“I don’t have everything all sorted out just yet,” she said.

“What on earth is there to sort out?” she asked.

Maggie lifted her glass and took a sip of champagne. She put down the glass and looked at her mother. “Remember, way back when you were a young woman with a child living at the crossing? Remember, you hated it and one day you decided that wasn’t enough of a life for you?”

“One day? Maggie, I starting planning to leave the second I got there! I put aside money for at least a year! And I’d really rather not talk about that right now, if you please. It’s a very unpleasant memory.”

“A year,” she said. “Huh. Well that explains a few things, like how you had enough money to get us to Chicago and rent a very nice downtown apartment. You were skimming money, weren’t you?”

“Be civil,” Phoebe hissed.

“I took a brief leave of absence from my practice when I was forty,” Walter said. “I think it was three months. Maybe four. I traveled some. I went to Tibet. I was in search of something. Those monks...” He smiled.

“Not a lot of serenity in neurosurgery, Walter?” Maggie said.

“Problem was, I was already too serene. Even neurosurgery couldn’t beat it out of me. I wasn’t bothered by the risk or the critics or my envious colleagues. My problem wasn’t burnout. Not so much. I had no balance in my life. My family, God bless every one, would bore the paint off an old Chevy.”

Phoebe gasped. “Your mother was a lovely, genteel lady!”

“My mother was a hopeless snob, but the two of you got on admirably. My colleagues were about as interesting plus twice as pompous. My house, which was large and impressive, echoed. I loved surgery, even the most challenging cases. But my life was empty. You’d think saving lives would be more fulfilling, wouldn’t you?”

“Walter,” Maggie said. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

“Well, that was all before I met your mother. And there didn’t seem to be any need to. Didn’t you have what you wanted?”

She wasn’t quite ready to face that. “Back to you. So you went to Tibet. To find balance?”

“Tibet was another extreme. I was looking for the median. The radical center.” He grabbed Phoebe’s hand. “I found your mother in the restaurant. She was the hostess. I started to eat there every night.”

“Oh, Walter...” Phoebe said, touched.

“But wait, Phoebe had a daughter. What was I then? Seven? Eight?”

“Yes, a daughter.” He chuckled a little. “You did nothing to enhance my serenity, by the way.”

“Now, Walter,” Maggie said with a smile.

“Maggie, you were abominable,” he said. “Most days I couldn’t tell if I was anxious to see what bad thing you’d done or excited to hear you’d been a good child for a change. It was a bundle, see. It was nothing like the family I grew up in—it was interesting. It took me a little while but I suspected you had a very high IQ, not that you needed one to be a surgeon. But there was such intelligence in you, especially when you were bad. I had you tested.”

“I thought that was Mother!” Maggie exclaimed.

He was shaking his head. “I gave strict instructions that you never be told the results. That Phoebe, especially, never be told!”

“Walter?” Phoebe asked, as if deeply hurt.

“You have so many wonderful qualities, darling, but humility is not one of them. You would have had the number put on T-shirts. Besides, the most brilliant scientists in the world don’t have the recipe for happiness.”