"What? What're you talking about?"

"That's where she's going-Bermuda. That day at the post office, that's what she said." He put the money back on the desk. "Why would you do that? What about Lisa and the kids? You've got such a wonderful life, you-"

"Look, you don't know what the h.e.l.l you're talking about."

"I'm talking about you and Jilly Cross. Going on a trip together. How can you do that?"

Dennis shot out of his chair. "You don't want my help and I don't need yours, okay?" He picked up the bills and flung them into Gordon's face. "So just get the f.u.c.k out of here!"

The bus ride seemed to take only minutes, the walk after that even less. He didn't know if she'd be home, and it didn't matter if she wasn't. At least he'd have tried. At least he'd have done something. He couldn't spend his whole life turning his back, not seeing, never doing the honorable thing. It wasn't just Lisa and the children caught in his brother's mess, but an innocent young woman as well.

Jimmy scootered alongside him down the street. "Come on out back and see the treehouse. Me and Dad, we just finished it yesterday."

"Yes. But first I have to talk to your mother." He rang the bell. Jimmy ran up and opened the door.

"Come on!" He gestured Gordon inside. "Mom! Hey, Mom, where are you? Uncle Gordon's here! She's probably working out downstairs." He opened the cellar door. "Mom! Hey, Mom!" he bellowed down.

"What? What is it?" Lisa shouted back, running up the stairs with a look of alarm. "Gordon!" She hugged him. "Oh, Gordon, I'm so thrilled you're here. What a nice surprise." She looked at him. "Is everything all right?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Of course. Yes. Jimmy, you can go back outside now."

"But I told Uncle Gordon I'd show him the treehouse. It'll only take a minute."

"Outside, now." She ushered him to the door. "I'll call you when we're done."

After Jimmy left, she offered him coffee, juice, water. No, nothing, he said, thanking her. Come sit down, then, she said, and he followed her into the kitchen but remained standing.

"What is it, Gordon? Something's wrong, isn't it."

With his nod the color drained from her face. "What happened? Tell me. You can tell me."

He kept looking at her. In all his indignation and anger, he had not planned what to say. "It's all right," she coaxed. "Whatever it is, I'll help you. You know I will. You're like a brother, my own brother." She put both hands on his arms. "I mean that. And I hope you feel that way about me."

"I do."

"Because we're a family, so we have to help one another, right?"

He nodded. Yes. That was it, exactly why he was here, and yet here he was again, paralyzed. He couldn't, couldn't do it, didn't have the guts, courage, strength, whatever it took.

"Do you want me to call Dennis? If he's between patients, he can probably-"

"No, that's why I'm here. It's about Dennis. He's going out with another woman. He has been, and now he's going on a trip with her."

She closed her eyes, for a moment seemed to teeter back and forth. "How do you know? Who told you?" She looked dazed.

"Dennis. And she did too, in a way."

"Dennis told you? He said that? That he's seeing another woman?" She stared at him.

"I saw him with her. And when I asked him he admitted it."

"So all those times he said he was with you he was really with her." Her eyes raced over the room, as if clues were suddenly everywhere. "Do you know her? Who is she?"

"Jilly Cross," he said, handing her the business card with the pretty face in its corner.

After Gordon left, she sat down with the phone in her lap. She was trembling. Trembling with rage and impotence. Her teeth chattered. Even her feet moved up and down, stamping. She doubled up and moaned. Why? Why? Why had he done that? Why had he told her what she'd always known? Now, with no more lies to tell herself, she had no choice. She had to do something, hurt someone, destroy everything important to her.

She dialed the number on the card, then waited through the voice mail message. "Yes. This is Lisa Loomis, Dennis's wife. I just want you to know that I know all about you. I know where you work and I know where you live." Afraid of what she might say next, she slammed down the phone. She called her mother, then hung up before it rang. She couldn't do that to her parents. They loved Dennis too much. He was one of her father's closest friends. It was at times like this she needed a brother or sister. She felt so alone. Her poor children, they deserved a better, stronger mother, one who could hold on to their father for them. What more could she do? She'd tried everything. Better s.e.x. Golf lessons. Being more a.s.sertive with him. Being less a.s.sertive. Keeping the house perfectly neat, the way he liked it. Letting it be a mess so she didn't have to nag the kids when he was home. Striving to be a better Catholic, her trade-off to G.o.d for a better marriage. She burst into tears, wailing in shame and anger-all the PreCana lectures she'd given, all her insipid, shallow, hypocritical exhortations to always be honest with one another, no matter the consequences, when all along she'd known, had carried this worm in her heart, allowing it to feed on her self-confidence and pride until there was nothing left. The one thing she had never done was leave.

