Jean promised to keep her informed and Reyna wandered wearily toward the parking garage. Not exactly a false alarm, because the seizure had been serious enough to require forced respiration. But not the horror she had expected, either. She would have to have a long talk with Dr. Basu about the antimalarial regimen, though. He had been so hopeful about it.

She was driving again, intending to go home, but instead went deeper into the canyon, past the Institute, winding around familiar switchbacks to the vista that of course had always been known as Lover's Leap. The tires crunched on the gravel as she pulled off the road and coasted to a stop.

She was so numb from her internal coldness that the biting winter air on the cliff edge seemed warming. She let the wind chill her ears and nose while her mind continued to spin. "I was at the movies," she said into the wind, but that was not where she had wanted to be. What if the seizure had been fatal, and her mother had wanted her for a few last words, but no one could find her because she was busy taking whatever she could get from any woman who would have her for a few brief hours? Her mother could have been dying while she spread herself out on yet another motel bed, holding back only her name while she took pleasure, and took as much as she could.

Self-absorbed, greedy, no impulse control a" okay, she thought bitterly. Your father is a bastard. You didn't want this life. You're doing this because of Mom, and it's not your fault, it's not her fault. It's his fault to have put a price on her life. But so what?

You want a relationship, you big fucking whiner? You don't get one. Not everyone gets one. You're not dying by inches, you're not abused, you don't wonder where your kids will get their next meal. It could be so much worse and all you do is complain. When you at least get to have sex, you complain that it's not enough. Tough. When was the last time your mother got to lose herself in purely physical pleasure instead of pain?

But, the answering voice in her head reminded her, but... you're losing your soul doing this work, helping these people. You're helping them hurt not just you, but others as well. And that's a price you pay, not your father. It's not his conscience that is making you suffer.

Headlights swept over her suddenly, startling her out of her fugue. She turned to look at the approaching car and remembered, then, that she was never alone.

The tan sedan pulled alongside her own car, then the man inside got out.

"Miss Putnam."

"Can't I be alone ever?"

"Is there something I can help you with?"

She realized then that she was standing very close to the edge and that the detective had most likely misinterpreted her reason for being here. "I'm not planning on jumping."

He nodded. "Is your mother okay?"

"That's no concern of yours."

He nodded again. In the starlight he was silver-haired, and his face was carved with lines that did not suggest habitual mirth. "I've overstepped. Please accept my apologies," he added dryly. "The name is Ivar, Marc Ivar, if you want to report me."

She spread her hands in a nullifying gesture and turned her back on him.

He lit a cigarette and made no move to depart. It irritated her immensely.

"May I be alone, please?"

"I'll head around the corner, but you know I can't leave. Not until you get to church Sunday morning. That's me a" Friday night to Sunday morning. And Wednesdays."

"I can hardly get up to no good in the House of the Lord," she said sarcastically. Attendance at her father's congregational church, a moderate denomination, was mandatory. She used the time to clear her head, and tried to take only the good that came from the pulpit. The god she believed in was a source of strength and wisdom, never punishment or hate. If she ever had a choice, she would look for a church that uplifted her spirit without turning off her mind.

"I wouldn't know. I just have my orders, just like the guy who picks up again on Mondays when you leave work."

She caught herself before she screamed at him to leave, then slowly turned to face him. "Why are you telling me this?"

"What?" He made no attempt to appear confused. She stared until he finally shrugged. "Me and my big mouth. Consider it a gift."

"A gift or a trap? You tell me I'm not watched from Sunday at ten until Monday after work a" why would I believe you?"

"You probably shouldn't." The laconic smile was back.

She stalked to her car and had to fuss with the lock. The car was fairly new, recently delivered from the leasing company. Just when she got used to a Buick they brought a Ford. Or was this a Lincoln? She didn't care. Her dignified exit was ruined by dropping her keys.

He finished his cigarette and ground it underfoot. "Think of me as a safe escort."

She wanted to say "Fuck you" again but didn't. She did spin out on the gravel and hoped even a small piece caught him. They were parasites, all of them. She didn't know what Ivar's game was, but she wasn't playing.

