Pierre flicked her an incredulous glance. "Of course, don't you?"

"Yes," she said, using the same tone. "But since you're here, when we agreed to have no contact--well, naturally I assumed you might've changed your mind."

"I didn't."

Winter managed to hide her disappointment. "S-o-o," she said, "you stopped by despite our decision not to see each other...to tell me we shouldn't see each other? Or was it because you were in the neighborhood and had a hankering for coffee and a croissant?"

"I already told you why," he said sharply. "To clear up any misconceptions from the day you came to see me."

"Misconceptions?" she repeated. "You couldn't have made your feelings any more obvious if I'd asked."

Pierre waited a heartbeat before responding. "Then we understand each other?"

"Well, actually, I don't."

"Do you need me to explain it to you again?"

"Maybe you should," she answered. Impatience seemed to radiate from him, making any kind of rational discussion impossible.

"I felt bad about that day and wanted to apologize," Pierre said.

"You should have felt bad." Winter regretted her words immediately.

Pierre's jaw hardened. "I can see it was a mistake to come here. It was an even bigger mistake to think the two of us could communicate. Our relationship didn't work before and it isn't working now. I'm afraid we were both fooling ourselves into believing we ever had a chance." He stood so abruptly that the chair wobbled before righting itself. "I won't say it was good to see you, because it wasn't. Frankly, this visit told me everything I needed to know," he said. "Everything I needed to remember." He started for the door.

At first, Winter was angry enough to let him go. But almost instantly she realized that if she allowed their conversation to end like this, the memory of it would always stand between them. She had to make at least an effort to reconcile.

She got up and hurried out the door. "Pierre!" she called, surprised to see that he was already halfway down the block.

He ignored her.

"Pierre," she called again, louder this time.

He paused, but didn't turn around.

Winter quickened her pace until she caught up with him. But then she didn't know what to say.

"I hate it when we fight," she blurted out, close to tears.

"Moi aussi," Pierre admitted, his shoulders slumping. "Me, too. Nothing ever changes with us. I love you and am crazy without you and then we're together for five minutes and I am crazy with you."

"I love you, too," she said in a low voice, "and yet sometimes I think I could hate you."

"We are not good together," he said, looking away from her, every syllable weighted with sadness.

She opened her mouth to disagree and found she couldn't.

Chapter Twenty-Three

W hen I got to the office Wednesday morning, I discovered Macy hard at work on the mural. She had her iPod plugged into her ears and seemed intent on her job. The sketch wasn't finished, but she'd made significant progress, which told me she'd been at work for several hours. And yet the office had opened just thirty minutes ago. I didn't understand how she could've accomplished so much in such a short time.

"She talked one of the security guards into letting her in early," Linda explained, reading my mind. She followed my gaze as Macy, oblivious to our scrutiny, continued drawing on the wall. "I don't know what she said to Larry."

"

Larry let Macy into the office?" That particular guard was a stickler for rules. The fact that Macy had somehow persuaded him to allow her into the locked office was almost impossible to believe. I couldn't imagine what she'd said to him. For that matter, I'd rather not know. Apparently, I made some movement that alerted Macy to my presence. The instant she saw me, she pulled out her earphones and gave me a dazzling smile.

"Good morning, Michael." I nodded, a bit embarrassed to be referred to by my first name in front of Linda. "I understand you got here even before the staff," I said, striving to sound businesslike. I didn't want Linda or the others on staff to get any ideas.

"I had to because I wanted to make sure I'd be ready to leave when you were. I plan to finish the sketches today."

"It looks like you'll be able to start painting soon," I said.

She cocked her head to one side. "The more I thought about how I'd arranged the giraffes and the lion, the less happy I was with the sketch. I've already made changes, see?" She gestured toward the wall.

I didn't really notice that much of a difference, but then I hadn't paid close attention. Macy had shown me the drawing and I'd approved it. I wasn't going to stand over her and examine every line she drew.

"You'll be able to come home with me tonight, won't you?" she asked, her eyes imploring. "To meet Harvey."

I felt Linda's interest and tried to ignore my nurse. The truth was, I'd do just about anything to get out of this. "You need to make an appointment with a physician who specializes in geriatrics," I said.

Macy's eyes grew round. "Harvey will never keep the appointment. This is the only way. You said you would. You can't go back on your word now." Seeking reinforcements, Macy turned to Linda. "He promised."

"You promised," Linda repeated in a tone that told me she was enjoying this far more than she should.

"Traitor," I whispered. Her support of Macy's schemes surprised me. It wasn't like Linda to side with someone else against me. I wasn't sure I liked this change in my nurse, who seemed to be falling under Macy's spell. I couldn't figure out why everyone, including Hannah, thought so highly of her. Macy seemed like a generous young woman and she had a certain quirky charm, but after ten minutes I found her irritating in the extreme.

