"Yes, eighteen years, and for most of them I've been nothing to you!"

"What? I've never mistreated you!"

"Mistreated, no, you've just ignored me. When I first came to work here, it was like a family. Everyone cared for everyone else. We spent time together. We joked together. We ate together on holidays after breaking our b.u.t.ts over last-minute jobs. Then you got married and had your babies and everything changed. You just cruise in and out like some queen, never bothering to spend any time with us. I'm not the only one who's unhappy here. Just ask Jason! Just ask Leonard! Even Sandra admits you're too wrapped up in your precious children to pay any attention to us!"

"Carla, you should have come to me. You should have told me-"

"Oh, right. I don't want to have to ask to be treated nicely! Sh.e.l.ly always treated me like someone special, like someone he cares for, like a sister! More than a sister! Sh.e.l.ly loves me. Oh, don't look that way, I don't imagine for one minute that he would marry me, but he does care for me. He always stops and talks to me, asks how I am, sends me silly cards, takes me out to dinner now and then. He's the only thing that has made working here worthwhile!"

Her anger had dried up her tears, and now Carla sat facing Catherine dry-eyed, quivering, bold.

"Blooms is a business, Carla, not a social organization-" Catherine began.

"You can say that again," Carla interrupted.

"-and you're fired, Carla. As of this moment. The fact that I ignored you doesn't give you the right to cheat me. No-" Catherine put up her hand. "Don't start again. You're lucky Kit and I aren't taking you to court. You've committed a serious crime. You could be fined, you could be sent to jail. But we've decided not to press charges. I don't want to have to see you ever again. I want you out of here. I want you out of my sight."

Carla stood up. There she was, thirty-seven years old, an integral piece in the puzzle of Catherine's life, and with her chin high, she said in a steady voice, "I hate you."

Catherine just looked at Carla. She could have said: I don't feel your hate, how you feel about me hardly interests me. What I do feel is the misery approaching you like a storm cloud, the despair that I know is about to sweep through your life when Sh.e.l.ly returns and you realize he's played you false. He won't set up a business with you. Now that you're of no use to him, he won't even see you again. You poor, wretched fool.

Something in Catherine's eyes made Carla turn away. Woodenly, she walked to the elevator. Kit and Catherine sat in silence until they heard the rubbery shoosh of the doors opening and closing, then silence.

"Who is that poor woman going to turn to now?" Catherine said to Kit. "She says Blooms isn't her family, but I'm afraid we're as much family as she's got."

"Her personal life isn't your concern, Catherine."

"Well, I'll ask Sandra. Or Jason. They must know more about her than I do."

"Catherine! Don't waste your pity on her! She's been stealing from you."

Catherine looked at Kit. "It all just seems so bleak," she said, suddenly drained. "So hopeless."

"You're just exhausted," Kit said. "You need a good night's sleep. It's almost midnight your time. Come on. Let's go to the apartment. You need to go to bed and rest up. If my guess is right, your brother will be in the country tomorrow."

"Oh, G.o.d, Kit. That reminds me. We have one more stop to make before we go home. We've got to go down to GardenAir."

Kit drove. On the way to their wholesale store in the flower district, Catherine talked. She had not wanted to tell him over the phone Piet's theory about why Sh.e.l.ly needed extra money, and she hadn't had time to tell him about the flower packets she'd seen him attaching to the roses in Aalsmeer this morning. As far as she knew, they were only packets of flower preservative. But she wanted to be sure.

GardenAir was a long narrow shop on Twenty-eighth Street, tucked between a container wholesaler and a shop that specialized in South American exotic plants. She was glad Kit was with her when she entered GardenAir. She was the owner of the business, and the men were officially her employees, but she hadn't been down here for a long time, for months, maybe even a year, and she realized she didn't even know each man's name. But Manuel, the head man, had been with her company since it started. She had always been good to him and his family, and she had to believe he was loyal to her in return.

Manuel and Kit and Catherine greeted each other warmly. The other workers only nodded. It was early afternoon now, and some of the men had left. The majority of the business for the day was over. A handsome dark-haired man Catherine didn't know was sweeping the floor.

"Manuel, do you have any roses left from today's shipments?" Catherine asked. "I'd like to take a bunch with me."

"Sure. We've got some. Here. This is a good bunch. How many you want?"

They moved to a table where the long boxes lay propped up, lids off, displaying the roses and other flowers.

"These are from Amsterdam?" Catherine asked. "Fresh today?"

"From Amsterdam," Manuel said. "Fresh today."

"Where are the packets of flower preservative?" Catherine asked.

"What flower preservative?"

Catherine noticed the switchblade glance of the boy sweeping as she spoke, and that Manuel, who managed to keep his face straight and his voice calm, inadvertently stepped backward, as if she'd hit him.

