“What do you mean I’ve got a surprise coming my way?” I’m on the phone with Emma while I wait for Cheryl to mail me back a confirmation. Working from home has its advantages: it’s far quieter than the office, and if Emma happens to make a particularly ribald joke, I don’t need to worry that the receptionists are listening in.

Of course, the reason I’m working from home today is not something I’d like Emma to uncover. I don’t have to worry, of course. She won’t be over until this evening, by which time everything will be finished.

“Well,” Emma says, though it sounds like ‘woll.’ She must be eating. I imagine her cramming a sandwich into her mouth, and envy the sandwich. There’s a conspicuous swallow noise—again, I’m jealous. “I had the best talk with Justin and my mom yesterday, and a lot of it’s because of you.”

Has she told her family about us, then? Because I haven’t had the email from Justin telling me that he likes me, but if I hurt his sister he’ll hunt me down. Pity. I’ve been looking forward to that one. Then again, Justin was never the aggressive type, which I thought was a problem even when we were kids.

“And what was this chat about, exactly?”

She snorts. Even that’s arousing. “Chat. I love the way you talk. It’s like a stuffy British butler and a porn star mashed themselves together.”

I could do without the butler, but the porn star more than compensates. “Careful, or I’ll be delivering you some very dedicated, very physical service this evening.”

I love the way she gasps a little bit; I’ve taken her off guard.

“You haven’t answered my question,” I remind her.

“Right. It’s nothing huge, just that I was more assertive with them. You know, I think I’m better at the giving advice thing than I believed. Maybe I could turn it into a career. Who knows?”

Yes, I’d love to see Emma in a new career path. It would mean getting her away from Gavin. Speaking of. “Has your boss made any more untoward advances lately?”

She lowers her voice. “Come on, I told you not to talk about him anymore. I haven’t seen him, he hasn’t seen me, especially not with my bra off. Okay?”

Fine. I can allow her to take care of herself. It’s something she’s quite good at. I’d just prefer she take care of herself away from Gavin Walker’s patient eye.

My buzzer sounds, and I ask her to hold on. Hitting the button, my doorman says,

“There’re a couple of visitors for you. Should I let them up?”

Ah, the afternoon appointment. “Yes, thank you.” I get back on the phone. “Emma, I have to go. Business. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Your place, seven. Yep, I penciled it all into my planner. I have a planner now. Can you believe it?” She sounds coy, of course. I’m the one who bought it for her. Then I had to remind her to enter things other than reality TV shows. She certainly has a varied schedule of those.

“See you then.” I hang up, and close my eyes. This will all be over soon. After today, the “situation” as I like to call it will resolve itself. Not much longer, and I’ll be free. Free of the guilt, the burden. Free of the self-reproach.

There’s a knock on the door, and I open it to find Gillian standing there, looking as lovely as ever. Her eyes, however, are tight with worry—they always are these days. They have been for years. Sometimes I wish I could go back, take that worry away. But there’s nothing to be done now.

“Fraser. Thanks for being home today.” She stands aside, and motions someone forward. “Come on, sweetheart. In we go.”

A small girl enters, standing before me and looking up with the wary eyes of some timid prey animal. She’s pale—too pale, really. Her cheeks are thin, her eyes wide and dark brown. She’s tousled brown hair as well; exactly like mine, come to think of it. She’s got an iPod clutched in her hands, earbuds in her ears. I can hear the tinny sounds of some music that the children love today. You know, overly sugar and pink. That’s the best way to describe it.

“Anna, darling, go sit down.” Gillian kisses the top of the child’s head, and sends her over to the sofa. Then she looks at me with an apology in her eyes. “Do you mind giving a hand? Carting that thing around is a bloody nuisance.”

Of course, the oxygen tank must be a burden. It’s not too large, but it is heavy and delicate equipment. I pull it inside, its wheels thunking and whirring on the hardwood floor. I can see a breathing mask fitted on a hook, alongside lengths of tubing. We park the tank beside Anna, who’s now nestled on the sofa. She’s graduated to playing a video game featuring puffy white sheep and exploding clouds. I’m so glad I’m not a child today, I can’t even express it.

“Do you need anything right now, angel?” Gillian sits beside Anna and touches the girl’s forehead. Anna grins at her mother; I can see she’s lost a few teeth. She has that gap-toothed charm peculiar to younger children.

“I’m okay. I’m feeling better today.” She blinks bashfully at me, then dives right back into her device. Well, I am a terribly imposing specimen of a man. At least, I like to think so.

“Would you like some water?” I’m already heading for the kitchen. Gillian leaves Anna and is with me in an instant, searching the cabinets to find the water glasses. The nervous energy is radiating off of her. She’s desperate to help, even with no idea of the layout.

I know a thing or two about that.

“Sit with her. It’s all right.” I clear her out, and she shoots me an appreciative look over her shoulder. All these years later, and she still has those large, pleading eyes. The tight set of her shoulders makes it look like she’s about to snap in two. She murmurs endearments to Anna as I fill a glass and bring it into the living room. Gillian takes it gratefully, and watches Anna with worry. The child’s cheeks are flushed as she goes into a coughing fit. I pause, ready to get the phone in case…well, in case of emergency. Gillian leans over to pick up the oxygen mask.

“I’m okay, Mum. Don’t fuss.” Anna looks straight back to her video game, crossing her feet at the ankles and swinging them. Most people would call her rude, but she’s not trying to be. She’s lost in her own little world, ashamed of her weakness.

I was much like that when I was her age. Gillian rubs her temple, tears glinting at the corners of her eyes. Suppressing a twinge of guilt, I sit opposite them. Anna looks up at me. For the first time, her game doesn’t require her full attention.

“Now. This is what we’re going to do,” I tell them.