THOUGH THERE BE THORNS

Hurrying to get there before his nerve failed him, Joe Maxwelltook the twelve steps leading to Catherine Chandler's front door twoat a time. One edge of the buff-colored folder in his hand was dampfrom perspiration, though the May evening was really too cool to haveprompted it. At the top, he hesitated, remembering the last time he'dbeen here... the day last October when he'd brought Cathy home fromthe hospital where she had given precipitous birth to her fourthchild. Things had happened that day... things he still had troubleputting into perspective.Catherine's first day back at work had alsobeen the first time he'd seen her since that day. He had bothanticipated and dreaded their meeting and, in his eager apprehension,he hadn't handled it well.

* * * * *

"Chandler! Can I see you in my office for a minute?"

Intent on the computer printout lying on his desk, he didn't lookup when she came in. "I did some checking on you," he said. "Priorcases. Things you've been involved in, especially the first couple ofyears you were here." He tapped the printout for emphasis. "I putsome pieces together. I think I know what he's done... I think youdo, too." He looked up, seeking some sort of confirmation. She didn'tmove, and he went on. "I don't know him, Cathy, but I know you. Itrust you."

Pointedly, he picked up the printout and tossed it in the trash."I'm going to forget about it. I just wanted you to know..."

She began to tremble violently and for the first time, Joe noticedher unnatural pallor, how tensely she was holding herself, andrealized, in horror, how much he had frightened her."God, I'm sorry,Cath," he said. "What you must have thought..." Not knowing what elseto do, he put his arms around her. She leaned against him,shaking.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." It was all he could think to say and herepeated it over and over, patting her back. He was uncomfortablyaware that the blinds between his office and the larger one outsidewere open and he could almost feel curious stares boring intohim.

At last she pulled away from him, giving him a shaky smile. "I'msorry. I didn't mean to fall apart..."

"I scared you," he said, understanding.

She nodded almost imperceptibly. "I could see it all... thebeautiful, fragile world we've carved out for ourselves... I couldsee it crumbling... all lost... forever." Her voice broke and shestopped, biting her lip.

Still uncertain, Joe backed away to perch on the edge of his desk."Will you be okay?"

She gave him a crooked smile, one meant to reassure. "'Safe uponthe solid rock the ugly houses stand: Come and see my shining palacebuilt upon the sand.'" She quoted it softly, but Joe could hear thepassion in her voice and see its glow in her eyes. "I know howprecarious my palace is, Joe," she told him. "But it's so beautiful,and it's filled with so much love and joy that having it, for howeverlong it lasts, is worth anything that might follow." She ducked herhead. "At least, I keep repeating that to myself. I even manage tobelieve it, until the times like today, when something happens... andall I can think is that it isn't enough, I want a little more, need alittle more..."

* * * * *

With a start, Joe realized he was still standing on Catherine'sdoorstep. Reaching for the bell, he paused. Had he already rung it?He couldn't remember. Another minute went by before he punched thelighted button firmly. Dimly, he could hear its muted buzz frominside and rocked back on his heels as he waited restively forsomeone to answer it. Time dragged on and he began to have secondthoughts, looking down at the dog-eared folder he clutched.

Why hadn't he called first, or better yet, just left well enoughalone? If Cathy needed the file in his hands, she knew perfectly wellwhere to find it. He had begun to hope that no one was home and wason the verge of turning to leave when he heard the rattle oflocks.

Cathy herself opened the door. "Joe! Come in!" Her smile said shewas genuinely happy to see him.

Feeling awkward, Joe stepped past her. "Hi," he said, with what hefelt must be a foolish grin. This was a different Cathy than the onehe normally saw. Her cool, professional demeanor had vanished withher designer business clothes and she seemed somehow younger in jeansand a loose shirt that pretty well concealed her five-monthpregnancy."You have something green on your face," he said to coverhis uncertainty, pointing to her cheek.

With a corner of a cloth tossed casually over one shoulder, shescrubbed at the spot. "Either I'm feeding Evan or he's fingerpaintingme," she explained.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you..."

"You're not," she assured him, taking his arm as she turned towardthe back of the house. "Have you eaten?"

Things were not happening the way Joe had imagined. "No, listen, Ijust came to bring you this..." he handed her the buff-coloredfolder.

She frowned at it. "The Brandon case? I thought I hadeverything..."

