Two weeks later, Jenna again made the trip to New York. She felt guilty about getting to know Laila under false pretenses, but at this point, false pretenses seemed to be the only ones available. Besides, she rationalized, she really meant it about wanting to make sure Laila would be all right. How could she not?

“I was surprised to see you,” Laila said as they walked along peeking into shop windows on Madison Avenue. “I thought you might have, you know, disappeared. Like maybe I imagined you or something.”

Over tea in an unpretentious little restaurant, she talked freely about her father, although still concealing his last name. When he wasn’t caught up in business, which often meant travel to far places, they went to the theater, made shopping expeditions, and sometimes took wonderful holidays aboard his yacht. “It’s just that he’s … so busy,” she ended wistfully.

Jenna wished she could call Malik. Or write him an anonymous letter:

“Your daughter needs more of you. Now, not later, not when you have time, but now. In another two or three years, she’ll be her own young woman.” But, of course, she couldn’t do that. But why couldn’t she?

“I hope you didn’t come down just to see me,” Laila was saying. “What?

Oh … no. I had some research to do.”

“I’m glad, because I have to go. A friend of mine asked me to her house to study together.”

“A friend? From school?”

Laila grinned. “Yeah. Things are getting a little better. Like maybe you were right, you know?”

“I hope so. It would be nice to be right once in a while.”

Laila put on sunglasses. “Sometimes people recognize me,” she explained. “Like photographers. Because of who Papa is.”

“Ah.”

“I’m sorry to rush off. I enjoyed this. Can we do it again, say another two weeks? I’ll make more time.”

“Why not?” said Jenna happily.

O

Back in Boston, in free moments between patients, or while doing some mindless household task, Jenna found herself fantasizing about her niece. She envisioned them visiting museums and art galleries, sharing long walks in Greenwich Village and Soho. She imagined drawing the girl out, listening to her problems, offering help and advice (not minding if it wasn’t taken, she cautioned herself) when a boyfriend broke off with her or she with him. She saw herself praising Laila’s achievements at school, supporting her dreams.

She knew that she was picturing herself in the role of a parent. But so what? Laila needed someone. Of course, there were risks. But wasn’t there some way to carry it off? What if she swore Laila to secrecy? What if they made it an adventure, like spies, never meeting in the same place twice? Laila needed her. And Jenna was so very hungry for the family she had left behind.