poor woman who was aging before her time.

“Here, Mom.” Alan moved the salad plate closer to his mother-in-law and guided her hand toward it. “Your salad’s right here.”

“Thank you, dear,” Delora said. “Now, what is this plan the two of you have up your sleeves?”

“Well,” Carlynn began, “you know how it’s always troubled me that people doubt my ability to heal, and that even I don’t know exactly how I do it?”

“It hasn’t troubled me,” Delora said, smiling with pride. “You are very special, and some people are too foolish to see that.”