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Rose was back at her own kitchen table by Saturday afternoon, paging Joseph Corbin. She hadn't returned any of her own messages. The answering machine kept blinking: she counted eight blinks, but figured the calls were mainly from Stannie, and she didn't want to think about Stannie yet. His card lay on the top of the toaster oven, exactly where she'd put it last week after deciding there was no way she was ever going to Florida to meet his crazy mother.

"So, Rose," said Corbin. He'd called her back on a cell phone. His voice sounded like a whisper in a cave. "You got anything?"

"I've just spent a couple of days with the Fetal Rights people in Maryland."

"And?"

"You were right that I'd like some of them."

"Do they like you?"

"I think so. I had to lie to Jenny Lemke. I told her I'd had an abortion, myself."

"Great, so you're the victim now. She can't reject you."

Rose closed her eyes and shook her head.

"I hate myself for doing it."

Corbin snickered.

"You sound like you're in a mine shaft," she said.

"Actually, I'm at work."

Actually, he was stretched out in a hot tub in another part of town, hoping the phone wouldn't electrocute him.

"OK, and what else?"

"I also had a couple of long talks with their lawyer," she said.

"Name?"

"Westford. His sister Sibyl works with Jenny."

"Oh, I've interviewed Sibyl Westford. She's a picnic. What's the brother up to?"

"He represents people injured at birth because of failed abortions."

"What the hell kind of law is that?"

"Right now he's preparing a case against the federal government on behalf a nun."

"You're kidding!"

"I'd have asked him more about it, but he left. He invited me to their big meeting this morning but Jenny told him there was trouble in Florida and he took off in a hurry."

"Trouble where in Florida?"

"I don't know. Maybe Pensacola. That's where the nun lives."

"Or Miami?"

"I don't know." She heard squeaking sounds in the background.

"Find out if they went to Miami," said Corbin, who had stood up from the tub and was reaching for a plush, white towel. "I'll see what else I can dig up about his cases."

"Why Miami? Because of the clinic bombing there last September?"

"Yeah. Maybe he's not just representing aborted babies. Maybe he's representing a terrorist."

"Should I go down there myself?"

"Possibly. Let's find out more about Westford. What's his first name again?"

"Jim. And I like him."

"Yeah, yeah. And speaking of your love life—" Corbin's voice suddenly lowered. "Have you talked to your boyfriend lately?"

"Not yet." She paused. "I just got back. I was going to call him."

"You know I don't like Stan but I hate what McLeesh did to him, too. I think the guy's a jerk. You did hear about that?"

"No."

"You must have heard."

"I've had my mind on this story."

"An old woman showed up in Washington saying she was Stannie's birth mother. And McLeesh actually flew her down to Florida and left her there at Stannie's house, this homeless woman, and he flew back to Washington."

Rose looked over at her answering maching, blink blink blinking away.

"Huh?"

"The woman," said Corbin. "You know her."

"What are you talking about?"

"Somebody from your book."

"Joseph—"

"I don't remember her name. It was funny, like Duck or Goose something. Call McLeesh and ask him. Or call Stan. He's probably back in town by now, buying a gun to shoot McLeesh with. McLeesh stinks all the way down the hall to my office."

"You know, Joseph, for a bunch of liberals, you guys sure do hate each other."

Corbin made a growling noise. He'd wrapped his towel around his waist and was headed for the masseuse.

"I've got a lot of paperwork here. Call me back in a few days, let me know how it's going."

She put the phone down and stood up nervously. On the kitchen table lay a copy of her book: she'd signed it for Stannie, but he'd forgotten to take it home, of course. She picked it up and flipped through it distractedly, then tossed it back on the table and pushed the playback button on the answering machine. Scattered among messages from her mother, her sister, AT&T and the pest control man was Stannie's voice.

"So I get the answering machine again, huh?" "Rose. Call. Soon. Here. Or better yet, come." "Rose! Rosie! Rose, damn it, Rose! At least call me back!" "What is your problem, woman? What, are you having an affair with Joseph Corbin, now? Are you so starved for me, sexually, that you would turn to a man who buys grey neckties in bulk?" "This is where I stand, Rose. This is where we stand. My father's a terrorist, and my mother's a … well, I don't have any word for what my mother is. I'm driving her back to Alabama tomorrow and that's the last of her I want to see. Like, ever. I think I'll have just a little more whiskey and then I'm going to drown in my own vomit. If you want to save my life, call me here at my motel. But I might go out to find a hooker, so try back if you can't get me the first time. OK, that's all. Well, it's not—not really all. This is depressing me. So call."

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