He reaches over and picks up anyway. “Hello? Yes. Yes, she’s right here. Hang on.” Thomas holds out the phone.

I hesitate then take it. “Hey, Lucas—”

“Nope. This is Dr. Anthony Johnson. Is this Sylvie Peters?”

There’s something familiar about the deep timbre of the man’s voice. “It is. Can I help you?”

“I think I’m meant to help you. Faith Benson called me this morning.”

I sit back. “Sorry, I’m lost.”

“Faith apologizes for not thinking of me last night. I’m a child psychologist. I was your psychologist, years ago. Faith thought you might have some questions for me?”

My nerves tingle. “I do.”

Dr. Johnson can’t share patient information over the phone so we agree to meet at a park on the waterfront near his office between his patient sessions. Thomas reaches out, squeezes my shoulder when I tell him.

“See? There’s no such thing as a dead end.”

Thomas glances at Chris’s carrier, and his eyes fill as the enormity of his loss hits. I lead him into the bathroom and with apologies to Moose shut the door. When the shower water is hot, we peel off our clothes and step under the spray. I draw Thomas toward the teak bench. He rests his hands on my hips as I shampoo his hair, knead his neck, then take the showerhead from its chrome hook to wash away the suds and hopefully a tiny bit of pain. Thomas pulls me onto his lap. We kiss, his unshaven chin both rough and sensual.

“What do you need?” Thomas asks.

The answer surprises me. “To be seen.”

With his hands gripping my waist, he lifts until he’s inside me. I wrap my legs around his torso. We kiss, my fingers tangled in his hair, his arms tight enough that I can feel the pounding of his heart. When we’re both on the edge of orgasm, Thomas meets my gaze and then we cling to each other until our bodies shudder then settle. There are times when sex is an act of kindness, passion, apology, absolution . . . it was all those for me.

I tip my head back and the spray washes away my tears before Thomas can see them. Given our situation and the choices I must make to protect my career, I won’t have this kind of intimacy again. The fact that it will soon be gone is painful enough to steal my breath.

“You good?” Thomas asks.

There’s a starry look in his eyes that won’t last. “Yeah.” I just want to remember this.

FORTY-ONE

Sylvie

We take Moose with us to the waterfront to meet with Dr. Johnson. I settle on a metal bench across from a marina dotted with small boats that rock in the waters of the Willamette River while Thomas plays with Moose. He tosses the orange rubber ball we brought into the air and Moose lets it bounce once then catches it. They begin a game of fake chase, neither quite himself, both feeling Chris’s absence but distracting the other. We have come a long way in five days.