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  “No.”

  Neal wrote some additional notes in the chart. Dana reclasped her bra. “Hold on.” Neal looked up. “As long as you’re here, I’d like to do a fine-needle aspiration.”

  The words hit Dana like a blow to the chest. “What? Why?”

  Neal pointed to the X-rays. “The bump you found appears to have an irregular edge, and its hard.”

  “Oh, shit,” Dana said.

  Neal raised a hand to calm her. “That doesn’t mean it’s cancerous.”

  “Then why the aspiration?”

  “Without another mammogram to compare it to, I don’t know how long it’s been there or if it’s changed shape. A fine-needle aspiration allows me to have some tissue examined under the microscope.”

  Anger began to replace Dana’s fear. Her mother had lost a breast thirty years ago, and it seemed nothing had changed. “How long will it take? I have an important presentation to give today.” She thought it sounded like an excuse.

  “Just a few minutes. It will save you the trouble of having to come back. I can give you the results over the telephone. If it’s fluid, we’ll know immediately. If it is a mass, I’ll obtain some cells and send it down to the lab. Depending on how backed up they are, they should have the results in a few days. The alternative is to schedule you for a biopsy in the surgery clinic downstairs.”

  Dana sat again. Neal opened and closed drawers, removing a needle and syringe. Dana said, “You know, when I was seventeen, I never thought anything about it. I remember being embarrassed because my mom was freaking out in front of the doctor. Now I know exactly how she felt. I’m most concerned about my daughter.”

  Neal snapped on latex gloves. “How old is your daughter?”

  “Three. I read that breast cancer can be genetic.”

  “Let’s take it one step at a time. We’ll do the aspiration today, and I’ll give you some written information to take home to read. I’ll call you with the results as soon as I get them. In the interim, try to find something else to focus on.”

  Dana nodded, though she was unable to think of anything at that moment.

  3

  DANA TOOK A detour off the elevator to avoid the northwest corner of the floor and slipped into her office, closing the door behind her. Her desk overflowed with legal treatises, partnership agreements, and shareholder resolutions for a multitude of Strong & Thurmond’s corporate clients. Marvin Crocket continued to push her to the limit, trying to force her to cry uncle and quit, or just fail. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She’d never quit anything in her life. She wasn’t about to start now.

  She set her briefcase beside her desk and rubbed at the stinging sensation where the needle had pierced her breast.

  The floor vibrated. The door to her office burst open.

  “I see you’ve arrived.” Crocket stepped in. At five foot seven and 250 pounds, with a nearly bald head, Crocket resembled a bowling ball. He didn’t walk the halls so much as he rolled through them, causing an unmistakable tremor—a silent alarm to the associates who toiled for him that Crocket was out of his cage. In his late fifties, he was a psychologist’s dream, a walking series of complexes: short, bald, and fat. Crocket, however, was no joke. He masked his weight well beneath designer clothes and staggering success. The managing partner of Strong & Thurmond’s business department, Crocket was a relentless worker, billing over 2,800 hours each year, and a rainmaker who had amassed a book of business that exceeded $6 million in annual legal fees. He kept Dana and twelve other associates busy, going through them like a chain smoker does a pack of cigarettes, tossing aside the burned butts. He would be particularly unpleasant today because he had invited a potential client to Dana’s presentation and was intent on adding the client to his book of business.

  “I want to review your presentation,” he said.

  Dana reached across her desk and handed him a binder. Thank God Linda had made the copies. Crocket took the binder as if it might bite, sat in a chair, and flipped through it quickly. Apparently unable to think of anything negative, he snapped it shut. “Don Burnside will be there.”

  Crocket had been courting Burnside like a post-pubescent teen. “I know. You told me.”

  “And the Feldman incorporation papers must be filed today.”

  “I filed them yesterday,” she said.

  “The Iverson IPO is in three weeks.”

  He was meeting with the client on Monday. “You’ll have all the necessary paperwork on your desk by noon today.”

