"Last one. Ben Crawford called. Wanted you to call him back at your convenience. Nice voice."

Caroline handed over the pink message slips. Tara took them, glanced at the top one, and let the name imprint itself on her brain. It was a name she actually etched into her notebooks in high school. It still looked good. Strong letters. The sight of it written still gave her a sense of security.

"Thanks. I'll take care of all of them this morning."

She set all the pink slips aside, tapping them thoughtfully.

"Nothing from any of the psychiatrists I've talked to?"

Caroline shook her head, hating to be the bearer of bad news.

Tara sighed.

"I did think that last one might bite."

"Janet Gardner?" Caroline remembered them all. A steady stream of psychiatrists had been called and summoned and cajoled, but not one wanted the job Tara had to give them. Caroline could only imagine what Tara was telling them. It must be awful. No one she knew ever turned down work.

"Yes, that was the one. Gardner," Tara mused.

"Unfortunately her practice was new and she didn't want to get involved in anything that could result in bad press."

"You told her that?" Caroline was astounded.

"I had to. It would take about three seconds for her to put two and two together. Woman murdered, pregnant woman no less, and our guy looking for hospitalization. Women's groups, Right-to-Lifers, they'd all have a field day with it.

Dr. Gardner said she wasn't a crusader." Tara pushed aside the message slips and Caroline put the mail in front of her.

"Funny thing is, I don't think I am either."

"Don't be silly," Caroline scoffed, already halfway to the door.

"You work for a zillion causes."

"Not the kind that are going to ruin me."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Find me a psychologist who's willing to medicate our new client and consult with him even if our client doesn't want to be medicated or consulted with," Tara said with a half-beaten smile.

"I'll work on it over lunch."

"Thanks," Tara said with a laugh. She waved her off only to call her back.

"Actually, would you mind bringing in our hit list? I may give one or two a call again, and see if I can't be more persuasive this time."

"Now?" Caroline asked.

"When you've got a minute."

The door closed and Tara was alone. She riffled through the mail, pushed it aside, put her feet up, and lay back her head. Eyes closed, she thought of what she needed. A psychologist who didn't mind bending the rules a bit, a shoulder to cry on, a voice she trusted, to help her through all this. She couldn't blame a self-respecting psychologist for not wanting to take this one. After all, would she try to convince someone they needed a lawyer? The shoulder to cry on would have been Donna's if dlis was any other problem than the one at hand. A voice she trusted? Tara fingered the message from Ben, then pushed it aside.

She thought of her father and tried to remember exactly how he looked, how his voice sounded.

Desperately she tried to recall his sober demeanor, the way he spoke with such surety, his talent for considering a problem from all angles. But he'd been dead a year and the sound of his voice wasn't as clear as it once was. Harold Limey couldn't help his daughter. No one could help except Woodrow.

She would try him one more time.

Unwinding, feet on the floor, Tara had the receiver to her ear when Caroline buzzed. She punched the lighted b.u.t.ton, but before she could speak, the door flew open and in popped a friendlier face than the one Tara had been thinking of.

"Hi, sweetie!" Donna's head popped in, but she held the door tight against her neck as if, by exposing only one-eighth of her body, she would bother Tara less.

"Well, hi. Come on in." Tara stood up and waved her in, a grin on her face that wavered but came to full bloom when she saw that Donna was alone.

"Hi yourself. I'm glad to see you so chipper. In the middle of something horrendously important?"

"No, come on." Tara went around her desk to meet Donna halfway, fighting to contain the wash of relief that came over her at times like this. Tara gave her a hug, realizing how easy it would be to whisper in that ear about a secret she was keeping.

What would it hurt? Who would know? A well placed word. A broken pledge, a professional deceit.

What was there to lose?

Everything.

Tara's serenity of conscience. Her license to practice law. Bill Hamilton's right to representation and the right to be considered innocent*or at least impaired*until proven otherwise. Donna Ecold's life. Tara's own, perhaps.

But Bill had done nothing unequivocally threatening.

So the philosophical triumphed over the physical once again. The law recognized only the extreme threat of harm, or the reality of it, as a basis for breaking faith with a client. Justice could indeed be blind*so she smiled a bit more broadly at her friend and pretended Bill didn't exist.

"Come in. This is wonderful!"

"You're sure you're not busy?" Donna asked.

"No, I told you. Nothing that can't wait for a while."

"Good," Donna reached behind the door, took Tara's coat off the hanger, and held it up.

"Then we can have coffee after your doctor's appointment."

"You were so brave! Oh, I just hate stuff like that. I would have pa.s.sed out for sure. Thank goodness I never had children. I'd hold the pain over their stupid little heads forever." Donna snapped her napkin and rearranged the sugar and creamer.

"This place is adorable."

Tara laughed, still shaky.

"I hope I can get a good stiff drink."

"I think it's tea only," Donna whispered.

"Want to take off?"

