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hands."
    "It's also dependent on the seller willing to give us a second mortgage," Joanna said. "Otherwise it's far beyond our means."
    The women had contacted real estate agents in both Cambridge and Boston, and had seen a number of condo units for sale. The one on Louisburg Square in Beacon Hill had impressed them the most.
    It was one of Boston's finest addresses, centrally located, and close to the Red Line subway, which would whisk them over to Harvard Square in no time at all.
    "To tell you the truth, I'm surprised the price is so reasonable."
    "I think it's because it's a fourth-floor walkup," Joanna said. "And because it's so small, especially the second bedroom."
    "Yeah, but that bedroom has the best view in the whole apartment, plus the walk-in closet."
    "You don't think walking through the kitchen to get to the bathroom is a problem?"
    "I'd walk through someone else's apartment to get to the bathroom for a chance to live on Louisburg Square."
    "How would we decide who gets what bedroom?" Joanna asked.
    "Hey, I'll be happy with the smaller one if that's what you're worried about," Deborah said.
    "Seriously?"
    "Absolutely," Deborah said.
    "Maybe we could rotate somehow," Joanna suggested.
    "It's not necessary," Deborah said. "I'd be perfectly happy with the smaller bedroom. Trust me!"
    Joanna turned her head to look out the passenger-side window. The farther north they went the more intense the fall colors became. The red of the maples was so bright it almost didn't look real, especially when surcharged against the dark green of pine or hemlock trees.
    "You're not having second thoughts, are you?" Deborah questioned.
    "Not really," Joanna said. "But it's dizzying how quickly everything is happening. I mean, if everything goes according to plan, by this time next week we'll not only be landowners, we'll be in Venice. It's like a dream."
    Deborah had gone on-line and had found surprisingly inexpensive seats to Milan via Brussels. From Milan they would take the train to Venice, arriving in the middle of the afternoon. Deborah had also found a small bed-and-breakfast in the San Polo sestiere near the Rialto Bridge where they'd stay until they could find an apartment.
    "I can't wait!" Deborah exclaimed. "I'm psyched! Benvenuto a Italia, signorina!" She reached across and briefly tousled Joanna's coiffure.
    Joanna leaned to the side, batted Deborah's hand away, and laughed. "Mille grazie, cara," she said in a playfully sarcastic tone. She then bent her head back and ran her fingers through her shoulder-length hair in hopes of returning it to some semblance of order. "I guess I'm a bit taken aback at how quickly the Wingate Clinic is making this all happen," she said as she used the rearview mirror to inspect her efforts with her hair. Joanna was moderately obsessive about her hair and general appearance, much more so than Deborah who often teased her about it.
    "It's probably the two clients who are pressuring them," Deborah said. She readjusted the mirror.
    "Did Dr. Donaldson mention that?" Joanna questioned.
    "No," Deborah answered. "I just assumed as much. She did say that the clinic was only interested in two donors, so we're lucky we called when we did."
    "There's a sign that says Bookford is the next exit," Joanna said, pointing ahead. The sign was small and set in front of a small clump of oak trees ablaze in lustrous orange.
    "I saw it," Deborah said as she put on the directional signal.
    After another twenty minutes of driving along a narrow two-lane road bordered with apple trees and stone fences that wound across a countryside of rolling hills and rust-colored cornfields, the women entered a typical New England town. At the outskirts there was a large billboard that said WELCOME TO BOOKFORD, MASSACHUSETTS, HOME OF THE BOOKFORD HIGH SCHOOL WILDCATS, DIVISION II STATE FOOTBALL CHAMPIONS 1993. The country road leading from the highway became Main Street and proceeded to bisect the town in a north and south