about all the rude and revolting things Stevie pulled on me. You might

come close, but I doubt you could match him."

"Do you love him?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to marry him?"

Thrown a bit off stride, Katherine lifted one shoulder. "Ask me again

in six months. Bev tells me you're seeing someone named Michael."

"He's a friend."

I love you, Emma.

"A friend," she repeated as she set the coffee aside.

"A detective, isn't he? The son of the man who investigated your

brother's murder." Taking Emma's silence in stride, Katherine continued.

"It's strange how life runs in circles, isn't it? Makes us feel a bit

like a puppy chasing his own tail. I'd just finished a miserable

divorce when I met Stevie. My ego was belly-down, and my opinion of men

... Well, let's just say I found certain varieties of slugs more

attractive. I detested Stevie on sight. That was personal.

Professionally I was determined to help him, and get him out of my hair.

Now here we are."

Though she no longer wanted it, Emma picked up the mug again and sipped

the cooling coffee. "Did you feel as though you'd failed?"

"With my marriage?" Katherine kept her tone easy. It was a question

she'd wondered if Emma would ask. "Yes. And I had. But then people

fail all the time. The hard part isn't even admitting it, it's

accepting it."

"I failed with Drew, I accept that. Is that what you want me to say?"

"No. I don't want you to say anything unless you need to."

"I failed myself" She sprang up, slamming her mug on the little redwood

table. "All those months, I failed myself Is that the right answer?"

"Is it?"

On an oath, Emma turned to the rail. "I don't want to do this. If I'd

wanted a psychiatrist, I could have had a dozen by now."

"You know, you made quite an impression on me the first time I saw you.

You were about to storm out of Stevie's hospital room after giving him

the dressing-down I'd been dying to give him. He didn't want help,

either."

"I'm not Stevie."

"No, you're not." Katherine rose then. She wasn't as tall as Emma, but

when her voice grew crisp, she projected total authority. "Would you

like me to quote you statistics on how many women are abused every year?

I believe it runs about one every eighteen seconds in this country.

Surprised?" she asked when Emma stared at her. "Did you want to feel as

if you were the only member of an exclusive club? How about how many of

them stay with their abusers? It isn't always because they don't have

friends or family who would help them. It isn't always because they're

poor or uneducated. They're afraid, their selfrespect has been

shattered. They're ashamed, they're confused. For every one who finds

help, there are a dozen more who don't. You're alive, Emma, but you

haven't survived it. Not yet."

"No, I haven't." Emma spun around. Her eyes were damp, but there was