"You'll come, won't you?" she pleaded.

I opened my mouth, but before I could utter a word, Linda answered for me. "He'll be there." She shoved a file into my hands and steered me toward the first examination room.

Sure enough, by four-thirty I'd finished my scheduled appointments in record time. Linda had somehow managed to free up the late afternoon so all I had left to do was some minor paperwork.

When I walked out of my office, Macy was waiting for me in the reception area, her purse draped over her shoulder. She wore army-green pants and a yellow T-shirt with a butterfly print on it and a brown vest made of some shiny fabric I couldn't readily identify. As was often the case, her red hair was a tangle of unruly curls. She lit up like a neon sign the moment she saw me.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

I sighed. I wasn't keen to meet this neighbor of hers, and my guess was that Harvey felt the same way about me.

"Sure," I said. "Let's go."

"Is it okay if I ride with you? I took the bus this morning."

"No problem."

I led her across the street to the parking garage, which was a few blocks down from the gym where Ritchie and I worked out. Paul, the parking attendant, saw me with Macy and winked in my direction. It was all I could do not to stop and explain that in spite of what he thought, I wasn't romantically involved with Macy. But if I made an issue of it I'd only look foolish, so I resisted.

When I pushed the remote button to unlock the doors to my BMW, the lights blinked and Macy laughed softly.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"You. You're so predictable."

"In what way?"

"The car. It's such a doctor car. And I bet it's spotless inside."

"Well, yes, but what's that got to do with anything?"

"Oh, nothing," she said. "It's just so...you."

I bit my tongue to keep from making some remark about how she dressed.

As I'd expected, Macy chatted nonstop from the moment she slid into the passenger seat. I heard about her cats and about Harvey and a number of other people, places and things. She bounced from one topic to the next, like Leanne's friend Gayle, without any detectable rhyme or reason. If I hadn't known better I would've said she was nervous, but that didn't make sense.

She directed me to her address and when we pulled up I was the one who laughed. The house resembled something out of a fairy tale. It was painted yellow and red. The yard was surrounded by a white picket fence with a gate, and flowers seemed to be blooming everywhere. She had huge pots on the front steps and the flower beds were ablaze with bright purple azaleas. I half expected Cinderella or Snow White to come waltzing out the door, greeting us with some chirpy song.

"What?" she asked, obviously unsure why I was so amused.

"The house."

"Oh, yes, isn't it divine? I inherited it from my grandmother."

"So you got your, uh, style from her?"

"Some," she agreed. "I repainted it last summer. A few of the neighbors made a bit of a fuss, but they got used to it after a while. Personally, I think it's inviting, don't you?"

"If I was eight, I would."

"Oh, stop," she said and laughed.

Apparently, she had no idea that I was serious. With a sense of resignation I climbed out of the car and shoved my hands in my pockets. Macy was already on the sidewalk, about to open the front gate, when she turned to look at me. "Don't worry about Sammy. His bark is worse than his bite."

No sooner had I stepped onto her property than a huge brown dog of indiscriminate pedigree came rushing toward me at full speed, barking loudly enough to hurt my ears. I braced myself, certain I was about to be tackled.

"Sammy," Macy said calmly. "This is a friend."

Sammy stopped in his tracks and stared up at me, his eyes filled with suspicion.

"Go ahead and pet him," Macy advised. "He's really gentle, but he's gotten rather protective lately." She opened the front door and the second she did three cats raced outside.

Macy bent down and petted each one, murmuring words of affection. "Meet Snowball, Lovie and Peace."

I felt a bit silly and, not knowing how else to respond, I waved.

"They've been cooped up inside all day," she explained as the cats twined themselves around her legs.

She led me into the house and, not surprisingly, it looked like a disaster site. She had a number of halffinished paintings propped up against the fireplace--or what I assumed was a fireplace. I didn't take time to study them, but each seemed different from the others. There was a landscape, a seascape and a still life--a fruit bowl with what appeared to be one huge pomegranate. There was also a portrait of a sleeping cat, the white fluffy one. None of these paintings was completed. This worried me. I hoped she understood that I wasn't paying her until the mural was done. Apparently, she saw where I was looking.

"I have a problem finishing...stuff."

"So I see."

"Don't worry about the mural, though," she told me cheerfully. "My car insurance premium is due and I can't be late," she said, then added in a whisper she probably didn't think I'd hear, "Again."

I managed to hide a smile as I continued to survey the room. A laundry basket sat on her sofa, piled with either clean or dirty clothes, I couldn't tell which. The diningroom table was covered with books, newspapers, magazines and unopened mail. She'd tried to create orderly stacks, but either the cats had interfered with her efforts or the piles had gotten jumbled on their own.