know and love." Her lips curved automatically. "That's a good girl. Now

don't forget to mention the benefit to any reporters," he instructed as

they walked downstairs. "Make sure you tell them how committed I am to

raising money to research a cure for this horrible disease."

"I will, Drew. I won't forget." She was terrified her knees would

buckle. Maybe it was best if she didn't go. Drew had told her again

and again how helpless she was without him. "Drew, I-" But he was

opening the door, and Johnno was standing there.

"h.e.l.lo, baby." He put his arms around her, as much to comfort as for

comfort. "I'm so glad you're going."

"Yes." She looked dully over his shoulder at Drew's face. "I want to

go."

She fought demons during the flight. He was going to come after

her. He had found out she'd taken the fifteen dollars and would come to

punish her. He'd read her mind. He knew she wasn't going back.

So great was her fear that she clung to Johnno's arm as they deplaned

and searched the crowd at the gate for Drew. She was sweating by the

time they reached the limo, and shaking, and struggling just to breathe.

"Emma, are you sick?"

"No." She moistened her dry lips. There was a man by the curb, lean,

blond. What was left of her color drained. But he turned and it wasn't

Drew. "I'm just upset. Can lan I have a cigarette?"

Drew wouldn't let her smoke. He'd dislocated her finger the last time

he'd caught her. But he wasn't here now, she reminded herself as she

pulled on the cigarette. She was alone in the limo with Johnno.

"Maybe you shouldn't have come. I had no idea it would upset you this

badly." He was dealing with his own grief, great, stunning waves of it,

and could only wrap an arm around her shoulders.

"I'll be all right," she told him. Then repeated the words over and

over in her head like a prayer.

She hardly noticed the service-what words were said, what tears were

shed in the warm, moist heat of noontime. In her heart she hoped Luke

would forgive her for caring so little that he was being mourned. She

felt dead herself, emotionally dead.

As people walked away from the quiet gravesite, away from the white and

pink marble stones and lush flowers, she wondered if she would have the

strength to follow through.

"Johnno." Marianne stopped him, a gentle hand on his arm. Then instead

of condolences, she kissed him. "I wish he could have taught me to

cook," she said, and made Johnno smile.

"You were his only complete failure." He turned to Emma. "The driver

will take you back to the airport. I need to go over to Luke's

apartment. Like care of a few things." He ran a finger down her cheek.

"You'll be all right?"

"Yes."

"I didn't expect to see you here." Though she hated herself, Marianne

couldn't make her tone friendly.

"I ... wanted to come."

"Really?" Marianne opened her purse and tossed a balled-up tissue

inside. Her anger with Emma was like that, she thought. Balled up and