The condo was cold and unwelcoming, as always, decorated by a firm hired by Grip's administrative assistant. She rarely spent any time anywhere in it except the office and bedroom. It was to the bedroom she went, where she had sheets and blankets that she had chosen. She wrapped herself tight against the chill and cried, mostly because she had been badly frightened by the trip to the hospital and was too tired to stop the tears. Though she had promised herself she would put self-pity behind her, she couldn't help it, not in the cold before dawn and feeling, above all, utterly alone.

8.

Audra set the first heavy photo album in front of Holly. "I knew that Zinnia would destroy them if she had them, so I took them like a thief in the night. It was after she took you, but before they cleared out the house." After a pause to dab her nose with a tissue, she opened to the first photograph.

It was too much, too fast. Holly looked at the tiny infant in the photograph and felt no connection. How could that be her? She had no memory of seeing this picture before. The child had a frown that seemed to stretch from head to toe.

"You hated the flashbulb. I think you figured out early on that cameras meant purple spots in your eyes. You've always been camera-shy." With a sigh, Audra turned to the next page.

Her mother looked younger than Holly ever remembered. The studio portrait answered all of Holly's questions save one. Facing her mother was Audra, and between them she was nestled as something they shared.

Aunt Zinnia would never have let Holly see this picture. It was too honest and, as was often true of unvarnished honesty, inflammatory. White and black, two women, a baby a" a formula that too many people, even twenty-six years later, rejected in every permutation.

But it was the truth of her start in life, a constant she had only lately understood she was missing. She took another tissue from the box Audra had brought near. "You were always a part of me."

"Always." Audra's voice was low and even, though she drew the occasional ragged breath. "I cut the cord."

She looked at Audra, curious about the story of her birth, but there were more pressing needs. "I don't know howa"" She had to begin again. "Why don't I remember you very well? Whya"" She watched helplessly as Audra wrapped her long arms across her stomach and rocked, letting the tears fall. "I'm sorry..."

"My fault, child, all my fault. I had help down the road, but I chose the path. You can't understand, not after all this time."

"Try me," Holly said gently. "Tell me."

"It's not the world you live in. I look back, and my choices don't make any sense." She sighed. "When you were six we were shopping. You were always so serious about things being correct. You sorted your Halloween candy, and laid out doll clothes in functional groups." A laugh broke the tears and Audra seemed to let go of some of the painful past. "When you were four you lined up all your toys in order of height so they could all see your puppet show. You were always exceptional, and we knew it."

She let Audra talk, hearing the occasional soft consonant that spoke of a southern birthplace. The lilt of it seemed familiar to her, just as the erect way Audra carried herself was.

"We were shopping, you see, and you were bored while Lily paid the clerk. Up and down, you wanted me to hold you, to carry you, to hang you upside down, up and down. The clerk was a nice woman, I'm sure she meant nothing by it. All she said was that you were wearing out your a" and then she had to stop, because you had called Lily Mama." She set her cocoa-washed hand next to Holly's pale one. "You were obviously not my daughter, so she didn't know what noun to use. So she asked you who it was you were climbing all over."

Holly covered Audra's hand with her own. She might not remember specifics but she had an image of her tiny hand, so white against Audra's.

"You said plain as day, and seriously, that I was your mother." Audra cleared her throat. "Two things, it was two things that came to me. First that I loved you so much. We had always told you to call me Audie, so you had never called me anything else. I realized that I wanted it, I wanted you to call me your mother."

She patted Audra's hand and then let it go so she could blow her nose. "And the other thing?"

"Panic. Because the clerk was looking so confused, and Lily a" she knew it frightened me. So she acted like you were the one who was confused and we left. But I knew a" I was wrong, but those were the times. I was a teacher, and teaching meant everything to me. It is my calling in life, teaching grade school. I was respected and admired, so much more than where I began in life. But being black, one whisper would have been enough. There were still moral turpitude clauses in teaching contracts. There were people running about trying to make it a state law that no gay person could be a public-school teacher."

"I do understand that," Holly said gently. "In some ways it's no better now."