  Crocket’s dislike for Dana was basic. After Molly’s birth, she had opted for a three-day work week and put being a mother before her career, which, according to Crocket, meant she shouldn’t have a career. The other firm shareholders had also not been pleased, though for a different reason. Dana had been a rising star amid Strong & Thurmond’s 225 associates, the kind of lawyer whom law firms love to market to clients: a good-looking capable female who knew when and how to schmooze clients and when to bust balls.

  Getting nowhere, Crocket said, “I was looking for you this morning.”

  “I had a doctor’s appointment this morning.”

  “You’re not pregnant again, are you?”

  She wondered if the term “sexual discrimination” even entered the man’s thoughts. “No, not yet, but you’ll be the first to know.”

  Crocket crossed a leg with difficulty. “What kind of doctor’s appointment?”

  You asked for it.

  “Actually, I’ve been having some irregular bleeding, Marvin, spotting. I decided to have it checked out.”

  Crocket’s face flushed, and he stood with a grunt. “I’ll see you at five sharp in the conference room.”

  Dana closed the door behind him and sat at her desk. She wanted to both laugh and cry. Her to-do list had grown to three pages. Crying would make her feel better. She looked to the bookshelves, focused on a framed picture of Molly, and was suddenly overwhelmed by the thought that she could possibly leave her little girl. For six years, Dana had ingratiated herself to Strong & Thurmond’s twenty-five shareholders, working long hours and weekends to chalk up substantial billable hours and to drum up business. She had thought being a partner at one of Seattle’s top law firms was what she wanted. But Molly’s birth had changed her perspective, and she’d agonized over what to do. Grant had offered little support, saying they’d suffer financially if she cut back, especially with the new house and higher monthly mortgage payment. But she’d felt too much guilt over leaving Molly in day care every day of the week and then having to work on the weekends. She was cheating her daughter. She was cheating herself. She had asked to be removed from the partnership track. Marvin Crocket was the black hole to which the firm had condemned her.

  Her telephone rang. She hit the speaker button. “Your husband is on the phone,” Linda said.

  “Thanks, Linda. Put him through.” She left him on the speaker. “Hi, Grant.”

  “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning,” he said, confirming that he had not remembered her doctor’s appointment. “Listen, I can tell already this deposition in Everett is going to take longer than I expected. The witness is giving me bullshit answers and brought a stack of exhibits two feet high. I won’t be back in time to pick up Molly. You’ll have to get her.”

  Dana felt the floor fall out from beneath her. “No, Grant. I told you, I have my presentation today.”

  “Call Maria or your mother.”

  “I can’t. When you said you wanted to pick up Molly, I canceled Maria. My mother has bridge this afternoon.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, babe.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, either. You agreed to do it. We scheduled this a week ago.” They had actually coordinated their Palm Pilots.

  “Can’t someone else do the presentation?”

  She suppressed her anger. “It’s my presentation. I worked my ass off, and Crocket is just waiting for me to screw it up. Why can’t you cut the deposition short and resu
me it another day?”

  He sounded aghast. “No way. This is the Nelson case. The defense lawyer is a complete prick; I don’t want him thinking he’s doing me any favors. Besides, there are no other days available. We’re in expert depositions right up to trial. I have to finish this guy today.”

  “Dammit, Grant, couldn’t you give me any notice?”

  “Don’t blame me, Dana. I’m up to my ass in alligators here. How important can a practice group meeting be? Just reschedule the damn thing.”

  “There are thirty people involved, and Crocket is bringing a potential client. I can’t go into his office to reschedule; he already has me under a microscope, you know that.”

  “Look, I can’t fight that battle for you. You’re a big girl. Handle Crocket or quit complaining.”

  “How about if I just quit?” It was her trump card. Without her income, which was higher than his, he couldn’t afford the lease on the BMW or the house in Madison Park.

  “My break is over. Do what you have to do.”

  He hung up.

