Her father was too busy with his cufflinks to watch Paul, but Reyna saw the massive effort of will it took for Paul to stop watching her father dressing. He turned blindly away and fumbled toward the door.

She followed him, swept away with compassion. She had many reasons to hate herself, but none of them had to do with something as elemental as what made her happy sexually. She had Holly tucked away in her mind. No matter what the future brought, she had Holly and Kimberly and Margeaux and her pride. Paul had only a lie, a lie he'd perpetuated on a wife and family. "Self-hatred will kill you," she whispered.

He hadn't heard her behind him. "I'm busy." His voice was shaking.

"You only feel that way about him because you won't let yourself feel it for an ordinary man. You're telling yourself it's hero worship, not love based on homosexual feelings."

"Shut up," he snapped.

"I don't know why I'm bothering," Reyna said quietly. "But I'd stop to help an animal by the road in pain. Abideth faith, hope and charity, Paul. The greatest of these is charity. You have mine if you want it, but you need to find some for yourself."

"You don't know what you're talking about. How dare you quote Corinthians to me, you of all people?"

"You're right, St. Peter has his flaws. But what about Jesus, Paul? He gave us two commandments, and said they are more important than anything else, even more than believing in him. You know what they are, don't you?" She'd written so many papers quoting explicit scripture that seemed to unequivocally condemn homosexuality, but she knew the simple words that balanced the scales of hatred and abuse. Christ's commandments negated all else as the cornerstone of true Christian philosophy. She'd never wanted to speak them before, never thought her truth would help anyone but herself.

"Stop." His breathing was ragged.

"You love God, don't you? That's the first. You wouldn't be suffering like this if you weren't trying to love God."

"Please, don't."

"You know the second commandment from Christ, I know you do. But you can't love your neighbor as yourself if you don't love yourself first. That's all you have to do to find the reward of heaven. Love God. Love your neighbor. But can you do either if you are consumed with hatred for yourself? Hatred for anyone?"

He walked out of the room without answering. The door closed behind him just as her father's office door opened. "Is this better?"

She turned and realized that this was the first time he had ever taken her advice on a personal level. "Yes, that's much better. You look like one of the people, not their king."

"Where did Paul go?"

"I'm sure he has many things to take care of," she hedged.

"I'm ready, then. Shall we?"

They had done this before, walked side-by-side into important meetings. She had always resented the inference that she was his heir apparent, that she supported everything he did and said. It wasn't as sharp today, possibly because she was living in denial that he would act as he always had before when her behavior conflicted with his goals. He had acted as if he respected her, but that would change the moment he found out about Holly.

Stop thinking about her, she told herself. Put it away. You have to survive this summit before you should even be thinking about Friday. You don't even know for sure, not for certain, that she will be there.

But Holly was there, in her mind, when they walked through the double doors into the pop of flashbulbs. She needed the memory of Holly to shake Danforth's hand, and to find even a cool smile for other men she detested even more for their frothing vilification of gays and women, immigrants and non-Christians.

Her smile became more natural for others, particularly people she had been able to form a respect for in past meetings. Terence Hallorood from the central Methodist convention was especially welcome, as was Judith Giles, who had come all the way from her Episcopal diocese in Newark, New Jersey.

They let the photographers do their work, then a pale-looking Paul shooed them out of the room. The central table had been carefully set with working materials for every participant and two side tables provided workspace for the attending reporters. Reyna had worked out most of the choreography herself, with requisite emphasis on sound bites from her father's opening speech.

She prepared to fade into the background, believing that the success and failure of the summit meant nothing to her. But if that was so, she asked herself, why had she cared what her father wore?

He was as well prepared with the speech as always. His voice had a magic all its own, rich and compelling. It was hard not to listen, harder still not to believe that this group of people could change the world if they let their hearts and faith guide them.

After the opening speech several reporters left, but a few remained, quietly tapping on their laptops.