"Oh it is. Never believe that things haven't gotten better," Audra said firmly. "But back then, what I knew was that in another year no one would ever believe you were confused about who I was to you. You would push your mother and me right out of the closet. Now, Lily was ready.

But I wasn't. Not telling you for so long, she did that for me."

"You had your reasons, risks she didn't have."

"Don't be so easy on me." Audra patted her knee and rose. "I'm going to make some tea. Would you like some?"

"I would, thank you." Holly followed her to the kitchen, brimming with dizzy elation.

Words seemed to come easier to Audra as she filled the kettle and set it on the stove. "After that, Lily and I agreed we'd have to be more circumspect around you. Rather, I told her how I felt things had to be, though it broke my heart, and she supported me. So, gradually, I just wasn't there as much, not while you were awake. We found these houses, side by side, and it seemed like a good compromise. Even so, I was amazed at how quickly I lost track of your every word, your every achievement. It hurt." She turned from the cupboard with a box of tea bags and two mugs. Her mouth was trembling again with painful memory.

"It must have." Holly reached for the mugs and set them on the white-flecked Formica-topped table.

Audra slumped into a chair and Holly sat down opposite her. "The years seemed to slip by. You just kept getting older. I a" Ia"" She swallowed hard and tears sprang anew in her eyes. "Sweet Jesus. I watched your tenth birthday party through the fence." She sank her fingers into her short hair and pulled it in self-admonishment. "It was so foolish, wasting all that joy out of fear."

Audra seemed lost in thought and Holly didn't disturb her. When the kettle whistled she poured the boiling water over the tea bags. Audra took her mug absently.

"Aunt Zinnia told me that my mother was going to tell me about herself."

Audra nodded, seeming a long way away. "Yes, that's true. She wouldn't have told your aunt of all people about me. We were going to tell you first. Lily and I, we were growing apart because of my stupidity. Losing track of days, sometimes going a week without connecting seriously. And in those six years times changed. I had not believed that as a black woman I could get another job worth having, even if we moved, but by then I was sure that if I had to, I could get one up north, San Francisco or Oakland, I could have done it. Times had indeed changed. So I told her I wanted to be a family again." She sighed.

"And then the accident."

Audra sipped her tea and seemed to come back to the present. "The accident. That stupid, stupid accident. Do you remember what day of the week it happened?"

"A Thursday. Aunt Zinnia came to get me at swim practice. I remember that she told me Mother was dead and I thought at first I was cold because my suit was wet."

"We were going to tell you about us on Saturday."

That close. She had been that close to the truth. The might-have-been was painful to contemplate. Two more days and she might never have launched herself across Clay's office into his arms, swept off her feet by the merest hint of encouragement and approval. It wasn't fair that her mother had died. She dashed away angry tears like the eleven-year-old she had been, then found a thought outside her own miseries. "Who told you?"

Audra's breath caught. "No one. I wasn't unduly concerned when the two of you didn't come home, but I was grading papers a" my lord, grading papers. Later I couldn't remember the last thing I said to her. The next morning I made coffee and started my eggs, then went out to the porch for the paper. The next of kin had been notified, you see, so ... so ... her name, her picture... right there ..."

It was Holly's turn to offer her shoulder and she did so without reservation.

After a long while, Audra murmured, "There was no one I could tell. Another price of hiding who I was. I had no friends who knew about Lily." She pushed Holly gently away and drew herself up with dignity. Holly had a sense then of how she might have turned out had Audra been in her life a" she would know how to stand tall, how to hold her head up.

"You had to get through it alone?" My God, Holly thought. To suffer the loss of the love of your life and not be able to tell a single soul about the devastation it caused. To watch other people moving around in your lover's home, taking things, throwing things away that had meaning. "It's over," she murmured. "The hiding is over."

The elation was still there, and it grew as more pieces of her past settled into place.

Audra dabbed at her eyes with a fresh tissue. "I apologize. After all these years a""

"Don't apologize. I think I would have gone crazy."

"I almost did. Because there was no way I could see you, to find out if you were handling it okay. Your aunt a"" Audra's mouth settled into a firm, unyielding line.