  4

  DANA STOOD BENEATH the covered patio with the mail clenched between her teeth, a bag of groceries balanced on a knee, and the dry cleaning stretching the tendons of her fingers. With her free hand, she continued to rummage through the pens and paper clips at the bottom of her briefcase in search of her house keys. Water seeped between the butted ends of the plastic corrugated canopy overhead and dripped on her shoulder. Molly stood beside her, crying. Grant had promised her an ice cream after day care, something Dana did not allow before dinner. Dana kept a foot wedged in the dog door, struggling to keep Max, their eighty-pound golden retriever, at bay. She heard the telephone ringing inside the kitchen.

  She found the keys, inserted the correct one in the lock, and turned the handle. Molly shoved the door. “Molly, don’t push,” Dana mumbled, but it was too late. Max wedged his nose in the crack and bulled the door open, bounding out, knocking Molly over. The bag of groceries toppled from Dana’s knee. A carton of eggs hit the ground with a crack. Two red apples rolled across the kitchen floor. Dana stepped in, spitting the mail on the table. She stepped around the carton of eggs, kneed Max in the chest to keep him off her, and hung the dry cleaning on the swinging door to the formal dining room. Then she stepped back outside and picked up Molly, carrying her into the house and sitting her on the kitchen counter. Tears streamed down the little girl’s cheeks; she’d scraped her knee just below her blue dress. Behind them, Max licked at the egg yolk as if he hadn’t been fed in a week. Dana’s cellular phone rang—Grant calling from his cell phone. She answered it while continuing to wipe Molly’s tears and hug her.

  “Dana? Where were you? I just called the house. What’s wrong with her?”

  “She wants an ice cream. She says her daddy promised her one.”

  “Oh God, don’t start with me about that again. Ice cream isn’t going to kill her.”

  “Dammit, Max.” The dog had pulled a package of hamburger meat from the grocery bag. “Hold on.” She dragged Max outside by the collar and shut the door and the dog door. He pawed and barked to get back in. She picked up her phone. “Where are you, Grant?”

  “Jesus, someone is in a foul mood.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m just leaving my office.”

  “Your office?” She looked at her watch. “What happened to the deposition in Everett?”

  “Most of his documents were bullshit. I finished his ass by three. It gave me time to get back to the office and do trial prep. This Nelson case is killing me.” Dana heard voices in the background. “Listen, don’t count on me for dinner. Softball tonight. I’m late. I’ll call you later.”

  “Grant?” But he was gone. Dana closed her phone and picked up Molly, burying her face in her daughter’s hair. Outside, it had begun to rain again.

  THE SOUND OF the electric garage door prompted Dana to look up from the black binder to the ornate clock on the mantel above the fireplace. Eleven-twenty. She lay in bed, fighting to keep her eyes open. When she’d told Crocket of her conflict, he had ranted and raved for thirty minutes about commitment, teamwork, and priorities. Then he’d sent out a memorandum notifying the practice group that the presentation had been changed to the following morning. When Linda had seen the memo, she’d walked into Dana’s office and told her that Don Burnside from Corrugate Industries had called with an unexpected conflict just minutes before Dana went into Crocket’s office. Crocket had already rescheduled the presentation.

  Dana heard Grant come through the kitchen door. Max was whining, his tail whacking against the wood cabinets with a dull thud. The dog had not been run in weeks, not since the Nelson case exploded and Grant quit his morning jog. Grant had insisted they buy Max from a breeder for those rare occasions when he went bird hunting with his fraternity brothers in eastern Washington, but he had never bothered to train the dog. Max had yet to retrieve anything. He usually shredded the newspaper on the front lawn. Dana felt a perverse sense of satisfaction at the sound of condiments rattling in the refrigerator door—Grant searching for something to eat. The groceries she had picked up were staples. She hadn’t done a full shop in weeks. She and Molly had eaten hamburgers and milk shakes. She’d made a patty for Grant, then fed it to Max.

  Max’s paws pounded the stairs, and his nails clicked and clacked on the hardwood floor leading to the master bedroom. He nudged open the door and stormed in, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, tail ecstatic to announce his master’s arrival. Yippee. Grant stepped in wearing a Maxwell, Levitt & Truman pin-striped softball shirt, sweatpants, and a baseball hat. He smelled of beer and cigarette smoke.

