She tilted her head, opened her mouth. For a second he thought she was going to tell him it was none of his business. But she didn't.

“How can I explain it,” she began, “to someone who didn't know her before, who didn't know what she used to be like? She was like a one-woman high-wire act. You should have seen her—working the ER by day, bringing down the house by night. She was so talented—this'll sound weird, if you're not in the field, but she could get an IV line in a vein and the patient wouldn't even feel it. She could comfort the littlest kids, make them smile even while the doc was stitching them up. She loved everyone she treated, and they loved her.”

Patrick listened. He pictured Marisa's smile, and he could believe it.

“She helped found Horizon House, right around the corner from the hospital. It's health care for low-income women and kids. People who can't afford the kind of help they need.” Sam looked down, seeming to study her shoes for a long time. When she looked up, her eyes were glittering. “I was so proud of her for that,” she said.

“Is that why you do the kind of work you do?” he asked.

“Someone has to,” she said, letting the rest of the sentence hang in the air.

“Because Marisa doesn't?” he asked.

She let out something between a snort and a laugh. “‘Marisa,'” she said. “That nickname used to make us smile. Bono gave it to her in Paris, one drunken night.”

“But that's not why she uses it now,” Patrick said.

“No, it's not,” Sam said. “It's her alias. Want to know the biggest irony? A lot of what Horizon House does is geared toward helping abused women. My sister knew all about the dynamic, and it happened to her anyway.”

“Is that what you can't forgive her for?” Patrick asked. The question sounded harsh, even to his ears, and Sam looked as if she'd been slapped.

“You don't know anything,” she said. “You don't know my sister and me, the way we used to be.” Her face was bright red, her eyes pooling with tears.

“Then tell me,” he said. “Please?”

“We were so close,” Sam said, her face still flushed. “We'd tell each other everything. If I needed her, she'd be on the next train. When Paul—her first husband—died, I took a month's leave, to go up and stay with her and Gracie. They needed me—and I needed them. I loved Paul as if he were my brother.” She held in a sob, turning her head.