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had revised the drawings on the spot, without comment. God knows, the man was paying enough to request any tweaks his little heart desired, and nothing was unreasonable. And now he was gone at last, and she was free to get to Rita.
    She went to the café and got two croissants to go, smirking a bit when she recalled telling Joe that she didn’t eat carbs anymore. Ha! As if she’d ever give up pasta or bread or rice. Her thighs and ass were never going to be carb-free, and most days, she was just fine with that.
    Maggie sat on the RTD, stuffing her face and examining the sketches again. Yes, if she was being totally honest, Joe’s proposed changes actually improved the sculptures quite a bit. The man had a great eye for aesthetics, a skill that numerous diners had appreciated when he’d plated up their meals. Joe Carlisle could produce small and breathtaking works of art on a simple white plate, and Maggie had always deeply admired that skill.
    Credit where credit is due. He’s a cheating asshole, but he’s a cheating asshole with artistic talent.
    Rita was sitting up and looking good when Maggie arrived at her bed. She smiled warmly at her daughter.
    Hi, hon,” Rita said. “How you doing?”
    “Really good, Mom. How do you feel today?”
    “Oh, Maggie. I feel better than I have in years.”
    “The doctors have already done the rounds this morning?”
    “Yes. And Doctor Langston said I can probably go home the day after tomorrow.”
    Maggie was startled. “Really? So soon?”
    “Uh-huh.” Rita’s green eyes sparkled. “I can’t wait, sweetie.”
    “God, Mom. That’s incredible.” Maggie smiled. “And will you still need some dialysis?”
    “Apparently not. Everything’s OK so far.” She shrugged. “I have to watch out for transplant rejection – that can happen up to three months after the surgery – and of course, I’m vulnerable and prone to infection. So I have to be so sterile, it’s not even funny.”
    “Cleaning every day?”
    “And washing my hands like a raccoon with OCD, and being careful what I wash my face with… but I don’t care, hon. I’d wrap myself in cotton wool and eat nothing but organic celery for six months if Carrie told me to do that, I swear. Anything to get well. And to go to Paris with you for Christmas.”
    Maggie’s eyes lit up. “You still want to go?”
    “Baby girl, it’s my dream. We are going, and that is a promise.”
    Maggie nodded.
    “Now.” Rita’s expression turned stern. “It’s time for you to level with me, Margaret Jane.”
    Maggie blinked at the sudden change in conversation, and the use of her full name. “About what?”
    “About exactly where the money came for me to get this surgery.”
    Maggie sighed. “Yeah. I know.”
    Rita raised her eyebrows. “Well?”
    “From Joe,” Maggie said reluctantly.
    “Joe?” Rita looked blank for a few seconds, then the light dawned. “Joe Carlisle ?”
    “The one and only.”
    “You’re doing some work for his new restaurant, right?” Rita said slowly. “The big, fancy one that’s getting all the press even though it’s not open yet?”
    “Yep. Four life-sized apsaras made of sandstone, to be completed in a little less than six months.”
    “Wow. That’s – a lot of work.”
    “It is. But I’m on top of it. He just approved the sketches this morning and I get the first batch of materials delivered to the studio later today. I’ll get to work right away, and if I put in fourteen-hour days, I should get it all done.”
    “Maggie.” Rita looked upset. “That’s too much stress, hon.”
    “It’s OK, Mom. It’s more than worth it, and you know I’m right. It’ll all be done in a few months, then I’ll be able to lie down and sleep for a week. We can go to Paris… I won’t even be freaked out about money for a while, which will be a nice change.”
    “Really?” Rita examined her daughter’s face. “You sure you can handle this?”
    “One hundred percent.” Maggie knew she