"My aunt was less than... tender in her parenting," Holly said slowly. This part of the story could wait for another time, one not so fraught with regrets and hesitant joy.

Audra nodded, and her stiff spine seemed almost brittle. "After all this I think I need a drink. Will you join me?"

Holly accepted because of the symbolic nature of it, and watched as Audra moved the books and knickknacks that blocked the front of the liquor cabinet. There was dust on the lock. She realized abruptly that the dust was another dart, another clue. Audra didn't drink casually, and Holly had the vaguest impression that even after all that had transpired in the last hour, it was only now that Audra needed courage, because there was more to tell.

There was the last question, after all, and after offering so much truth, and so easily, Audra had not volunteered the answer. Holly knew she would have to ask, certain that the answer was why Audra needed a drink.

They touched tiny crystal aperitif glasses and sipped. Holly wasn't sure what to call it, but the sweet red wine was very soothing.

She didn't know quite where to begin. With Aunt Zinnia she had planned her questions to triangulate on the truth. She had never expected an Audra to exist, an Audra who had loved her and knew so many answers. Triangulate, she told herself, but most of all do the math. "How long were you and my mother together before I came along?"

Audra gave her drawn look, then briefly closed her eyes. "We met when she guided my class through a field trip to the university's research lab. That was before she went into the private sector. I had never in my life seen someone so happy with who she was and what she was doing. Both of us were single, dating, and not sure why nothing seemed to work out with men. We met and it was like the collision of stars between us. You came along three years later."

Three years. Audra had been there to cut the cord. Had been in her mother's life when the egg that became her was fertilized. It was the last question.

"Three years," Holly echoed. "You know what I'm asking, don't you?"

Audra nodded.

"Can you tell me?"

"She made me promise I wouldn't. A promise I thought I would have no trouble keeping. But she didn't know that we'd be here, like this. And that you would need to know. And that, that witch would do what she did." The brief flare of anger seemed to drain her. "I don't know if I have the strength."

Sweet Jesus. Holly could almost hear Audra thinking it. There were a limited number of possibilities to explain her conception. Eliminated was the explanation of an accident as a result of an affair with a man. Eliminated, by Audra's reluctance to discuss it, was the explanation of a planned conception the two women had undertaken together. What was left?

The anguish in Audra's eyes, the promise not to speak of it a" Holly drained her glass and steeled herself. She had not known she would have to be this strong.

"I'll tell you, but it won't be easy, child. For either of us."

Holly waited, knowing the answer now, or some of it at least.

"Your mother was vivacious, lovely a" you know that."

"I remember that, yes."

"You're very like her. Her hair had red glints in it. Her eyes were lighter gray."

"She had a smile like morning," Holly added. "I remember that most of all."

Audra's tone became clipped and anxious. "After we were together, she was still constantly turning men away, citing lack of time, heavy career demands, anything to put them off. There was one man who persisted. He worked at the same company and found ways to drop into the lab. She finally agreed to go out so she could tell him privately that she wasn't interested. They'd gone to high school together, you see. She thought she knew him."

She wanted to tell Audra to stop, but there was no courage in continuing the silence.

"She was always gentle and kind, but with him she was very firm, she told me later, and even then he wouldn't listen. He kept insisting she'd change her mind if only she'd give him a chance. He'd always wanted her, and he'd even pretended to like Zinnia to be closer to her. When she wouldn't relent, he told her he didn't believe what Zinnia had hinted at. Lily never thought he would do what he did, even as he did it." Audra pressed her tissue across her eyes. Her voice rasped out the agonizing truth. "He did it to fix her. All the time he did it he told her he was making her normal."

Holly's head was spinning. She rested it on her leaden arms crossed on the table. The roaring in her ears finally receded and she realized that Audra hadn't stopped talking.

"a"charges, but she'd taken a shower. I had helped her take it, I held her, and I wanted him to pay. But she knew him, and the cops wouldn't care. Just a misunderstanding on a date, that's what they would have said. Most of them would have thought she deserved it, had they found out about me. It was the a" it changed my views on capital punishment, because I wanted him to die. Painfully, and all the while screaming no."