She called Father Hensile at the rectory. Mrs. Slane said he had gone into Boston for a meeting. Did she want to leave a message? Her voice was too congested from crying for Mrs. Slane to recognize. No, no message.

It took three trips to the attic to get the luggage downstairs. She packed Annie first, then Jimmy, but left her suitcase empty on the bed. Why, when she didn't matter? Nothing mattered. Not anymore. She had already called the lake ferry. The last boat to the island left at eight tonight. She called her mother and told her she was taking the children to the cottage for a surprise holiday. Delighted to have somebody using the place after all the renovations, her mother offered to call the handyman, Henderson, and have him air the place out. "Tell Dennis to be sure and take Jimmy out in Dad's new Sun-fish. Well, Annie, too, of course, if-"

"It'll just be me and the children, Mother."

"Oh. I see. Is everything all right, honey?"

"Yes."

"You sound congested."

"I am. A little," she said with her mother's uneasy breathing in her ear. Fear was in the genes. And cowardice: She didn't want to know, either.

She was loading the suitcases into the car when Dennis pulled into the garage. His face was blotchy and haggard.

"Oh, so she did get my message." She checked her watch. "I called her an hour ago. What did you do, rush over there as soon as she called? What, have you been trying to make her feel better? Did you tell her how harmless I am, how weak and stupid I am?"

"I'm sorry. Please, Lisa. Please listen to me." He couldn't look at her.

"I can't. I have to go. The children are next door. They're waiting for me."

"Wait. Just listen to me. Please. Don't I at least deserve that?"

"No!" She couldn't help laughing. She got into the car and started the engine. He leaned down, clutching the window well. Such beautiful hands; they made his treachery all the more painful. Letting her eyes linger on his for a moment, she pitied him. Always in a hurry, rushing around, quick to laugh, loving too easily but never deeply, always skimming the surface of things, the bright smile, the flashy car, the big showy house, trading his freedom, his happiness, for the Harrington connection, poor Dennis. If Gordon had never grown past eighteen, Dennis was stunted, too, ever the handsome, overreaching teenager, desperate to show the world what a great guy he was, but never forgiving his brother.

"Don't leave me, Lisa, please don't. I'll do anything," he gasped. Tears streamed down his face. "I can't live without you. I don't want to be alone."

"Then move back home with your brother!" she said as she backed out.

CHAPTER 19.

Promise seemed to be everywhere this morning as Delores stepped out of The Dearborn Lady on Main Street. She had just been hired by the best dress shop in town and started next week. She had forgotten how busy Dearborn was and yet how tranquil. It was a place where everything worked the way it should. Even the b.u.mper-to-b.u.mper traffic stopped the minute she stepped off the curb. She meandered up one side of the street, then down the other, surprised to see so many gift shops. There wasn't a single one in Collerton. And banks! Banks were everywhere, from imposing inst.i.tutions of granite and brick to the folksy two-teller branches tucked in next to dry cleaners and barbershops. She tried browsing through a few stores, but the smell of eucalyptus sprays and spices sent her sneezing back into the fresh air. At the corner she paused, surprised that she had come this far. There it was, the stationery store. Well, why not? What would be the harm? Here she was, twelve pounds lighter and all dressed up in her periwinkle pantsuit. She had a good man to love and May Loo's picture in her purse.