"Let's go in your office," Kit said.

The office was a tiny cubicle at the back of the store, closed in by gla.s.s and particleboard. A splintered old desk covered with invoices and bills and dirt, a wooden chair, and a metal filing cabinet were the only furniture in the room.

"I was in Amsterdam this morning," Catherine said. "I saw Sh.e.l.ly putting packets on the roses. He told me he only does that on the wholesale flowers. I can see there are no packets on the roses out there. Tell me the truth right now, or I'll fire you and everyone else in this shop before you can turn around."

"We'll bring in the police and the DEA if we have to," Kit said.

"Jesus, man, cool down!" Manuel said, waving his hands at them. "Look, there's nothing major going on here. Catherine, we're not involved in anything illegal, if that's what you're thinking. You think we're bringing in drugs?"

"I think Sh.e.l.ly is."

The man studied Catherine's face, considering.

Catherine spoke softly. "I don't want to get him in trouble. I know he's my brother, Manuel. That's why I don't want to get the DEA involved. If I don't have to. I just want to know exactly what he's doing, and I want to put a stop to it."

"You might feel better knowing that today, as soon as we can get in touch with Sh.e.l.ly, we're going to fire him," Kit said. "He's already involved himself in other things you don't even know about. So he won't be in Amsterdam anymore. At least he won't be working for Blooms or GardenAir. He won't have any authority over you here."

"Yeah, yeah, all right." Manuel sighed and turned. He bent over, fiddled with a key, and pulled open the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet.

Catherine stepped back instinctively. For all she knew he would pull out a gun.

Instead he merely stepped aside and waved down at the open drawer with his hand. There were no files in the drawer, only glistening plastic packages of white powder.

"This is all Sh.e.l.ly's," Manuel said. "I mean, his personal stuff. He doesn't sell it. He's not dealing. He just sends it over, and we keep it for him to use when he's in the States. For him and his friends."

"Manuel. You should have told me. You should have come to me."

"Hey, between you and your brother, it's a hard call."

"I'm taking this with me," Catherine said. "Manuel, get me a box, any box big enough to hold this stuff."

"Hey, this stuff is Sh.e.l.ly's."

"Now it's mine," Catherine said coldly.

Manuel stepped out of his office and was quickly back with a box. Catherine and Kit took out the bottom file drawer and dumped the contents into the cardboard box and closed the lid.

"This won't be happening anymore, Manuel," Catherine said. "Or if it does happen, I expect you to come to me."

They threw the box in the trunk of Kit's Mercedes and drove back uptown to their apartment. Now they could only wait for Sh.e.l.ly. Catherine bathed, showered, and sat in bed, eating the scrambled eggs and b.u.t.tered m.u.f.fins that her maid, Angela, always prepared for her after a long trip. The food was nursery food, soothing, and finally, after so many hours of coming and going, Catherine fell into a deep sleep.

She awoke to darkness. Her head was filled with clouds, her ears were ringing, and anxiety was making her heart clatter inside her like a pair of castanets.

"What?" she mumbled, sitting up. "Where?"

"Catherine, it's all right. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." It was Kit, just coming to bed.

"What time is it?"

"Just after midnight." He put his arms around her and pulled her down next to him. "Everything's all right."

"I feel so disoriented."

"Everything's all right." Kit stroked her arm and held her against him. He kissed her hair, then her cheeks, then her mouth. He pressed against her, warm, solid, as strong as a tree in a summer storm. Catherine pressed against him, grateful for his steadfastness in her unsteady world. They made love, and she fell asleep again and slept without dreaming until morning.

It wasn't until three days later that Sh.e.l.ly appeared. Kit and Catherine knew he was coming, for Piet had called several times. He had told Sh.e.l.ly that Catherine had taken the two sets of account books and that as far as he was concerned he didn't want to see Sh.e.l.ly on his premises again. Piet had also fired some of the men working in the loading sheds at the auction. Piet was planning to fly over to meet with Catherine and Kit as soon as they'd seen Sh.e.l.ly.

When at last Sh.e.l.ly called Catherine, she said, "Meet me at my apartment. I don't want to talk to you here." She called Kit and then rang her house, to tell Angela to have coffee and drinks ready for them in the living room. Then she left her shop and walked home.

Catherine had imagined this confrontation with her brother a dozen different times in a dozen different ways. She'd imagined Sh.e.l.ly furious, embarra.s.sed, apologetic, in tears. He came in smiling. He was dressed in a navy blazer and gray flannels, he was clean-shaven, combed, and natty, not wrinkled and gray and exhausted as she'd thought he'd look.

"Hey, babe," Sh.e.l.ly said cheerfully.

"Sh.e.l.ly, you G.o.dd.a.m.ned a.s.shole, I could kill you!" Catherine replied. "Catherine," Kit said in a warning tone.

