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closer to Emma’s side. She’d been too devastated, too jealous, too angry, too everything that first year to see Emma or Zoe. She hadn’t even been able to look at the pictures of mother and baby that had appeared in all the magazines and tabloids. It had taken a full year for Mackenzie to be happy for her friend, to agree to be one of Zoe’s fairy godmothers, a position only Emma could have thought up. Zoe had belonged to all three of them. And then five years ago Emma had stopped sharing her daughter, stopped inviting them to the lake, stopped pretty much everything except the odd holiday or birthday card. With no more explanation than she’d offered when she’d invited them this time. “You can’t leave your little girl alone. You need to wake up.”
    Tears obscured her view as Serena stepped forward and took Emma’s limp hand in her own.
    â€œThis is not okay, Em. You know if I had my fan with me I’d be rapping on your hand, not holding it.”
    â€œGood God, Serena!” Mackenzie whispered. “Have a little respect.” She said this without much hope. Serena’s worst jokes and most inappropriate statements had always occurred when she was the most worried or frightened. A fact she’d once had to explain at the funeral of a friend’s mother.
    â€œI’m just telling Emma that she’s not allowed to give up. Not on us. And certainly not on Zoe.” Serena held Emma’s hand between her own as if she might somehow transfer someof her energy or will. “And while we’re at it,” she added, “I’d like to know what the hell happened five years ago that made you cut us off. We’re not going anywhere until you wake up and enlighten us, Emma. No kidding.”
    Serena rearranged the sheet one last time, then placed Emma’s hand back on top of it. “You remember all those episodes of
I Love Lucy
you made us watch? The fudge factory? All Lucy’s failed attempts to get into show business? Well, as Desi would have said, ‘You got a lot of ’splainin’ to do.’”

Four

    T he sun was coming up over the East River the next morning when Mackenzie entered the family lounge bearing two cups of coffee, and a bottle of orange juice for Zoe. Straightening slowly in the plastic chair in which she’d slept, Serena yawned and stretched, attempting to work out the kinks in her neck, her back, her . . . there were way too many locations to tally. “Bodies are not designed to mold to plastic. It’s supposed to work the other way around.” She spoke softly so as not to wake Zoe.
    â€œTell me about it.” Mackenzie set the drinks down on the faux-wood table and rubbed the back of her neck. Her hair stood up in multiple directions and large dark smudges, which had once been eyeliner and/or mascara, had been rubbed beneath each eye.
    â€œWow, I hate to insult a gift horse,” Serena said, reaching for the coffee. “But you look like shit.”
    â€œYou too.”
    â€œAh, well. I don’t think I have enough energy to be insulted.” Serena raised her coffee cup to Mackenzie’s. “And I am grateful for the coffee.”
    Zoe burrowed deeper into her chair, but didn’t open her eyes. She was curled into a fetal position, her knees to her chest. Her arms were wrapped tightly around the pillow she’d crammed between her face and the chair back. The blanket covered one thigh. Her red-gold hair covered most of the other.
    â€œHave you been in to see Em?”
    Mackenzie nodded. “I was in and out of there all night. At the moment, everything’s status quo, though I’m not sure exactly what that means. There’s a shift change at seven a.m. and the head of Neurocritical Care will be here to see Emma shortly after that. We need to be ready to talk to him.”
    They stepped out into the hallway. Serena closed the heavy door softly behind