  “Wasn’t sure you were still awake. All the lights are off downstairs.” He sat on the couch beneath the bay window and kicked off a rubber cleat. It landed under the cherrywood desk. The second shoe followed it.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  “Softball,” he said matter-of-factly. He removed his socks and rubbed his feet. “And I know what you’re thinking; I can tell by your tone. ‘If he had time for softball, why couldn’t he pick up Molly?’ Because the deposition ended, and I had fires burning back at the office. I had to bust ass just to make it to the game and didn’t get there until the second inning. Bergman had given up four runs before I got there. We barely pulled it out.”

  “Hurray for our team.” She refocused on her presentation.

  He threw his socks on the floor. “Come on, Dana. Knock it off.”

  “What time did the game end?”

  He stood. “Don’t cross-examine me. I’ve been busting my ass for a month. This is the first chance I’ve had to blow off steam in weeks.”

  That wasn’t true, but she wasn’t about to debate it. “I’m not cross-examining you. It was a simple question. It’s called dialogue.”

  He walked across the Persian area rug, pulling the softball jersey over his head. “I have ‘dialogue’ all day long. I fight all day long. I don’t need it at home.” At forty, he remained in excellent physical condition. When not preparing for trial he ran and lifted weights at the Washington Athletic Club downtown. Dana tried not to dwell on it. She had been unable to lose the extra five pregnancy pounds and didn’t have time to even think about working out. “I went out for pizza and beer after the game.” He turned his back to her and walked toward the antique dresser. “Jesus, you’d think I do this every night.”

  “No, the other nights you have a client dinner or a late meeting, or you head to the driving range.”

  He put his wallet, change, and watch in the leather case atop his dresser. “We’ve been through this,” he said, his tone tired. “If I want to make partner, I have to bring in clients, and I can’t do that Monday through Friday, nine to five. Bergman is on my ass about increasing my business. Profits are down. They let three shareholders go this year. I don’t think you want me looking for a job, unless you plan on working full-time again.”

  “I know you work hard, and I
don’t like being put in a position of being the house bitch—”

  “Then don’t.”

  She clenched her teeth. “You could have called.” She regretted saying it the moment the words left her mouth.

  He seized them like a lifeline to diffuse the situation and avoid the real issue. “You’re right. I should have called. I’m sorry. This Nelson case has me all screwed up. I’m tied up in knots.” The subject had changed. “I’m going to take a shower. Care to join me?”

  She thought she might scream. He stood naked. It had become the extent of their foreplay, and she wondered how it had come to this. The physical chemistry that had drawn them together in law school had been so powerful the first time they made love, she’d thought she would explode. What with the daily stress of teachers peppering her with complex questions, the omnipresent anxiety of final exams, and the fierce competition to get the best grades and best jobs, Grant had become her life preserver. They hadn’t made love. They’d released their built-up tension in an evening of fierce and prolonged passion. But things had changed after he failed the bar exam, and they got worse when he didn’t make partner at his first firm. He came to resent her. His failure illustrated what they both knew but never spoke aloud. She had received better grades and gotten the better job. She made more money. His ego couldn’t stand it. Making love now amounted to his climbing on top of her and climbing off.

  “I have work to do,” she said, “and I have to get up early.”

  “Fine.” He stormed to the bathroom. “Do your work.” He stopped at the door. “You’re in a mood.”

  “I’m in a mood? You haven’t even asked me about my day.” She regretted throwing him another lifeline.

  “Is that what this is about? I forgot to ask about your day?” He sat naked on the bed, apparently not yet willing to give up. “You know I’ve been preoccupied. If I win this Nelson case, Bill Nelson will transfer Nelson Construction’s entire book of business to the firm. This is a hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar breach-of--contract case, Dana. It will make headlines all over the country. Bergman made it clear if I win this, my place at the firm will be secure.” She’d heard it before, about a thousand times. “So how was your day?”