Mosaic
Lucy would have never accepted this position were it not for the cat.

An attractive, personable administrative assistant typing over 100 words a minute could choose where she wanted to work even during the economic slowdown. Within a week of her company's announcing the plans to relocate to another state, Lucy had three interviews scheduled, back-to-back.

She considered the one with Dr. Sagal to be the least promising. The doctor had only one other person working in her office, and Lucy preferred large companies. Plus, she didn't trust shrinks. But the main problem was Dr. Sagal's specialty--she treated victims of childhood sexual traumas and needed a new secretary only because the Archdiocese of Boston put her on the list of approved therapists. After the clergy sex abuse scandal, the number of Dr. Sagal's patients increased dramatically. The Church required detailed documentation on each case and the phone rang non-stop; the overwhelmed office manager requested back up.

The scandal distressed Lucy. What she learned from the newspapers was enough to shake her faith--if not in God, then at least in the Catholic Church. Lucy yearned for the warm and cozy world of unshakable Faith and tried to forget the screaming headlines. She wanted, more than anything, to write off this ongoing nightmare as a mistake, a stand-alone sin committed by two or three deranged individuals. Her mind dithered, balancing on the razor-sharp edge separating conscience and facts. Deference to authority fought with rage, and rage often won, boiling over and threatening her sanity.

Lucy was petrified of meeting the victims of pedophile priests, not to mention seeing them daily. Her world was fragile, and Lucy had no desire to shake it. Nevertheless, Dr. Sagal's office was closest to her home; the hours were the most convenient and flexible, and the promised salary attractive. Lucy decided to go to the interview, in case the other two places turned out to be unacceptable for some reason or other.

Dr. Sagal was a slender redhead, with freckles covering her cute, round face. The upturned nose and plump, rosy cheeks were in sharp contrast to the melancholy, tired eyes, as if somebody mistakenly put a sad mime's eyes on Barbie's face.

She asked the usual questions about Lucy's previous job experience and talked about the responsibilities of the office administrator. Lucy answered politely, all the while thinking she'd take the job at the company where she had interviewed the day before. It was farther away and offered less money, but at least the bland insurance company posed no psychological problems or ethical dilemmas, and the potential boss seemed pleasant enough. Not that Dr. Sagal wasn't nice, but her wise, aching eyes saw through everything, attracting and scaring Lucy at the same time and making her feel like a schoolgirl called to answer a question she didn't know.

At the end of the interview Dr. Sagal offered to show Lucy around the office and introduce her to Jane, the office manager. As they stepped into the hall, a striking cat sauntered out of the bathroom next door. He was pitch-black from the tip of the ears to the base of his tail. The tail itself was bright orange. Lucy stopped.

"Oh my God, I thought I was hallucinating. Is he... naturally like that?"

"Yes, he was born like that. Lucy, meet Janus. He's the talisman of my office, if you will. I hope you're not allergic to cats."

"No, no, I don't have any allergies. Where did you find such a marvel?"

"In an animal shelter. He was a homeless kitty with no pedigree, but with quite a temper. Nobody wanted him. Once I saw him, I knew right away--he's my kind of animal."

"If you don't mind my asking, why did you think that? Did you like his color?"

"Well, probably.... I am like that myself, all black with a red tail." Dr. Sagal smiled, but her eyes remained cheerless.

Janus approached Lucy and rubbed his smooth, silky body against her leg.

"How interesting." Dr. Sagal's eyebrows flew up. "He's very suspicious of new people and rarely approaches strangers."

Dr. Sagal gave Lucy a long look. "I do hope you decide to work here, Lucy. I trust Janus."

Lucy considered her "colors." Was she red or black, white or striped? She concluded she was red with a black tail--the opposite of Janus and his owner. Yet, for some inexplicable reason she trusted that cat, too. Dr. Sagal's sad eyes looked encouraging and kind now--Lucy still felt like a schoolgirl under her gaze, but now she knew the answer to the question.


***

Lucy concentrated on her work at the Dr. Sagal's office. She answered the phone, scheduled and tracked the appointments and typed up letters to the insurance companies, all the while trying not to think about the patients. She didn't want to know who they were or why they were there.

She also promised herself not to approach the mosaic.

