“Hell if I know,” he said. “You know, you were amazing with them both.”

“Cal, he’s ill. It’s not his fault. He shouldn’t be punished for it. But you have to remember—it’s his illness. I’m sure there have been multiple times there were options other than a reefer a day. Between your mom and dad they’ve decided to deal with it this way. If there are consequences, they belong to them, as well. He wouldn’t be the first patient I’ve ever had to refuse medical treatment.” She shrugged. “Happens every day.”

“The day will probably come when the thing he fears the most will become his reality. When my mother can no longer care for him, he’ll be committed. It’s all Sedona and I can do. We decided that a long time ago.”

“Understandable,” she said.

“Does it give you the cold willies?” he asked her.

“No,” she said with a smile. “I don’t know that your dad would be all that much better off in a group home, except that he’d be on regulated meds and get some therapy. Might have a better quality of life. Your mother definitely would have better quality of life. But as far as I could tell, you’re right—they’re safe and warm and have food to eat. Even their neighbors seem very understanding—they greeted Marissa in the grocery store and asked after Jed.”

“I think they’re as happy as two people with those circumstances can be,” he said. “Or want to be.”

“Well, I intend to be happier,” Maggie said. “Do you have a mission statement yet?”

“Almost,” he said. “Before we get to that, I’ll find out what’s up with Sierra, but if we keep moving in this direction, I think we should consider genetic counseling. Maybe donor insemination.”

She just smiled at him. “First, your statement of intent. Your mission statement.”

“It needs a little tweaking. Want to hear it so far?”

She sat up straighter. “Lay it on me, Calvert!”

“I want to build a healthy, balanced family life in a beautiful place with the woman I love.”

“Awww, I like that very much,” she said. “What are you going to tweak?”

“Well, I think I know how I can help keep that life afloat. Since we’re not independently wealthy and I don’t want to live out my life in a rumpus room, work would be good. It appears there’s a local need for a multitalented attorney. I have to work in order to feel competent. I’m just waiting to see where you’re headed.”

“I’m not entirely sure yet,” she said. “I might do some part-time teaching.”

“Is that where you feel the most actualized?” he asked. “The most authentic?”

“Why do you have to ask me hard questions? We’ve almost got this nailed down. I think we’ll be happy every day.”

“I think we’ll be happy every day for six months and then you’re going to realize there’s a little something missing, that something that makes you your best self. It doesn’t have to be sixty hours a week as a neurosurgeon, but you do have to know what makes you happy.”

“Besides you? I might be my best self just loving you.”

He leaned close to her and whispered, “That’s what my mother’s doing.”

* * *

Maggie hated to admit Cal might be right. She had the slightest problem with needing to be right. But it was true, she’d been thinking about earning some money and when she wrapped her head around teaching med students it filled her with about as much excitement as watching a tree grow. She tried thinking in terms of fertilizing their nubile young minds with the exhilaration of making good medicine, academically, and there it was again—watching the tree grow. She did like feeling the excitement of thinking about work, however.