"No, I won't calm down," Catherine said to Kit without turning to look at him. "Sh.e.l.ly, you idiot! How could you do this!"

Sh.e.l.ly sank onto a sofa and busied himself at the coffee table fixing a gla.s.s of Scotch. "It was easy, actually. I mean the setup was all in place, just waiting to happen. I don't know why you're so upset. I didn't take that much."

"Never mind the money, how could you involve poor Carla in the scheme?"

"It was the only way it worked. She was the one who received the flowers at this end."

"But didn't you even once consider what you were doing to her? That you were drawing her into criminal activities? That-"

"Oh, come on, sis. 'Criminal activities.' "

"Sh.e.l.ly," Kit intervened. "I know you'll find this hard to believe, but even though Catherine is your own flesh and blood, it's still illegal to juggle the books."

"How could you do this to me!" Catherine burst out. "How could you use poor Carla that way! She said you were going to set up a business with her."

Sh.e.l.ly shrugged. "Who says I wasn't going to?"

"What kind of business? Dealing drugs?" Catherine had been sitting down, but at the look on Sh.e.l.ly's face she jumped from her chair. Grabbing him by his blazer lapels, she shook him hard. "You stupid jerk! You were going to deal drugs, weren't you! Using GardenAir to bring them in. Sh.e.l.ly, you make me sick."

The smile left Sh.e.l.ly's eyes. Kit rose from his chair and pulled Catherine away, led her back to her chair, his hands on her shoulders.

"He's so cool," Catherine said to Kit as if Sh.e.l.ly couldn't hear her. "How can he be so d.a.m.ned cool?"

"Drink this," Kit said, handing her a Scotch. He turned to Sh.e.l.ly. "Have you talked to Manuel?"

"Yeah, he called. What'd you do with the stuff? I need it."

"You need it? Too bad. We got rid of it," Kit said.

Now Sh.e.l.ly did not look amused in the slightest. The muscles in his jaw jumped. "You got rid of it," he repeated in a monotone.

"Sh.e.l.ly, you're not involved with a mob or something, are you?" Catherine asked quickly.

"No. h.e.l.l, no. I promise. Just for me and my friends. I wasn't dealing at all. It was just an easy way for me to get it into the country."

"That's good to know," Kit said. "Now we don't have to worry that some thug will come gun you down on the street. Because it's gone, Sh.e.l.ly. We threw it out."

Sh.e.l.ly took a deep breath. "I've got a habit," he said.

"You'll have to lose it," Kit said.

Now Catherine was torn again, between anger at her brother and that old protective love. Here he sat in her living room in his blazer, a golden man in his thirties, and she still could see within him, as if she were looking at a double exposure, the bold little boy who had run on the highest brick walls at Everly without any fear of falling, who had built dream castles in the air from blocks, who had run screaming through the hedges chasing make-believe Indians. Sh.e.l.ly had never wanted to be a businessman in a blazer. He should have been a sailor, an explorer, a stunt pilot. He didn't belong here, in the city, where the best excitement he could find lay in a fickle white powder.

"Sh.e.l.ly," Kit said, "I'm sure this won't surprise you, but you're fired. I'm sure you know Carla's been fired, too. Catherine and I don't intend to prosecute."

"That's right, Sh.e.l.ly," Catherine said, feeling queer. "Just think, if you haven't spent all the money you stole from us on drugs, you could start up that little business you were talking about with Carla."

"I'm fired, the cocaine's been dumped, and f.u.c.k you, right? Is that it?" Sh.e.l.ly finally looked angry.

"Sh.e.l.ly, don't look at me that way. You aren't the injured one. I am."

"G.o.d, I hate you, Catherine," Sh.e.l.ly said. "You are so stupid. You don't have a clue about anything. Haven't you ever, just once in your life, done anything wrong?"

"Yes, Sh.e.l.ly, as a matter of fact I have. As wrong as what you've done. Maybe it's because of that that I'm letting you off so easily."

"So easily!"

"Sh.e.l.ly, weren't you listening to Kit? We could put you in jail. If we wanted to stick to the letter of the law, we could have kept the drugs and thrown that at you, too. Then you'd really be in trouble. But we've decided not to do that. We just want you out of the shop, out of our lives."

"Fine. You've got it." Sh.e.l.ly rose and stalked across the living room toward the door.

At the door he turned. "Kit, are you sure? I mean, that you dumped it all? Because man, I could use a little right now."

"It's all gone, Sh.e.l.ly. Down the toilet. Where it belongs."

Sh.e.l.ly smiled. "Oh, those lucky rats."

Catherine waited until the front door closed. Then she said, "My G.o.d, what a good exit line. He's still got my father's charm. But Kit, what will he do now? How will he get any money? What-"