“Mom, do you believe in right and wrong?” “Yes, of course. Why?”

“Well, then, how come you help people who break the law?”

She had asked herself that question early in her practice. Her answer had been to remember Philippe, who had taught her what a healer should be—humane, tolerant, never judging, but simply trying to help.

“Mom?”

“I’m sorry. I was thinking about what you said. I believe that my work isn’t about right or wrong; it’s about trying to ease human suffering.” Karim scowled, as if she were a schoolgirl who’d given the wrong answer. “Well, what about Josh’s mother, then? She’s supposed to be your friend. You said you wanted to help her. But you hardly see her anymore.”

The criticism stung—because she’d leveled it at herself more than once. “It’s not that simple, Karim,” she said finally, wanting him to understand.

“Josh’s father has a very serious problem. Unless he gets some help, it will only get worse. You know he hurt Carolyn, and it could happen again. I wanted to help them, but Carolyn … well, she just won’t admit that she needs help.”

“So you think she should just leave him?” Karim’s expression was a strange mixture of curiosity and contempt.

“I told you, it’s not that simple,” said Jenna, wondering why her son seemed to misunderstand everything she did these days—and why she was always so defensive. “I think she needs to protect herself. To get back her self-respect. She wouldn’t be much good to herself or her son if she got killed, would she?”

She had become shrill. Karim’s look of disgust could have come straight from his father.

“I won’t be long,” she promised, gathering coat and purse. “Here’s some money for a pizza.”

He looked at the bills and turned away.

Hurrying to the corner to find a cab, she felt an all-too-familiar frustration. Once again, she’d misstepped without really knowing how or why. It was as if her little boy were disappearing into the body of an argumentative, sneering stranger. Count your blessings, she told herself. Karim was an excellent student and a star soccer player. Compared with many other parents she knew, she was lucky. And yet, she longed for the days when her child believed she could do no wrong.

O

“So, you’re Jenna Sorrel! What a pleasure to meet you, at last!” “I’m pleased to meet you, too, Professor Hamid.”

“Please, call me Nasser.”

It was easy to see Jacqueline Hamid in her father.

Physically, the man was not unattractive, with enormous dark eyes that some women might have considered “soulful.” At the same time, there was something overly ingratiating in his manner, a hint of oiliness better suited to a peddler in the souk than to a distinguished academic.