"Oh, well, maybe you do," Joe said quickly. "I just thought, well,I was in the neighborhood and I'd drop it by."It sounded lame, evento him, and her eyes narrowed as she regarded him thoughtfully.Voices from the rear of the house were punctuated by a baby'sinsistent shouts and, more than ever, he felt like an intruder."Listen, you're busy. I should go..."

"Please stay. We're just sitting down to dinner and there'splenty."

The invitation was tempting and Joe hesitated. Home was a cold,lonely place these days. Cathy smiled at him, exerting all her charm."Come on, Joe. Be brave."

He raised a suspicious eyebrow, prepared to surrender but not yetready to let her sense victory. "Does that mean I'll be eating yourcooking?"

"Even I won't eat my cooking," she informed him, and laughinglypulled him into the dining room.

There he was immediately confronted with his own personal dilemma,in the form of Vincent. The computer printouts he'd thrown away thatday were gone, but not forgotten. In the end it all came down toCathy. He accepted it for her, but that didn't make the actuality ofVincent any less formidable.

Vincent had taken over feeding Evan and when he stopped to greetJoe cordially, the seven-month-old bellowed in outrage. Catherinemoved past Joe quickly and took the small spoon from that large,furred, clawed hand with absolute confidence, saying, "I'll finishhere. You've been with them all day."

Vincent seemed grateful to surrender the task and moved to whatwas obviously his own chair at the head of the table. Joe, takingcourage from Catherine's easy manner, settled into one of the otherchairs cautiously.

A slender, dark-eyed youth emerged from the kitchen withsix-year-old Charles and two-and-a-half year old Jacob on his heels."Are you..." He saw Joe and stopped in mid-sentence.

Catherine looked up from spooning pureed peaches into Evan's eagermouth. "Kipper, you've heard me speak of Joe Maxwell. Joe, this isKipper. Without him, our house would collapse in a tremendous cloudof dust."

The young man grinned. "You exaggerate, Catherine." He extendedhis hand across the table and Joe shook it warmly.

At dinner, he was initially intimidated by Vincent's presence, butas he listened to the easy conversation that flowed between Vincent,Catherine, and Kipper, and watched Vincent's gentle patience with hischildren, Joe began to feel more comfortable. As his confidenceincreased, he occasionally joined the conversation and eventually hisnatural bent for teasing Catherine came to the fore.

"Hey, Chandler," he said, a gleam in his eye. "Don't you have acase on Judge Byrnes' docket tomorrow?"

She looked across the table at him, surprised. "The preliminaryhearing for Rhodes. Why?"

"He had some chest pains this morning and they took him to thehospital," he said. "He's okay, no heart attack, but he'll be stayingfor some tests."

"Who's hearing his docket?"

Joe couldn't hide his grin any longer. "The Honorable Ronald P.Morgan."

Her eyes widened in dismay. "No. You're kidding. Tell me you'rekidding."

"Would I lie to you?" Joe was all innocence. Seldom did he see herdisconcerted and he was enjoying this.

She frowned. "You would, but somehow I don't think you are."

"What's wrong with him, Catherine?" Kipper asked curiously.

"He doesn't like me," she answered grimly.

"Be fair, Radcliffe," Joe said. "It isn't you in particular hedoesn't like. It's your gender in general."

"Yes, but of all the women in the world, I'm one of the ones helikes least."

Joe regarded her gravely. "Maybe that's because you stood in hiscourtroom and told him he was an insensitive, narrow-minded... whatwas it?"

"Never mind. Anyway, he found me in contempt. You'd think thatwould have been adequate revenge."

Vincent was listening with mixed amusement and intrigue, butKipper was openly inquisitive and Joe explained.

"Judge Morgan isn't a bad judge... it's just that he's oldfashioned."

"Antiquated," Catherine muttered under her breath.

Joe ignored her. "Professional women distress him. Competentprofessional women irritate him. Cathy knows exactly what she's doingin the courtroom and he doesn't like it." Having slipped in a neatlydisguised compliment, he gave Catherine a sideways glance.

She smiled wryly. "Do you think it would help if I took my shoesoff?"

"Watch it, Chandler. That's what got you into trouble last time,remember?"

"Last time, he asked me, point-blank, why I wasn't home takingcare of my husband and having babies," she said tartly.

Kipper's jaw dropped. "He didn't."