As was usual practice at meetings like this, approval of the agenda, which had been worked out in advance with everyone, was a mere formality.

"Unless there is dissent, I'll take it that we're ready with agenda item number one," her father said. "Let's begin bya""

"Mr. Putnam."

It took Reyna a moment to track down the source of the interruption. Judith Giles raised her hand to confirm that it was her.

"Yes, Judith?"

"This is the third such summit we've had." She rose and alarm bells went off in Reyna's mind. Judith had something very important to say. "I would like to be very clear that I am here to discuss universal values that can be employed to the enrichment of all families, all people. Our last two gatherings were mired in discussions about how to segregate some people, some families, from our compassion and our ministry. I cannot countenance in silence any more ridicule and denigration of some people a""

"Speak plainly, Judith." Danforth got up to pour himself a cup of coffee, a casual counter to Judith's intensity.

"Plainly then, Danforth, I am not interested in crafting a policy statement about core human values with footnotes that exclude homosexuals. Either we are here for everybody or I cannot take part."

"Hear, hear." From farther down the table, a Baptist minister, newly representing a northwest convention, leaned forward. "If my esteemed Episcopalian colleague had not brought it up, I would have. My time and budget are too short for bigotry. We have more important work to do."

Panicked, Reyna looked at her father. Part of her rejoiced at what was said. She wanted to applaud, to dance, to thank them, but the summit was about to tear itself apart. Her father's gaze flicked down the table, weighing options and considering damage control.

"Are your time and budget too short for the Lord's work?" It was one of Danforth's allies, the shrill and hateful representative from Focus on the Family.

"Peace." Terence Hallorood rose not far from where Judith Giles still stood. "If we begin to question each other's personal faith then we are not ready to work together. I can only say from where I sit that the issue of homosexuality and how my own church regards it is tearing the church apart. People are leaving our congregations in droves, disenchanted by ugly talk. I will do nothing here that will pour more oil on the fire. I want to find a way to put the fire out. We must come together. It is time to reconcile the bitterness." His gaze sought Danforth, who in turn looked at her father, the glue that had held them all together in the past.

She had never seen him at a loss. She interjected, "Perhaps we could establish some ground rules about off-limit topics."

"I'm sorry, Miss Putnam, but that's not good enough." Judith turned toward her. "We have been hoping to build an inter-faith statement about core human values, about what makes a strong family unit. When there are thousands of children who need stable homes, we can't support adoptions for only those families we like. We can't encourage fidelity within marriage if we won't let those who wish it to marry."

"How can you condone such things?" Danforth left his coffee, having never taken a sip, and came back to the table. He was taller than Judith by at least a foot and he looked down at her with naked contempt. "Scripture is clear a""

"I am not here to debate scripture." Judith raised her hands. "Perhaps I have not been plain enough. I am here to help craft an understanding of a universal belief in certain values: compassion, truth, fidelity, loyalty. I will contribute to that based on both my life and my faith. I believe there is a common ground that does not by definition have to exclude homosexuals. But I will not help a" in fact I will fight a" anything we do that is spiteful hate-mongering. I was silent in our previous gatherings when I should have spoken. I asked God for guidance and this is how he has moved me." She looked pointedly at Grip. "So I want clarity on the tone and scope of our discussion. I need to decide if I am staying."

"Is that a threat?" Danforth shrugged, then also looked at Grip.

Reyna was aware of the rapid tapping on the reporters' laptops. This was not what her father had wanted.

He waited too long to speak. Danforth sat down smugly, assuming the day was his. Judith took a deep breath and gathered her things. Terence Hallorood did the same. Then it was clear that several more people were going to leave with them.

Reyna leaned toward her father and whispered in his ear, "Do the math. If you can't have the whole pie, keep the larger portion."

"Judith, wait. All of you, please sit down."

Reyna sat back in her chair, gripping her pen under the table to hide her white knuckles. Her father had always covered the bases, always seemed to be a step ahead. He would find a way to have it all his own way, because he always did.