The minute she walked through the door she knew things weren't right. Albert was alone. The store seemed understocked and messy. The gla.s.s countertop was smudged. A half-emptied carton of computer paper lay on top, as if sales were being made directly from it. Most disturbing, though, was the sunburst of cracks that had been Albert's university mirror on the back wall. He was complaining about the new Staples up on Route 28. That's That's why all his old Dearborn customers had stopped coming into the Collerton store. How many times had she tried to tell him that-she bit her tongue. And now look at the mess he was in, a seven-year lease for five times the old rent, at one-third the business. The worst of it was the unreliable help. He was down to one part-time clerk, a high school girl who turned out to be dyslexic. When he tried to fire her, her father's lawyer wrote him a letter advising him of the girl's rights under the Americans with Disabilities Act. He'd tried to hire someone else, even offering mother's helper's hours, but everyone wanted high-tech jobs and big paychecks. So here he was working sixty- and seventy-hour weeks at a point in his life when he should finally be able "to start smelling the roses." And now, in addition to her tennis league, Cheryl had taken up golf and was always at the club. He'd even had to cancel the annual July Blowout Sale this coming weekend because she had signed him up for the couples tournament, then typically had forgotten to tell him. why all his old Dearborn customers had stopped coming into the Collerton store. How many times had she tried to tell him that-she bit her tongue. And now look at the mess he was in, a seven-year lease for five times the old rent, at one-third the business. The worst of it was the unreliable help. He was down to one part-time clerk, a high school girl who turned out to be dyslexic. When he tried to fire her, her father's lawyer wrote him a letter advising him of the girl's rights under the Americans with Disabilities Act. He'd tried to hire someone else, even offering mother's helper's hours, but everyone wanted high-tech jobs and big paychecks. So here he was working sixty- and seventy-hour weeks at a point in his life when he should finally be able "to start smelling the roses." And now, in addition to her tennis league, Cheryl had taken up golf and was always at the club. He'd even had to cancel the annual July Blowout Sale this coming weekend because she had signed him up for the couples tournament, then typically had forgotten to tell him.

Delores wanted to enjoy his misery, but the gloating would only spiral her deeper into guilt and then pity for him. Delores the perpetual doormat; she could feel it coming on, this desperate need to be needed. "Where's Katie?" she asked to nick the wound and remember what a b.a.s.t.a.r.d he'd been.

"Katie? Oh, gone. It didn't work out."

"That's too bad." She imagined Katie's husband punching the mirror. Or maybe smashing poor Albert's head into it.

"One of the cleaning people broke it," he said, following her gaze.

"That's too bad." She was ashamed of herself for being disappointed. Her life had never been better, and poor Albert's was in a tailspin.

"I could pay you more than The Lady," he blurted, face reddening. "And here you wouldn't have to train or anything. You could just start right back in."

"Start back in? You mean where we left off?"

"Please, Delores. The minute you walked in everything seemed brighter and better. It was like all at once the cloud lifted. And I realized how much I need you. How much a part of my life you are. Everything's a mess without you," he said on her heels to the door. "I should've called, I wanted to, but you were like a crazy woman. I didn't know what you were going to do. Delores!" Of all the things Albert had ever said to her this was the most flattering. He had used and dominated her for years, and she had accepted it.

A surge of raw, womanly power propelled her down the street. And for this she had Gordon to thank. He needed her in a way no man ever had. Instead of her body he had desired her strength, and now in place of visitors' gla.s.s he needed her patience between them. The collision between his inscrutable reserve and her natural exuberances continued to leave her drained and bewildered. But she was finally learning to hold back, to walk away when it was time. However, she still couldn't decide whether it was coldness or an almost inhuman self-containment that governed his existence. For a while, his kindness to Jada had seemed the first cracks in that icy reserve. But now he wanted nothing to do with the girl. He had cut her out of his life with no more guilt, concern, or regret than if she had been a withered cane on his rosebushes.

"What's fashion retail?" Gordon asked from the table.

"A dress shop, but that's what she kept calling it," Delores said as she scrubbed the stew pot. "She kept referring to 'the industry.' Like it was some kind of secret society maybe I'd get accepted into if I was really lucky." Her feigned indifference was only to spare his feelings. He was still out of work.

"You're lucky. Every job you've applied for you've gotten."

"Not so surprising, given my vast experience in the various industries." She laughed. Too glum to be happy about anything, Gordon was trying to appear interested, but she could see what an effort it was. He had been like this since his visit to Dennis last week. "Of course, I've been working practically all my life," she added, then turned on the rinse water just as he spoke. "What'd you say?"

"Nothing."

"Yes, you did. What was it?"

"Nothing."

"Gordon, I heard you. You said something about Lisa."

He looked away, and she knew better than to pursue it. Only the prospect of beef stew simmering on the stove had lured him over here. When he agreed to come, she ran out and bought ingredients for the biggest, richest stew that no one in her right mind would want to cook, much less eat, in a ninety-five-degree kitchen. Even Gordon hadn't had much of an appet.i.te.