"He did," she affirmed. Joe didn't miss Vincent's hand moving totouch the back of hers. She smiled a little. "It wouldn't havebothered me so much if I hadn't been trying so hard to have a babythen. As it was, I lost my temper."

"Boy, did she," Joe added, grinning. "You should see thetranscript..."

"Joe..."

"Okay, okay." Gallantly, he surrendered the subject and wondered,belatedly, just what Vincent thought about his wife being teased.Vincent was retrieving a spoon that Evan had thrown to the floor andJoe couldn't see his eyes to judge his reaction. His glance went toCathy. Was she really Vincent's wife? He'd asked her once, when shewas being more open than usual and he was feeling particularlybrave.

* * * * *

"Cathy?" He hesitated, his eyes dropping to the ring she wore onthe fourth finger of her left hand. "Are you married?"

"Get real, Joe." Her voice was laced with scornful derision, buther eyes held something else so he gazed at her patiently. She sighedand her tone softened. "Where would we go to get a marriage license?Blood tests?"

Joe blushed crimson. "I just thought... common-law marriage,maybe?"

Her voice was cool and impersonal. "Common-law marriage isn'tlegal in New York, Joe. You know that." Sensing his deepembarrassment, she suddenly relented. "There was a ceremony... afterCharles was born. In the eyes of Vincent's world, in our own eyes,yes, we are married."

"Good. I'm glad." Joe had seen further into her heart than he feltcomfortable with... yet, while she was so open to him, there wasanother question tugging at him. "Can I ask you something else?"

"You can ask," she said cautiously. Her expression warned him thatshe might not answer.

"Your kids... Vincent's their biological father, isn't he?"

She considered the question before nodding briefly, her eyeswary.

"Doesn't that scare you... that it might be... hereditary?"

She searched his face but saw no condemnation or horror there,only compassion and concern. "It's something I think about, yes. WithCharles, especially. But every child seems to affirm that it isn'tgenetic... or, at least, it's not a dominant genetic trait."

"Jacob?" It was a quiet, sympathetic question.

"We don't know. He may have inherited his lip from Vincent, butfacial clefts are not that uncommon. And," Catherine's eyes cloudedwith remembered pain, "you forget that there was something wrong withboth of my babies in that pregnancy. It's a very real possibilitythat somehow I came in contact with some substance that causes birthdefects. It might have been my fault..." She shook herself, brushingit off. "Anyway, I think three children are enough."

Joe grinned at the memory. It had been little more than a weeklater that she had informed him, with no small measure ofdisconcertion, that she was pregnant.

From her place across the table, she caught his expression andraised a questioning eyebrow.

Kipper interrupted, glancing at his watch and reacting with alarm."I'm going to be late!" He began stacking dishes hurriedly.

"Leave them, Kipper," Vincent said quietly.

The youth paused. "Are you sure?"

"Go on, Kipper. We're perfectly capable of cleaning up," Catherinesaid, adding her encouragement.

"Okay. Thanks!" He said a hasty goodnight and vanished.

Joe looked at Catherine. "Hot date?"

She smiled. "Must be. They study together almost every night. Ithink Kipper may be in love." She turned to Vincent. "Which do youwant, the children or the dishes?"

Joe couldn't help but notice the affectionate look that passed asVincent opted for the dishes. Catherine had Evan on her hip andherded the older boys up the stairs before turning to Joe.

"I probably should go," he said slowly. "You're going to bebusy."

"Please don't," she said. "I mean, not unless you really want to."She gave him a crooked half-smile. "There aren't many people we canask to our home. I'm enjoying it." Evan squirmed and she shifted himto her other side. "I just have to bathe the boys. It won't takelong."

"Okay," Joe conceded. This evening was turning out to be far moreinteresting than he could ever have imagined and he wasn't yet readyto end it.

Catherine took Evan upstairs and Joe finished stacking the disheson the dining room table and carried them into the kitchen. He stillfound Vincent a little intimidating, but he was determined to comporthimself well. Making a good impression on Cathy's very unusualhusband seemed vital.

"Thank you." Vincent took the stack of dishes from him and putthem in the sink. Loading the dishwasher was a one-man job, so Joeleaned back against the edge of the small table and watched. Vincent,with his exotic appearance and medieval clothing, looked very out ofplace in this modern kitchen, but his hands were quick and sure as herinsed each plate and placed it in the dishwashing rack. Joe foundhimself staring at those fur-covered hands and their wickedly sharpnails. It was a moment before he realized Vincent had stopped moving,and was deliberately allowing him to look.