On Lucy's first day, Dr. Sagal showed her a small section of the office, a comma at the end of the long corridor. There, in a large, beautiful basket, slept Janus. A copy machine used to stand right next to the cat, but a few months prior, the doctor moved it to Jane's office. She bought a special "base" cloth as well as a whole box of materials such as pieces of glass, ceramics, threads and beads. Dr. Sagal lined the wall with the cloth and organized the pieces by color and texture.

Only the patients abused by clergy could work on the mural. Everyone had a personal section of the mosaic--a little square that was the physical embodiment of his or her inner conflicts. If and when the work was finished, Dr. Sagal planned to give it to the Boston Archdiocese. This kind of creative therapy, she explained to Lucy, helped many patients.

"Why does it help only the victims of the Church?" Lucy didn't understand the exclusive nature of the mural. "What if a girl is raped by, say, a friend of her brother? Why can't she participate in this?"

"You didn't understand, Lucy." Dr. Sagal flashed her trademark lips-only smile. "If I feel that a patient--any patient--would benefit from creative therapy, I always refer him or her to one of the sources or classes where they can express themselves. But I only have one free wall in this office, and the Church victims are a separate group, slightly different from the other patients. When the diocese started referring them to me in large numbers and I realized the magnitude of the problem, I decided to start this project."

"Do you tell them what to put up there?"

"No, of course not. There're no rules. Some know instinctively how to fill their space, but others don't. I can relate--I'm not very visually creative myself. I suggest they simply put their names there; they can make it out of whatever materials they like. A mosaic of names, when you know what each of these names means, makes a very strong impression. It's a powerful tool."
.
Lucy studied the mural. She saw many crosses. Somebody made the words "CRISIS OF FAITH" out of glass; somebody else tried to create a face; a few spots were still empty. Names filled more than half of the space; dozens and dozens of them were staring at her from the wall. Jim, John, Veronica, Shelley, Anna Maria, Tom, Diana, another John.... Lucy felt dizzy.

"Would it be okay if I don't come here?" she asked.

"Yes, of course. This space is for the patients. I'm just showing you the office."

Janus stretched, yawned, and proceeded to lick his side with enthusiasm. Lucy scratched him behind the ears. "Sorry, buddy, but I won't visit you here. If you'd like to see me, come to the front office."

***

He waited for her in front of the building's entrance. Lucy remembered the last name--Manning, but not his first name. He was one of them, a Church patient. She learned to smile and politely answer their questions without paying attention to their faces, clothes, expressions or manners, to talk without registering any details, to look without seeing.

The man hesitated. He looked as if he tried to start a conversation but didn't know how. Almost unwillingly, Lucy studied him. Mr. Manning was a middle-aged man with wavy brown hair and a shy, slightly skewed smile. A net of tiny wrinkles surrounded his warm, brown eyes, but the skin looked bright and healthy. Lucy always paid attention to the skin color, considering it a reflection of the person's overall condition. A man with healthy skin was unlikely to be an alcoholic or a chain smoker; he probably ate well and had a strong digestive system. She also looked at the hands. They could tell volumes about a man. This Manning guy apparently bit his nails till they bled and gnawed on his cuticles. He wasn't in a physical line of work--his hands were soft and elegant, yet nervous, twitchy.

"Ms. Chiello, I wanted to ask...." He stopped.

Lucy yearned to take these hands into her own to calm them. "You can call me Lucy."

"Wonderful." He exhaled and smiled. "Then you call me Jerry."

"What did you want to ask me, Jerry?"

"I wanted.... I hoped.... I was wondering if you would ... if you would have a cup of coffee with me."

"Why not?" Lucy surprised herself. "Just not today, okay? I have to pick up my son from school. How 'bout this Friday?"

As soon as the words came out, Lucy regretted saying them. Didn't she promise herself not to mingle with these people? Jerry was visiting a psychiatrist on a regular basis; God only knew what was going on in his head. What possessed her? Did she succumb to pity for his bitten, raw hands?

Lucy thought about it all the way home. Something about Jerry made her say "yes", and she had to admit it wasn't just compassion. She wanted to know more about this man. It had been a while since somebody made such a pleasant impression on her. He also made her heart skip a bit--another almost forgotten feeling.

