“The most important thing to remember is this—no matter the outcome, the plaintiffs will always have the greater suffering. You can’t help them. It’s impossible. So you must save yourself. A good defense attorney can help with that or, at the very least, lessen the damage.”

They floated for a while, not talking, but Cal continued to play with her hair. He noticed an early strand or two of silver that he was smart enough not to mention, but it made him happy. Every woman should have the luxury of growing older, growing into her skin, settling her emotional debts.

“Did you learn that in law school?” she finally asked him.

“Sort of, yeah. I mean, that’s what we do, right—we’re seeking justice. But that stuff about understanding the other guy—that came from Atticus Finch. I grew up wanting to be him. Partly because he was the most fair-minded man on the planet and partly because he was so sane, so stable. I had to contend with a crazy father, remember. If I couldn’t have a father like Atticus, then I’d like to be a father like Atticus.”

“Atticus?”

“To Kill a Mockingbird.”

“Oh. Right. Sure. So...you wanted to be a father?”

“I did. I wondered if I was being ridiculous, given the dysfunctional family I came from. But my sister forged ahead, fearless, and had a family. A perfectly normal family. They have all the usual issues—she fights with her husband sometimes, the kids drive her bat-shit crazy, she’s overworked, underpaid, running around trying to be a professional woman and a full-time mother, and she’s happy. I think for us, for kids raised in so much uncertainty and occasional deprivation, being grounded in relationships and having relatively stable homes is reassuring.”

“Do you still want a family?” she asked bravely.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I think so. If it’s not too late.”

“Men can have families forever,” she said. “They can have ’em so old it’s like having their own grandchildren. I worked with a guy who’s on his third wife and just had a baby at the age of sixty. He’s happy as a pig in mud.”

Cal laughed. “God bless him. Men are all a little obsessed about when it goes away—the erection. Is it at sixty? Sixty-five? Didn’t Groucho Marx or someone reproduce at ninety?”

“Really? Men never let on, do they...”

“Never. But hardly anything trumps erections. I guess brain tumors and heart attacks, but...”

“So do you think about whether you’d actually be alive to raise them? These children you’ll have if it’s not too late?”

“If I’m pushing that envelope, I won’t have them. On purpose, anyway. But, Maggie, I think there’s still time to consider this. I fully intend to be at least ninety. And I’m not just being ridiculous. That’s completely reasonable for a healthy male my age.”

“Huh,” she said. “I never think about that. How long I want to live. I wonder why I never think about that. Especially since I had this crazy, irrational fear of dying alone.”

“You did? When was that?”

“Oh, right before I came here. I’d been under a lot of pressure. I certainly wasn’t the only one—the whole hospital was under a lot of pressure. We had a new administrator, a change in chief of staff, a scandal, a tragedy followed by a lawsuit... I was hardly the only one affected. I think I was the only one who’s looking at bankruptcy. But while I was trying to figure out how to proceed I suddenly felt completely isolated. Well, Andrew broke up with me. Dumped me when I was inconsolably depressed. That probably contributed.”