He reddened and shifted his embarrassed gaze to meet steady blueeyes. "You don't like being stared at," he realized aloud.

Those eyes assessed him for a moment longer. "No," Vincentadmitted. "Not as a curiosity."

His serenity gave Joe courage. "Yet this is the second time you'velet me look at you. The first time, the day I brought Cathy home...and tonight. Why?"

There was another pause and a trace of a smile showed in Vincent'seyes. "Because you are someone Catherine loves."

Joe's heart gave an unsteady lurch. "We're friends," he protestedquickly.

"There are many kinds of love, Joe. Catherine's heart holdsmany."

Joe grinned suddenly. "Yeah. She's pretty special to me, too."

"I know."

Joe raised a curious eyebrow at Vincent's calm certainty.

"When you brought her home that day... she was truly angry withyou. Yet you risked the loss of her friendship in order to see thatshe was safe."

"Well, of course," Joe said. "Besides, I was pretty mad, too."

When all traces of the recent meal had been removed from thekitchen and dining room, Vincent led the way into the hall toward themain stairs. Joe had visited a few times, but had never been beyondthe living room and mounted the stairs curiously. Much of thefurniture in the living room had come from Catherine's apartment andit always had the slightly too-formal air that goes with a room thatis rarely used. The large, comfortable study which took up more thanhalf of the second floor was completely different, more casual. Thefurniture was darker, of worn leather, polished woods and softfabrics. A child's dirty sneaker lay on its side near a chair, anabandoned baby bottle stood on a table and hand-carved woodenbuilding blocks spilled from an overturned box.

Children's voices and the sound of splashing emanated from therear of the house and he could hear the murmur of Catherine's voicefrom an archway at the far end of the study.Excusing himself, Vincentwent through the archway and Joe found himself alone for the firsttime. Solitude was something he'd been avoiding lately... it gave himtoo much time to think of things he wanted to forget. In an effort tokeep memory at bay, he deliberately directed his thoughts toCathy.

She seemed truly happy. Despite their restraint, her love forVincent and his for her was obvious, but it was more than that. Therewas friendship, and mutual respect. He remembered the way Vincent hadtaken over feeding Evan without fuss and the easy way Catherine hadrelieved him of the task. Joe could remember feeding his own daughterwhen she was small and becoming indignant when no praise wasforthcoming.

Without wanting to, he began to make subconscious comparisons. Howmany times had he come home late to find Karen furious because hehadn't called? How many times had he come home on time, expectingdinner on the table, only to learn that Karen had a late day and wastoo tired to cook?

* * * * *

"Karen? I'm home! Karen?" Tired from a long day in court, hewanted nothing more than to sit down, take his shoes off, and relaxwith a cold beer.

Karen came in from the kitchen, her mouth set in a grim line."Where have you been?"

"At the office. Where else?" He was already beginning to bristleat her tone of voice.

"How about home?" she asked icily.

"Karen, I have a job to do!"

"You might try remembering that you also have a wife and adaughter!" she snapped. "You promised to be home for supper thisevening!"

"I what?" Dimly, he remembered her talking to him last night aboutgetting home early, but half his mind had been elsewhere and he hadforgotten. "Look, Karen, I've had a bad day. I'm sorry I forgot,okay?" He dropped emphatically into his favorite chair and hoped thesubject was closed.

"Did it ever occur to you to extend the simple courtesy of a phonecall?"

Okay, so the subject wasn't closed. He was turning to deliver astinging retort when he belatedly recognized the little hitch in hervoice.

"Karen? Aw, Karen, don't cry. Please?" He hated it when shecried.

"I was worried about you! And you didn't call, and Alexandra isasleep and didn't even get to see you..."

* * * * *

So many of their fights seemed to end that way... Karen in tearsand Joe feeling angry and guilty. At the time, he had blamed her, butnow he wondered how much was his fault.

And Alexandra. He loved his daughter and had taken part in some ofthe care involved when she was small. He had changed diapers andgiven bottles, gotten up at night when she cried and even given heran occasional bath, but somehow, he had always expected someone(Karen) to pat him on the back for it. He never quite looked at it asbeing part of his job as a father.

He was rescued from his thoughts by Vincent, who came back withEvan in one arm and a bottle in his hand.

"I should probably go," Joe ventured again, hoping to bedissuaded.