"No. I was joking." She touched her arm gingerly.

She hadn't expected the st.i.tches. In fact, she had a.s.sumed it was too late to do any more damage.

How wrong she'd been.

Donna raised her hand and hailed a waitress, tired of their medical talk. The girl who came to the table was a cute little thing dressed like Miss m.u.f.fet. Donna gave her the once-over and ordered.

"Two Earl Greys and a plate of whatever you have that pa.s.ses for tea cakes." She waved the speechless girl away with a quick call, "And two waters, please," before turning to Tara.

"She looks like she belongs in one of my books."

"You're so uppity. Poor thing looked terrified," Tara clucked. She reached over and touched Donna's hands.

"Thanks for making me go to the doctor. I admit, I was going to conveniently forget about that appointment."

"So tell me another." Donna lay her napkin on her lap.

"You needed to go. Someone's got to look out for you, and I love you best," she said softly.

"Thank you, Mama." Tara laughed.

"I did need to stop for a minute and just enjoy myself. I'll admit that. So what do you say? Let's keep the momentum going. We'll have our tea, then swing down the street and go shopping. We'll wind up with a late dinner at Rio Bravo. That would be so good .. ," "I don't .. ."

"Okay. What do you feel like? Something fancier?

I know, Le Marmiton. That would be lovely.

Just like old times."

"Tara, sweetie," Donna said.

"I'd love to poke my head in a few shops and maybe do dinner tomorrow, but I promised Bill I'd make him one of my famous burgers tonight. That is if you don't mind me messing up your kitchen again," she added quickly.

"I thought we could all eat around seven, and then maybe we could play Yahtzee again. Like your birthday. I'd really like that, Tara.

I'd like it more than I can tell you."

"Sure. Yes, why not," she said. Tara's chest tightened.

Flash points of resentment banged about in her brain.

"Sounds like a heck of a lot of fun."

"Boy, that was convincing." Donna rolled her eyes.

"We can hardly wait for you to get home if you're going to be such a fireball."

"Donna, give me a break. It's been a tough day. I've been to work, had needles poked into me, and I've still got things waiting for me at the office that I didn't finish."

"Hey. Hey." Donna called a time-out.

"A minute ago you were ready to go on a shopping spree and stay in town late for dinner."

"And a minute ago," Tara reminded her tersely, "I thought I might have some quality time with my friend. Isn't that the reason you came here in the first place? I thought you wanted to celebrate my birthday, not flaunt a new piece of a " Miss m.u.f.fet returned with their tea and a plate of lemon squares. The two women sat back, ignoring both, glaring at one another. Tara managed a thank-you before the girl flounced off.

"You're jealous," Donna teased, honing the impertinent edge to her voice, a mean intonation like little girls use on playgrounds.

"That's absurd," Tara said, disgusted.

"Unfortunately it's exactly the kind of interpretation I would expect from you. Donna, it's time to grow up. Stop hanging out with juveniles and see if you can hold your own with real men. Maybe then there'd be some merit to that kind of charge."

"I was just joking, Tara." Donna crossed her arms on the table.

"But it is interesting what flies when you throw it up, isn't it?"

"I think you're reading a heck of a lot into a situation, and I think you're giving yourself credit you don't deserve."

"Well, now we get to it. I'm stupid, you're not.

Big lawyer, Tara; dopey children's book writer, Donna. Is that it? Well, I may not have enough brains in my head to attract die Pope, but you've lost everything that could possibly attract a real man like Bill." Donna spit those last words at Tara.

People were looking and she didn't care.

"I'm not going to sit here and listen to this non sense," Tara said, crumpling her napkin and tossing it on the table.

"I have better things to do."

"That's it. Run away. Just like you always do. Run away from Ben when he needed you, run away from love, run away from me now that I'm happy.

You know why you're going to run? It's because I'm strong now. I never was before, but Bill gives me strength and you don't like it. It means that you aren't the center of the universe anymore."

Tara was up, tossing bills on the table, her lips tight, eyes downcast, anger bubbling just below the surface.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes I do. It's been coming for years. You're hiding, Tara. You try to make it seem that you're just thinking things through but you're hiding. You hid behind your father when he was alive. I always thought you were selfless, helping him where you could when you could. But you were really comfortable, back there behind him. It meant people wouldn't approach you. You were defined without ever uttering a word. That was so safe, wasn't it, Tara?"

Tara turned on her heel, aware that every eye in the small teahouse was on them. She walked to the door, identifying sounds of disarray behind her: overturned china, Donna wiping up tea, finally ignoring it, and hurrying after her.

"And what about Ben?" Tara pushed through the door, Donna followed, a Mutt to Tara's taller Jeff, annoying as she hopped around, d.o.g.g.i.ng Tara's steps.

"How convenient for him to have an accident that kept him in hospitals and rehabs.

How convenient so Tara didn't have to deal with the ugly, seamy side of life."

"And what about your job? What about that?"