But, as with the lumpectomy versus the mastec-tomyi; she had to be the one to make the decision. She had to choose if she wanted to do the biopsy by itself, or in tandem with the actual operation. To Alex, as she discussed it with him, it seemed simpler to deal with it all at once, rather than prolong the agony, and go back to the hospital again for a mastectomy, if the tumor was malignant. She trusted Dr. Herman to make the right decision once he biopsied the tumor. And she had already made the most difficult choice of all since seeing Dr. Wallerstrom. Although the prospect of doing only a lumpectomy was very tempting to save her breast, even the vaguest hint of greater safety by eliminating the entire breast won her over. Both views were heatedly debated by equally respected surgeons, and yet it was clear to her which Peter Herman preferred, and much as she ached at the prospect, she decided to follow his thinking. She had already agreed to the modified radical mastectomy he had described to her, if the tumor proved to be malignant. And to chemotherapy, if he felt it was needed. But they would make that decision later.

But the real agony for her was what she would do if she was pregnant. She knew what she owed Sam and Annabelle, but she also knew how difficult, if not impossible, it would be to give up an unborn baby. Dr. Herman explained very clearly as she stared at him that in the first trimester of pregnancy, mastectomies were always performed rather than lumpectomies, because of the inadvisability of doing radiation. Having a lumpectomy automatically meant the necessity for radiation. But in the case of a mastectomy, if chemotherapy was advised, it would almost certainly cause a spontaneous abortion. It would do the same in the second trimester as well, so if chemotherapy was necessary, it would more than likely kill her baby. It was only in the third trimester that they felt they could afford to wait, and treat the cancer after the baby was delivered.

He said very honestly that he thought there was almost no chance at all that her mass would prove to be benign. He had just seen tumors like it too often. What he was hoping for her was that it would not have infiltrated, or metastasized, and that there would be minimal node involvement. And he also hoped, of course, that it would be nothing more than a Stage I tumor. She felt herself blanking out on him again, and forced herself to listen and understand what he was saying. She wished Sam were there with her but he was too busy denying that there was even going to be a problem, she hadn't even thought to ask him.

“What about the pregnancy?” Dr. Herman asked her before she left. “How real a possibility is that?” It could affect some of their decisions.

“I don't know,” she said sadly, “for the moment.” She wouldn't know for sure until that weekend.

“Would you like to have some counseling, before the biopsy?” he asked, showing his “human” side again, which was very small, and very seldom seen, but at least he was trying. “Particularly, if you might want to make this a one-time procedure in the event of a malignancy, you might like to speak to a therapist, or some other women who've been through it. Normally, we recommend peer groups, but that usually isn't until later. They're extraordinarily helpful.”

She looked at him ruefully and shook her head. “I don't have time. Particularly if I'm liable to be out of the office for several weeks.” She had to cover all possibilities, and she had already asked Matt Billings to cover for her, and she had given a lot of her work to Brock. She knew he would take good care of it. But she hadn't told either of them where she was going. She had intimated only that she had a medical problem that needed to be worked out, and it could take anywhere from two days to two weeks, but they were prepared to accept that and help her out as much as possible. Brock said he hoped it was nothing serious, and Matthew didn't even think of it, and wondered if she was going to have a nose job, or her eyes done. His wife had done it the year before and he didn't think Alex needed anything of the sort, but he also believed that all women were a little crazy about their looks, and Alex looked so healthy, it never dawned on him that she might have a serious problem.

“How soon do you really think I'll be able to go back to work?” she asked the doctor honestly.

“Possibly in two or three weeks, depending on how you do. And then of course it'll depend on how you do with the chemo. We'd be starting that approximately four weeks after surgery. Some women do very well, others have more problems.” To him it was already a foregone conclusion. She had cancer, the breast was coming off, and she was going to have chemo. Maybe Sam was right and it was just a factory that lopped off boobs to pay the rent, but it was hard to believe that. From what Peter Herman said, it was a lot easier to believe she had a serious problem.

He wanted her to go to the hospital that weekend for blood tests and a chest X ray, and they had discussed the impossibility of her giving her own blood on such short notice. But he had told her that even radical mastectomies rarely required transfusions, and if need be, after the surgery, he would call her office to organize donor-specific blood, and other than that, there was nothing left to say, until Monday. He told her that he wanted to hear from her over the weekend if she discovered she wasn't pregnant, and she agreed to call him. And eventually, she left his office feeling wooden.

She went back to her office for the rest of the afternoon, and home to Annabelle and Sam for dinner that night, and only Carmen noticed how quiet and withdrawn she was. Alex didn't say anything to Sam about her visit to Dr. Herman, until later that night, but when she did, he was already half asleep, and he didn't even answer her, as she explained what the doctor had said to her. And when she looked over at Sam again, he was snoring softly.

She cleared her desk on Friday morning before noon, and Brock came by to pick up some files, and wish her luck the following week.

“I hope whatever it is works out, the way you want it.” He suspected what it might be, he had heard the word “biopsy” in one of her conversations. It was a word that struck fear in his heart, but he hoped that hers wouldn't be serious, and that she'd be back in the office quickly. She said a hasty good-bye to him, and then gave Liz her final instructions. She said she'd be calling in for messages, and she could send work to the house in a few days, if Alex wasn't back yet.