Vincent didn't disappoint him. "I wish you wouldn't. Catherine isenjoying your visit. She likes it when you tease her," Vincent added."It brings out a side of her I rarely see."

Feeling more confident, Joe ran a curious eye across a short stackof books on the corner of a nearby desk where a familiar title caughthis attention. "Philip Marks' A History of World War II," he observedaloud.

"Have you read it?" Vincent asked, his interest aroused.

"Yeah, finished it a few weeks ago," Joe said, picking up thevolume in question. "I've always been fascinated by World WarII."

"It is a period in history that intrigues me, as well."

"Really? Have you read..."

With that brief exchange, they went from two men making politeconversation for the sake of a woman they both cared about, tofriends, excitedly exploring a new-found common interest. WhenCatherine came into the room accompanied by two clean, damp littleboys, they were poring over a map spread out on Vincent's desk. Joehad Evan balanced contentedly in his lap and was remembering, fromtime to time, to be sure the bright-eyed little fellow still had holdof his bottle.

She seemed pleased to see them thus engrossed, offering Joe acrooked smile as Vincent took a moment to say goodnight to his oldersons. When she came back from putting them to bed, Joe politelystarted to get up, but she waved him back down. "You two look likeyou're enjoying yourselves," she said. "I have a few things I need toget done, anyway."

Joe couldn't help making another quick, guilty comparison betweenher easy attitude and a memory of Karen, hovering resentfully in thebackground while Joe and his brother Mike spent a Sunday afternoonwatching football.

After a while, Evan grew sleepy and Catherine stopped what she wasdoing to take him from Joe's lap and put him to bed. While she was inthe nursery, the phone rang... once... twice... Vincent behaved as ifthe instrument did not exist and Joe was wondering if he shouldanswer it when Catherine breezed in and picked it up. His ears perkedup when her voice changed from casual to business.

"Yes. Yes. Where?" Cradling the phone between shoulder and ear,she jotted some quick notes. "All right. I'll be there."

When she hung up, he cocked a curious eyebrow in her direction."Mark Patterson," she explained. "He's located that witness and setup a meeting for me."

Joe nodded his understanding. Mark Patterson was one of the betterdetectives operating out of Manhattan's fourteenth precinct and thewitness in question had disappeared after his initial interview withthe police.

"Where's the meet?" he asked automatically.

She named the neighborhood and he frowned, his protectiveinstincts coming to the fore. "Let Michaels go."

"Why? One of us will be enough."

"I know. I want you to let Michaels do it."

Her jaw dropped. "Joe, this is my case..."

"I don't want you down there..."

"Why not?"

"Because it's dangerous, Radcliffe..."

"I can take care of myself, Joe..."

Their voices were rising in familiar combat. Oh, God, he thoughtsuddenly. We're fighting. In her home. In front of... He spared aswift glance for Vincent, who was sitting very still, head down. Hehad not moved since the argument began, but there was something tensein the way he held himself.

Continuing the argument out of habit as his mind scrabbled forbalance, Joe was about to invoke his authority as her superior whenVincent intervened.

"Catherine."

That one word, softly spoken, brought the hostilities to an abruptend. Catherine's furious gaze broke as her eyes shifted from Joe toher husband and back again.

"All right!" she conceded ungracefully. "Michaels can do it. Ican't fight both of you." Lips compressed, she stalked, withresentful dignity, out of the room.

"Thank you," Vincent said.

"You helped," Joe responded, feeling gratefully awkward. "Shedoesn't usually give up that easily."

"No," Vincent agreed.

Joe cast Vincent a sideways look. "Can I ask you something?"

Vincent tore his gaze from the doorway and looked at Joe directly."Of course."

Joe swallowed, part of him appalled at what he was about to say."Is it my imagination, or is she harder to get along with when she'spregnant?"

Joe hadn't realized 'til this moment that he had never heardVincent laugh. It was low and quiet, but definitely a laugh.

"You aren't imagining it," Vincent assured him with the widestsmile Joe had ever seen on him. "Her temper is shorter with me, but Iwas not aware that she had extended it to you."

"Some days I don't even dare say 'good morning,'" Joeconfessed.

A flash of memory took him back to when Karen was pregnant withAlexandra; feeling fat and ugly, nothing Joe said could dissuade her.Her patience was non-existent and everything Joe did seemed toirritate her. Hormones, his younger brother, the father of three, hadadvised with a world-weary attitude of vast experience.

