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three years. The iron-gray head of the librarian nodded in understanding as Cara explained that she had to take emergency leave and didn’t know how much time she would need. Should she resign now, Cara wanted to know, or could she take an indefinite leave of absence and return to her job when she was free to do so?
    “We don’t have to decide that now,” the librarian told her. “Call me at the end of the week when you have a better idea of how much time you’ll need. Then we’ll discuss your options.”
    Driving to the town house, Cara thought that she had only one option: even if she lost her job and the few remaining debts remained unpaid for a while, she was not going to leave Ryan to die alone.
    That evening Cara turned and pivoted before an admiring Ryan as she modeled the dozens of dresses, separates, and suits she had purchased that day. “Tomorrow,” Ryan told her tranquilly, “you’re to have your hair styled. Also, afterward, you have an appointment with Boston’s best makeup artist.”
    Cara sighed. There was no point in arguing. Ryan was clearly enjoying his benefactor’s role, and if it kept his mind occupied, then she would submit to anything.
    Later in the evening, Cara prepared a meal from a diet prescribed for Ryan’s condition, which she had found tucked away in a kitchen drawer. After dinner, with the brilliant flames throwing their reflections on the white marble fireplace, Cara played Ryan’s favorite classical selections while he listened from the leather chair that now seemed to swallow him.
    Eventually she saw sleep begin to take hold of the handsome features, and, trailing her fingers off the keys, called softly, “Ryan?”
    He opened heavy lids, somewhat startled that she had spoken. “Yes, love?”
    “Shall I stay again tonight?”
    “Need you ask? Actually, I was hoping you would move in with me until I have to go to the hospital.”
    Without hesitation, Cara replied, “Tomorrow I’ll go get a few things from my apartment.”
    In the week that followed, Ryan grew weaker each day, but still he was quick with a laugh or a joke. The weather still held, and he sent Cara out on another shopping spree. When she returned, she dumped the armload of parcels on his bed where he sat propped up reading and declared, “Now, Ryan, I’ve gone through that money you put in my account, and I’m not spending another cent for clothes. I have enough for years!”
    “Good,” he said, eyeing her with approval from head to foot. Her hair had been cut shoulder-length and styled to emphasize the oval shape of her face. Artfully applied makeup enhanced her remarkable eyes, the exquisite beauty of her classic features. In the sable-lined coat she was a captivating mixture of sophistication and innocence, and Ryan said with satisfaction, “Now your appearance is worthy of you.”
    One afternoon while they were sitting on the balcony and Ryan was comparing the endless expanse of the Atlantic to the plains of West Texas, the phone rang. Cara answered it, and after a brief pause, a male voice, deep and unequivocal, asked to speak to Ryan Langston.
    “Who’s calling, please?” she asked, intrigued by the voice but not wishing to disturb Ryan for a casual caller.
    “His brother—Jeth Langston.”
    For some reason, a chill swept her spine. “Oh!” she exclaimed involuntarily. “Just—just a moment and I’ll get him.”
    Cara watched Ryan assume a smile before he spoke into the phone. In a jaunty voice that belied the fatigue and pain that racked his body, he chatted genially with his brother while Cara returned to the balcony. When he joined her again, she turned on him accusingly, her voice breaking. “Ryan, you still didn’t tell him, did you? For God’s sake, why not?”
    But Ryan was unable to answer her. Clutching his stomach, he gave a cry of intense pain and slumped to the floor of the balcony.
    Cara ran for blankets and pillows and made him as comfortable as possible before going to