Poor man. He looked so dejected. She should have insisted he borrow money from her instead of subjecting himself to Dennis's weak-kneed abuse. Whatever Dennis had said that day had devastated him. Every time she tried to get him to talk about it, he'd start looking for the door the way he just had.

Gordon was sponging the table clean. He leaned over to check the surface from all sides to be sure he'd gotten every crumb. The yellow envelope was still in the middle of the table. All through dinner she'd wanted to show him the latest picture that had come with her initial approval and this new set of forms, but he had been too discouraged and she didn't want her happiness and excitement tainted by anything negative. Never had she been more keenly aware than now of the magnetic forces, the powerful energies, surging through the universe. It wasn't just herself she would harness them for, but for him and for this child she wanted him to love.

"What about this envelope? Should I leave it here?" he asked.

"Yes. For now." She suggested they go for a walk. He didn't feel like it. He should probably go home, he said, then sat down and drummed his fingers on the table. She asked if she could change the bandage on his hand before he left. The wound wasn't as red as it had been. Her eyes blurred as she wrapped the gauze around his strong hand. He had never been more trusting or seemed more gentle than at this moment. He had changed his mind, he said, he'd like to go for a walk.

She kept looking at their reflections in the pa.s.sing storefront windows, pleased with the way she looked and felt. But Gordon was gaining weight. She couldn't help it, but she loved feeding him. Tomorrow she had promised him shepherd's pie the way his mother used to make it. She could tell from the picture that May Loo would need some fattening up. She probably wouldn't like American food, and Delores suddenly realized she didn't know how to cook any Chinese dishes. The Landmark Bookstore was only a couple of blocks ahead. She wanted to see if they had a Chinese cookbook. He asked how long it would take. Fifteen minutes, she said.

"I'm kind of tired," he said with a sigh. "You don't mind, do you?"

It was silly to be this disappointed, but she couldn't help feeling he didn't want to go because it had to do with May Loo. But no, he was obviously distressed. He kept sighing.

"What a beautiful night." She slipped her arm through his as they approached the park. She felt him stiffen. "Gordon, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry. I just don't feel like walking."

"All right," she said, steering him into the park. "We'll sit down, then." She brushed dust off the nearest bench, then sat down. "Gordon!" she said, alarmed. He just stood there looking down at her. "What's wrong? You've got to tell me. It's about Dennis, isn't it."

"I just want to go back. Can we? Do you mind?"

"Oh, no, of course not."

Trembling with desire, she unlocked her door. He went into the bathroom. The message light was blinking on her answering machine. She hit the play b.u.t.ton, then sat down and slipped off her sandals.

"Delores, it's me. Albert. I've got to talk to you. Ever since you left I've been-" She leaped toward the machine and hit erase. Thank G.o.d Gordon was still in the bathroom. Suddenly she heard footsteps outside, creaking up the hallway stairs. Then Albert's furtive tap, tap-tap-tap tap, tap-tap-tap on the door. She froze. If she didn't make a sound, maybe he'd go away. on the door. She froze. If she didn't make a sound, maybe he'd go away. Stay in there, please, please stay in there, Stay in there, please, please stay in there, she willed Gordon. she willed Gordon.

"Delores?" Albert called softly for fear one of her neighbors might recognize him. "It's me. Are you there?"

No. She shook her head.

The key clicked into the lock. She watched the dead bolt latch turn, the k.n.o.b move, the door open.

"I'm so glad you're here." Albert rushed toward her. "I've been driving around all night waiting for your light to come on."

"Go away." She cringed back as he stood over her, gesturing, weeping, begging her to take him back, to love him again, to forgive him for his stupidity because he had finally learned his lesson. And now he knew what was most important in life. "Loyalty," he gasped, reaching to touch her.

She pushed away his hands and struggled to get up, but he held her there with surprising force. "Stop it, Albert. You have to go."

"No!" he cried. "I'm not going to lose you. I'll do anything. Anything you say. You want me to leave my wife? Well, I am! I have! I will! Tonight! Here, I'll call her right now and tell her." He grabbed the phone. "See? . . . Cheryl? . . . Cheryl?" he kept shouting.

The bathroom door opened. "Is everything all right?" Gordon asked.

"It's Albert," she said weakly.

"Oh, my G.o.d! Oh, my G.o.d," Albert whimpered in his lunge out the door.

She got up and closed it, locked it again. Neither looked at the other as his footsteps echoed down the stairs.

"I better go," Gordon said.