"Be patient with her, Joey," his mother had said. "Tell her everyday how beautiful she is and how much you love her and how proud youwill be when the baby comes. She'll be better. You'll see."

Joe came back from the past. "Will she be mad at you for long?" heasked Vincent quietly.

Again he heard the low, quiet chuckle. "No," Vincent said. "Heranger dissipates almost as quickly as it comes."

"You won't have to sleep on the couch, then."

Vincent seemed highly amused with the notion. "I doubt it."

A few minutes later Catherine came back barefoot, wearing anightgown and robe. She approached the desk, looking contrite. "I'msorry, Joe. I know you're just watching over me, and you're probablyright about this one."

"My god, she just admitted she was wrong," he said withoutthinking. A small, warning movement from Vincent coincided with thereturn of his common sense. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" hesaid quickly, placatingly. "I didn't mean it."

She grinned at him, her earlier pique gone. "Yes, you did, but Iforgive you. Don't," she added when he started to get up. "I've cometo say goodnight, but you don't have to go yet. Vincent'll be up forhours and he's enjoying your visit, I can tell." She exchanged a lookwith Vincent, who added his own voice.

"It's been years since I've had someone with whom to argue thepolitics of the Second World War."

Catherine had come around to stand behind Vincent, her hands onhis shoulders. Joe looked from face to face and shrugged. It wasearly yet and he was enjoying the talk as much as Vincent. "Okay,you've convinced me," he said. "Just promise you'll throw me out if Istay too long."

"Deal," Catherine said promptly. She seemed poised for something,but hesitant to act and Joe suddenly found himself very interested instudying a small portion of the map that still occupied most of thetop of Vincent's massive desk. There was motion beside him and aftera moment he felt Catherine's hand on his shoulder; as he looked up,she leaned down and kissed his cheek.

"Thanks, Joe." Her voice was low. "Goodnight," she said moreloudly.

"'Night, Cathy."

"Goodnight, Catherine."

Joe watched her leave the room. Karen would never have done that;she would have stayed, making sure everyone knew of the sacrifice shewas making. Later, she would have harangued Joe for allowing hisfriend to stay when she wanted to go to bed.

Reaching out, Joe fingered a slim volume from a stack on Vincent'sdesk. "You've read this?"

"Of course."

"Tell me what you think. Be honest."

Vincent leaned back and folded his hands thoughtfully. "His factsare correct," he began. "He is quite well-informed about events whichtook place between 1932 and 1938."

"Go on," Joe prompted.

"I disagree with his contention that more skillful negotiationswith Hitler could have prevented the war." Vincent cocked his head,waiting for Joe's reaction.

"He says all war is an abomination," Joe pointed out, enjoying hisrole as devil's advocate. "That bloodshed should have been avoided atall costs."

"Sometimes the shedding of blood is necessary," Vincent saidsoftly. "Sometimes evil cannot be stopped any other way." His eyeswere distant.

"Eleven million innocent people died... families torn apart..."There were too many things Joe didn't want to think about. Adevastating sense of pain and loss made him stop speaking and hebowed his head.

"Joe." Vincent's voice was low and compassionate and Joe looked upquickly.

"Do you wish to share what's troubling you?"

Joe's eyes widened. Cathy'd told him a little about Vincent'ssensitivity, but he hadn't known he could be so easily read. Heopened his mouth to demur, politely, and heard himself say, "It'sAlexandra."

"Your daughter."

Joe nodded and looked at his hands. Ever since Karen had calledthis morning, he'd been trying not to think about what she'd toldhim.

"Come," Vincent said, rising. "Let's move over here."

Numbly, Joe followed to the other end of the room and sat in theworn leather chair Vincent pointed out to him. Vincent sat downopposite and leaned back, his gaze calm and accepting. "Tell me," heurged gently.

"I don't know where to start," Joe stammered. "I don't know whatCathy's told you about me..."

"She shares stories of her friends with me," Vincent said, "but ifyou have told her something in confidence, she will not have betrayedthat."

"Not even to you?" Somehow, Joe had a hard time believingthat.

"Not even to me," Vincent confirmed. "Is your daughter well?" heasked after a moment.

Joe nodded. "Yeah, she's fine, she's great. She's... Karen calledme this morning... you know who Karen is?"

"Your wife. Alexandra's mother."

