The Target

room at him. She said, smiling, "Yes, I'd like that. I'll bet Emma would too."

    He felt a shock of pleasure. The strength of it surprised him. He smiled back at her. "Savich and Sherlock are going to Paris. They're leaving from O'Hare this morning."

    "They're very good people."

    "Do you think we could go to Ireland soon? We could all just get away for a while. I think it would be good for Emma."

    "I don't have our passports. They're at the house in Denver."

    "Mine's in San Francisco. We could pick them up and meet in New York. Or back here in Chicago. Or best yet, I could go with you and Emma to Denver and then all of us could go on to San Francisco. How about that?"

    She started laughing, her hands splayed in front of her. "I didn't know you a month ago."

    "No, you didn't. On the other hand, we've probably been through more in the past weeks than most people have in a decade, or at all, for that matter."

    "You really think my hair is the color of that sunset?"

    He gave her a slow smile. "Yeah, that's what I think."

    "Is your back really all right?"

    "Yes. Your arm?"

    "It still throbs sometimes, but it's not too bad. These stitches aren't the kind they have to take out. They'll resorb by themselves, Dr. Otterly said. I couldn't believe you went to the gym with Savich, though. You could have hurt yourself more."

    "My back has barely blistered. Besides, I was careful. Savich taped me up pretty well so I wouldn't stress anything, and so I could swim." Then he grinned at her. "Yeah, I was stupid."

    She laughed at him, shaking her head. "I didn't say that."

    He just smiled at her. "I'm worried about Emma. Is she asleep?"

    "I hope so. She wakes up a lot. Three times this last night. Still the same dreams. And she dreams about the car exploding."

    "I suppose we need to ask Dr. Loo about taking Emma to Ireland this soon."

    "We can ask her this morning how Emma's doing, if she thinks a trip would be good for her. I can't think of anything better."

    He was surprised how giddy he felt that she was going to go to Ireland with him. It was as if a knot he felt in his belly were loosening. It had just come out of his mouth, unplanned. He really hadn't thought about it at all.

    Well, maybe without knowing it. He hadn't really wanted to be separated from either Molly or Emma.

    "What time is her appointment?"

    "Ten o'clock this morning."

    "Let's see what she says before we make definite plans, then."

    Molly straightened the sash on her robe, a glamorous peach silk thing that she'd obviously borrowed from Eve Lord, her stepmama. He wondered what she'd look like without it. She gave him another smile. "Ireland, huh? Did you go there alone before?"

    "No," he said. "I didn't."

    "No," she said, "I don't suppose you'd do anything alone unless you wanted to."

    "What's that supposed to mean?"

    "Even with a burn on your back, Ramsey, a lot of women would find you an appealing kind of guy."

    "Thank you. Go back to bed, Molly. It's too early to be up and about yet."

    "What about you?"

    "Yeah, now that we've made some plans, I think I'll sack out for another hour myself. I'm not nervous and uptight anymore. It's a miracle."

    She nodded, then her smile fell away. "Oh yes. I've made the arrangements for a small memorial service for Louey this afternoon, here on the estate. I even found a Presbyterian minister to come and give a service."

    "It's good," he said. "It's good for Emma."

    "I hope so."

    "EMMA, are you ready to play 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' for me?"

    "Yes, Dr. Loo, I think so. But I haven't played a piano seriously for a long time."

    "It's okay. I don't mind."

    Emma straightened her new piano on the low coffee table. Dr. Loo sat in a chair, Ramsey and Molly on a love seat opposite her.

    "Don't forget the variations, Emma," Ramsey said.

    This time Emma didn't hesitate. She took a deep breath, one that sounded appallingly adult, and played with one hand the simple notes of the song, beginning with F. Once she'd played through the tune, she added the left hand. It sounded classical, like Mozart. The next time through, she changed it to a jazz sound, then to a definite John Lennon feel.

    Dr. Loo blinked. She looked shell-shocked. When Emma finished, she leaned forward, took Emma's small hands between hers, and looked her in the eye. 'Thank you, Emma. You've given me great pleasure. I hope someday to hear you perform at Carnegie Hall."

    "What's Carnegie Hall?"

    "It's where great artists from all