"When I lost my wife and son I took it as a sign. I had to redefine what family was. I had to be more open." He touched Reyna on the arm. "Looking past rigid definitions brought me more than it has ever cost me. Nothing so tragic as death has happened here today, but I feel a similar moment in the air. I went through life thinking that nothing would change, and God taught me that I was wrong. I think he is trying to teach me that lesson again today. Change happens."

Reyna gasped; She felt the room focus on her, but she continued to stare at her father.

He blinked like a man who had just had a revelation. "I want to hear more of what Judith and the others have to say. I think she is right a" it is time to find common ground, to reconcile, and to exclude no person of good faith."

Was it genuine? Had she just watched him change? Or was he playing the moderate early, planning to woo Danforth and his ilk privately?

"What is the point of teaching your children everything you know, of sending them out into the world to learn all they can and then refusing to listen when they return to teach you?"

"Grip, you can't mean this." Danforth seemed frozen in place.

"I'm sorry, Dan, but I do. I do. I am amazed that in such a small passage of time God gave me a clear choice to make. I realize that you now have choices forced upon you as a result, and I am sorry for that."

"After all the years of fighting together, trying to keep our schools free of taint, to rid television of homosexual propaganda a" was that for nothing?"

"I am taking Judith's point, I think. If we win that war we lose in the end. We can't..." Reyna had never seen him forced to search for words. Her heart hammered so loudly that she almost didn't hear what he said. "We can't preach hate to foster love. It's as simple as that." In seeming wonder, he echoed, "It's as simple as that."

13.

Holly woke on Friday morning with a happiness she had not known since she had been a child. If she'd been a character in a musical no doubt she would have burst into song at the sight of the brilliant sky or the smell of the freshly brewed coffee.

All her joy showed in her voice when she answered the phone a little past nine.

"Holly, is that you?"

It took her a moment. "How have you been, Clay?"

"I've been good. You sound different."

In another mood she might have taken it for an accusation of some sort, but no way was she going to let him spoil her day. "I'm happy. How about you?"

Perhaps someone else would have replied in kind, eager to show her that he had not missed her for a second. Instead, Clay said, "It was hard for a while. I did miss you."

"I'm sorry, then," she answered. "And now?"

"Well, it's better. I have to admit that making my own meals made me realize how much you did." There was a hint of self-deprecating laughter in his voice.

"I'm sure that's good for you, then." She didn't bother to hide the fact that she was smiling.

"Anyway, I called because I'm drowning in tomatoes."

She laughed outright. "Yeah, that's what happens this time of year. It's only the start."

"You did all the work, so you should share some of the bounty. I just wanted to tell you that if you wanted some, I'll leave a box on the porch for you."

Touched, Holly agreed. "That would actually be wonderful. Even the organic market tomatoes aren't the same."

There was an awkward silence, then Clay asked, "Are you really happy?"

"Yes," she said firmly. She found herself telling him all about Ramsay 4,5 and her paper, and the e-mail she'd gotten from Professor McKay in Australia, who had asked her to decide nothing about her future until he had checked his scholarship budget.

"That's really wonderful news," Clay said heartily. "I am thrilled for you."

Holly knew that if he had said things that supportive when they were together she might never have realized what was missing from her life. Nevertheless, it was good to hear. There was so much more he didn't know about a" Audra, her mother a" but she didn't want to share that with him. She would be happy to maintain an arm's-length friendship with him, and discussing her academic pursuits was a start.

She waited until she knew he had left for his classes, then popped over to the house to get the tomatoes. They were gloriously red and ripe. She'd make a tomato salad for Jo to go with lunch.

She bounded to the door to let Jo in when she knocked.

Jo's classes and papers had kept her busy until today, and Holly couldn't wait to tell her all about Ramsay 4,5 and Professor McKay.

Before she could say more than hello, Jo waved the morning Orange County Register at her.

