“No,” said Cassie. “Sit back down. I can’t believe I’m saying this. I mean, overall, his health, his stress level, his potential for happiness . . . they are all greater than they ever were with me. He’s always been . . . so worried. With this big weight of a book on him. I didn’t make it easy on him. I wanted his success as much as he did. Maybe more.”

Joy regarded the other woman. She hated to admit that a seed of hope had sprouted deep in her soul, which had for so long been too dry to support any growth.

“That’s the only time I’m ever, ever going to say that,” continued Cassie coolly. Her face was a smooth mask, devoid of wrinkles, blemishes, emotion. “I’m not going to beg you to get in touch with the man I married. But it’s too late for us, for him and me. That’s very clear. And maybe I didn’t do right by him, and maybe this is the way I think I can make it up to him.” She glanced over at Max and lowered her melodious voice. “He doesn’t want me,” she said. “He wants you.” She rose from her chair and said, “So you really don’t know where he is?”

He wants me? thought Joy. She felt the blood rush to her face. She was happier to hear that than she was willing to let on. “I really don’t know where he is,” she said evenly.

“Figures,” said Cassie. “Come on, Max.”

Max looked up from the book. There was a swipe of filling on one cheek, and his left sneaker was untied. There was something about his expression that reminded Joy so much of Anthony: it was hopeful without being needy, and sweet without being guileless.

Chapter 59

LU

LU CAME INTO the house on nervous little cat feet. The boys were watching TV, and Jeremy was still in the bedroom. He had moved from the straight-backed chair to the bed. He was lying on his back, the back of his head resting in his hands, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He was staring at the ceiling.

“Do you remember when I was working at the firm?” Lu asked. “Before kids.”

“Of course.” His voice was gentler than it had been, more conciliatory.

“You were just starting your residency, remember?”

“I do.”

“Working crazy hours.”

“Crazy.”

“And our schedules almost never matched up.”

“I know. You were alone a lot.”

“I didn’t mind.” She had never minded being alone when Jeremy was at the hospital. She had a new job. She had friends, and plans, and she could go for drinks or dinner any night of the week if she chose to. Sometimes she didn’t choose to. Sometimes she poured a glass of wine and put on her pajamas at eight-thirty. She was always tired after a day at work—they worked the young attorneys to the bone—but it was such a good kind of tired, a satisfying emotional and intellectual fatigue.