"Ex-wife," Joe corrected, and Vincent nodded hisunderstanding.

"She called to tell me..." he paused for breath; just saying thewords was painful. "She's moving... in two weeks." He stopped. "Shehas a new job... in Boston."

Vincent's eyes reflected a distant, remembered pain and Joe had asudden, inane memory of Cathy, years ago, accepting and thenrejecting a new job in Rhode Island.

"Your daughter lives with her mother?" Vincent's question wassoftly compassionate.

Joe nodded. The image of Alexandra, dark eyes huge in an elfinface framed by fawn curls, imprinted itself on his consciousness.

"I hate this!" he burst out. "I hate being a part-time father! Ihate seeing her alternate weekends and Tuesday nights. If she goes...if she goes... I won't even have that." He finished in a whisper,tears tightening his throat and dampening his cheeks. Blinkingfuriously, he looked to see if Vincent had noticed, and was startledto see tears in his eyes as well.

* * * * *

It was well over two hours later when Joe left the Chandlerbrownstone. Encouraged by Vincent's empathy, he'd poured his heartout, telling more than he ever had about himself, Karen, their brieflife together and the beautiful child they'd been blessed with. AsJoe spoke, Vincent's entire being conveyed the impression thatnothing was more important.

"So much of it was my fault," Joe had said. "I can see that now. Iwatched you and Cathy this evening and I wondered; if Karen and Icould have been as generous with each other as you are, maybe wecould have made it work. Maybe we could have been happy."

"Perhaps," Vincent had said, noncommittally. "Did you love hervery much?"

"Yes, I loved her. We were happy once..." his voice softened. "Iremember the day we were married... Springtime... the sun wasshining..." He smiled. "We were married in the Church... it made mymom and Karen's folks happy, and we didn't care, as long as we couldbe together.

"We used to go on picnics. Karen would pack a lunch and we'd go tothe park to eat and feed the ducks and walk under the trees, holdinghands...

"When Alex was really little, we'd bring her to our bed on Sundaymornings so we could sleep a little longer, but it never worked,because Alex would never go back to sleep. She'd want to play, andyou know how irresistible babies can be.

"I don't know what happened, Vincent. We lost the happinesssomewhere. We learned how to hurt each other, and we couldn't make itright anymore." He sighed. "We were both too stubborn to admit whenwe were wrong."

He'd paused. "I can live with that, though. It's Alex. She's thebest thing that ever happened in my entire life, Vincent, and I'mlosing her. What if it were you? What if someone was taking yourboys?"

Vincent's eyes had closed briefly. "I cannot imagine such pain,"he'd said slowly. "But you are not losing her forever, Joe. She willstill be there, alive, happy and well. You will see her from time totime, she will know you."

Vincent had tilted his head, his eyes full of sad wisdom. "Thoughthere be thorns, it's the rose you remember." He'd sighed. "What ofKaren? Will this move be good for her?"

It was a thought that hadn't occurred to Joe and he'd pondered itcarefully. "I guess it will be," he'd said slowly. "She can helppeople more in her new position, and she has a hard time beingindependent here in New York. Her parents mean well, but they spoilher, and so do her brothers. In return, they expect her to be thisperfect picture they have of a daughter. Nobody lets Karen be Karen."He'd paused as realization swept him. "Not even me."

Somewhere in the course of the conversation, it occurred to Joethat the finest thing he could do for his daughter, and for hisdaughter's mother, was to give Karen his approval for whatever sheneeded to do, to let Karen do what was best for Karen, withoutapplying pressure or doling out guilt. Alexandra was a sensitivechild; she would suffer if her mother was unhappy, and would thriveif she had the contented home she deserved. God knew Joe couldn'tprovide that, not with his job.He'd call Karen first thing in themorning, he decided, and give his blessing on the new job in Boston.He could see Alexandra summers and holidays and long weekends; therewould be plenty of opportunities for visits.

His step grew lighter as he determined to make the best of thesituation, and gradually his thoughts turned to Vincent, who hadprovided the focus that made it possible.

He'd been prepared to tolerate Cathy's husband; he hadn't expectedto like him. Yet there had been a feeling of cautious rapport fromthe beginning, which had blossomed as they began to know one another.Joe found himself looking forward to his next visit.

I have that book on the war in the Pacific, he thought. Vincentwould enjoy it. Maybe I'll take it to work and give it to Cathy.

He grinned wryly.

THE END