"Look close, would you?" She held a photograph in front of Holly's nose. "I'm sure that's her. I thought she seemed familiar, like I'd seen her in a picture, maybe on TV but not as an actress. It's her."

Holly stared at the picture. Metro section, page twelve featured an article about something called a Values and Faith Summit at the nearby Putnam Institute. The photograph was of Grip Putnam, the famous radio pundit, and his daughter. His daughter was named Reyna.

"I don't think so," Holly lied. She just couldn't admit it to herself. Reyna. She was Grip Putnam's daughter. Grip Putnam, the most hated man in radio. Irrational, rabidly conservative Grip Putnam. Reyna worked at the Putnam Institute, which made her his accomplice in spreading misinformation and lies about liberal policies and conservative goals. The Institute was tightly linked to something Holly had never heard of before: ex-gay ministries. Clay had foamed at the mouth when he talked about Grip Putnam and the Putnam Institute. They passed themselves off as a place of learning, he'd explained, but they were just political hacks spewing out flawed findings and out-and-out propaganda.

Reyna had loved everything she had done that night, Holly could not be wrong about that. The caption on the picture had to be wrong. Oh damn it, damn it. Reyna. Reyna Putnam.

Jo tapped the picture. "How many Reynas do you know?"

"One," Holly answered, honestly. She was amazed at how quickly dreams could turn to dust. She blinked at the photograph and didn't want to believe it. She made herself read the article more closely. It sounded as if the summit had taken some sort of unexpected turn toward moderate policies, but it was likely to be just spin to bolster the early whispers of Grip Putnam's intentions to run for office a" very high office.

She wanted Jo to go because she wanted to cry. She had thought, had hoped, that maybe Reyna was more than just a fantastic lover. If all she had wanted was great sex then she might as well have gone with Murphy. Murphy had references, after all. Instead she'd gone with a complete stranger.

But she had felt something when she looked at Reyna, something missing with Murphy. Sure, she'd had flashes of lust for Tori and for Nancy... and for Flo and Geena and the woman at the organic market who had hoisted a fifty-pound bag of millet on her shoulder with ease. She'd probably have happily gone to bed with Galina, if she had ever called. But none of that had been like what she felt just looking at Reyna. They had shared something that started in that moment of shared honesty in the theater bathroom. The connection had been with more than their bodies.

Or was she just a fool? Had she fallen again for someone who would turn out to be another intellectual fascist, only this time as conservative as Clay had been liberal? She had changed so much, so quickly, but this was one direction she would refuse to go. Audra had paid the price, accepting security as a substitute for family. She herself used to think being needed was the same as being loved.

"Hey, don't cry," Jo said. "I'm sorry, Holls." She wrapped one arm around Holly's shoulders. "Trite but true, there are plenty of other dykes in the sea."

She dashed the tears off her cheeks. "I know. But shea""

"She was good, I understand. I'm glad your first time was great. But you can't possibly go back in the closet for her, and that's what it would take." Jo stabbed the paper with her finger. "What a hypocrite. They work for American Values for Family, the Traditional Values Coalition, Focus on the Family a" the scum of the earth, as far as I'm concerned. She's making money off of gay-bashing when she secretly likes muff-diving as much as I do. Typical rich-privilege thinking."

Holly wiped her eyes and tried to make a joke. "Gee, tell me how you really feel."

"There's nothing that can possibly justify hypocrisy on this scale, nothing."

Holly knew it was true. She had been so happy, far happier than she had thought possible. Reyna, Audra, Ramsay 4,5a" her cup had overflowed.

"Forget vegetables. Let's go get a hot fudge sundae," Jo suggested. "We could go to the movies, too. Have a wild Friday afternoon. Then, if you want to, we could go get drunk and disgrace ourselves in downtown Irvine."

"I don't think so. I'm... too depressed." She ought to go out with Jo and somehow find a way to be anywhere but the motel tonight at eleven. She wasn't going. She couldn't.

"And you were on top of the world a" I'm sorry, Holls. It's a tough break."