“Take care of yourself,” Liz said quietly, and then hugged her as Alex fought back tears, and then turned away so Liz wouldn't see them.

“You take care too, Liz. I'll see you soon,” she said, exuding a confidence she didn't feel, and then she cried all the way uptown in a cab, to pick up Annabelle at school. It was Friday and they had ballet to go to.

She took Annabelle out to lunch at Serendipity, and then they went straight to Miss Tilly's. Annabelle had never been happier. She was pleased that Alex was around again, and not “busy with the judge” anymore. Annabelle told her in no uncertain terms, over a hot fudge sundae, that she really didn't like that.

“I'll try not to do it more often than I have to.” Alex hadn't said anything to her about her trip to the hospital on Monday, and on Saturday she tried to talk to Sam about what they should say to her about it. She thought a business trip was the best idea, explaining that she was going to the hospital would be much too threatening.

“Don't even think of it,” Sam said, looking annoyed at her, “you'll be back by that afternoon, for heaven's sake.” As he said it, he looked edgy and sounded angry.

“I might not be,” she said quietly, upset that he was continuing to refuse to face the problem. He was clinging to denial. “I could end up there for a week if they do a mastectomy,” she said, trying to force herself, as well as Sam, to accept it, but he refused to hear it.

“Will you stop it? You're driving me crazy. What is this? Do you want sympathy, or what?” She had never seen him quite so frantic. It was as though she had touched a nerve, and she wondered suddenly if his anxiety had anything to do with his own memories about his mother. But whatever his reasons for avoiding her, he was making Alex even more nervous.

“Actually,” she finally turned on him, angry for the first time since it had all happened, “I want some support from you. This crazy routine of refusing to believe anything is happening isn't making it easier for me. Has it ever occurred to you that I need your help with this? This isn't easy for me. I might lose a breast in two days, and you're insisting it couldn't happen.” Tears filled her eyes as she said it.

“Nothing's going to happen,” he said gruffly, and then turned away to hide his own tears. But he never spoke of it to her again, and by Sunday she understood that he wasn't going to. He couldn't. It scared him too much, it was all too reminiscent of his own mother. But whatever the reason, it left Alex with no support at all. She had plenty of acquaintances, and some friends she knew well, but she seldom saw them, except the ones she worked with. She never had time to see friends, she was always working. Sam was her best friend, and right now he just couldn't face the threat of what could be happening to her, or make himself help her. And she was embarrassed to call anyone else. “Hi …this is Alex Parker, and I'm having a breast biopsy tomorrow, want to come by? …actually, I might even be having a mastectomy, if it turns out to be a malignancy, but Sam says we're really just doing it to buy the doctor a Mercedes …anything for a good cause.” It was too hard for her to call anyone, harder still to admit that Sam was letting her down. But he was. Terribly. And that night she explained to Annabelle that in the morning she had to go away for a few days on business. Annabelle looked disappointed but she said she understood, and Alex promised to call her, and told her that Daddy would take good care of her, and she had to fight back tears as she said it. Annabelle hugged her tight and told her how much she would miss her, which made it even harder for Alex.

“Will you be back in time for Miss Tilly's on Friday?” she asked with huge green eyes, as Alex fought to maintain her composure.

“I'll try, sweetheart, I promise,” she said hoarsely, clinging to her little girl and praying nothing terrible would happen. Maybe Dr. Herman was wrong, and she'd be lucky. Being with Annabelle made her feel so vulnerable and so frightened. “Will you be a good girl and have a nice time with Daddy and Carmen? I'm really going to miss you.” More than she'd ever know, Alex thought, choking on tears, but she was doing this to save her life, both the biopsy and whatever came later. She wanted to be there for Annabelle for a long time. Forever.

“Why are you going, Mommy?” Annabelle asked sadly. It was as though she sensed that there was more than Alex was saying.

“Because I have to. For work.” But even to her own ears, she didn't sound convincing.

“You work too much,” Annabelle said softly. “I'll take care of you when I'm big, Mommy. I promise.” She was so sweet, and Alex didn't want to leave her. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving her the next morning and she clung to her for a long time before finally turning off the light, and going to make dinner for herself and Sam.

But she was so nervous, she was nauseous. All she could think of was what she was about to go through. And Sam stayed well away from the subject all through dinner. He went to read some reports afterwards and Alex went back to check on Annabelle. She lay next to the sleeping child for a little while, she just wanted to feel her curls against her cheek, and feel her breathing softly before she left her. And then she stood watching her from the doorway. She looked like a little angel, asleep in her bed, and Alex walked back into her own bedroom, praying for a miracle at the hospital the next morning. All she wanted was her life, even if it cost her a breast to keep it.

Sam was asleep in front of the TV when she slipped into their bed. He had had a hard week too, with a large group of Arab investors visiting from Saudi. But he had scarcely said a word, and certainly not a kind or encouraging one, to Alex about the morning. It was impossible not to be angry at him. She lay next to him for an hour, wanting to talk to him, but when he finally stirred, he just pulled off his jeans and his T-shirt, and slipped into bed, without really waking.

“Sam? …” she said softly, wanting to wake him, to talk to him, to be near him, even to make love to him, but he was a million miles away now, and oblivious to her problem.