After a while, answering Nola's unasked questions, Beverly volunteered, “The first time it happened, I didn’t want to divert your attention from your work. What would you have done, drop everything and sit with me at the hospital?” She waved away Nola's protest that she would have done just that, and went on, “These past couple of years I’ve been seeking non-traditional cures in India and Mexico. Nothing’s worked. I’ve come home to die.”

Later at the bar in a small SoHo bistro, Nola told Wade, “I’m losing two of the three most important people in my life.” She had been crying all afternoon and evening. “The only time I could’ve reciprocated for everything Beverly had done for me, she went elsewhere for help. Couldn’t she see that she deprived me of something important I could carry with me?” Nola sniffled. “And where did I fail with Jenna? I’ve had twenty years to make her love me. Instead she hates my guts.”

Wade nudged the glass of brandy he had ordered for her. “Beverly is one thing. It is very sad. You’ll take time off to be with her in the coming weeks. But Jenna? Maybe at some point, you should have started to expect something in return.”

Nola took a sip. The liquid burned its way down, diverting the pain to a new center.

Wade went on, “I’ve always imagined that if I had a sibling, we’d be friends. It would be a give-and-take, learning over a lifetime to respond to the other’s needs.” He shrugged. “With Jenna, you’ve always given, never expecting it as your right to receive even words of thanks.”

“She doesn’t feel gratitude. She’s empty inside.”

“I rest my case.” He picked up a napkin from a small pile and dabbed Nola's cheeks. “She’s not empty. She’s full of rage over things you couldn’t have controlled then, and that are not yours to change now. Plus, it looks like she’s inherited your mother’s emotional illness.”

“Jenna was sent out of the house because of an accident for which I was responsible.”

“You weren’t responsible. No sane adult would put a ten-year-old in charge of a sick baby who can’t breathe. Don’t torture yourself. You’ve been through this with your shrink.” His tone was tender. “We’ve also established that your mother didn’t function. A disaster was bound to happen.”

“I’ll never have kids.”

He dabbed her eyes again.

She smiled through the tears. “How many times these past twelve years have you done this?”

“And I’ll continue, for as long as you let me.” To her surprise, he leaned forward, and his lips touched hers. The contact was so light that she would have missed it had she not seen his eyes twinkle.

Her hand jumped to the bottom of her throat. “Oh, my God,” she said.