***

On Friday, Jane felt unwell and asked Lucy to feed the cat. As Lucy squatted down to pour the cat food into Janus' bowl, she noticed a picture in the lower right corner of the mosaic. Somebody was creating the likeness of Janus out of small pieces of glass. The body was already finished, and the patient had started to work on the head. Had it not been for the combination of black body and red tail, Lucy would have never guessed this scarecrow on four legs was a cat--let alone Janus. The "artist" was not exactly Michelangelo. Lucy smiled.

"Look, kitty, you are helping somebody heal. Do you see yourself?"

Janus turned his trademark tail to the picture and attacked the food, hinting that such a hideous rendering of his gracious self posed no interest to him.

"Dr. Sagal, I noticed today that somebody's creating a picture of Janus on your mosaic."

"Are you surprised?" Dr. Sagal looked perplexed.

Lucy regretted mentioning it. "It's just that... You said Janus never approaches anyone and is very careful around people, so the patients don't see him much."

"I said he almost never approaches new people, especially right away." Dr. Sagal's voice was low and even, but Lucy felt she was hiding irritation. "Over time, he gets used to many of my patients. In fact, many of them prefer to have Janus in the office during our sessions."

"What does he do?"

"Nothing. He sits there--on the floor or at their feet. Sometimes he even sits on their laps. Trust me, he's not some magic therapeutic cat, just a regular one."

"But does he help the patients?"

"Whatever they think helps them, helps them. I do think he creates a more relaxed, cozy atmosphere in the office, but he doesn't influence the outcome of my therapy in any way. Many patients draw parallels between his coloring and their lives; they see symbolism in it. Once they start thinking and talking about it, I can ask the leading questions. Frankly, Janus often helps me." Dr. Sagal stood up from her chair. "Excuse me, Lucy, but I have to go. See you tomorrow."

Lucy slowly took off her high-heel pumps to change into her comfortable "street" shoes. She had planned to tell Dr. Sagal about Jerry Manning and their upcoming date, wanted to ask for her advice. Maybe the guy was dangerous or deranged, or both. But something in the doctor's behavior today did not invite confident chats. She was obviously uncomfortable discussing Janus. Lucy thought it strange. Janus had unusual coloring, but he was still just a cat. She would have to ask about Jerry some other time.

***
Jerry took her to a small, cozy cafe across from the Boston College. They served excellent African tea in thick porcelain cups and charged less for coffee than the omnipresent Starbucks. He ordered black coffee with no sugar while she preferred tea, and both wanted a piece of banana cake. They settled in the far corner of the cafe and began a quiet conversation.

"Before I say anything, I would like to clarify something about my treatment."

Lucy focused on breaking her cake into small pieces.

"Lucy?"

"Yes, I'm listening."

"I wanted to tell you that it did happen. I'm not the kind of person to invent sexual abuse to get money from the Church. It happened three times. Just oral sex, nothing else. Father Gagnon...."

"You don't have to tell me this."

"Yes, I do. I want you to know that I'm normal and not dangerous. I had a nervous breakdown when I was twenty or so. I was on drugs for a while and couldn't finish college. But since then, my life's gotten back on track. I work for an insurance company, make decent money, and even got my college diploma a few years ago." Jerry paused. "I can't make love in the dark. I have a couple of phobias. Overall, I'm fine though. Dr. Sagal helped me quite a bit in the last few months. Please don't worry about your safety."

"Thank you, Jerry. I really appreciate your honesty." She could finally look at him. "May I ask you a stupid question?"

"You know what I'll say, right? There're no stupid questions. Shoot."

"Does Janus participate in your therapy sessions?"

"No. He was in the room a couple of times, but I'm no great lover of cats." Jerry looked puzzled. "Why do you ask? What does that cat have to do with anything?"

"It's just the mosaic... Do you participate in that project?"

"Yes, I've a piece in the middle. I put my initials there and a small cross."

"Somebody's portraying Janus there, at the bottom."

"Yeah, I've seen it. So? Someone likes cats, or just this particular one. It doesn't matter what they're putting on that mural, as long as it's something important to them."

"Tell me, this mosaic ... Does it really help?"

"That's not an easy question." Jerry took a sip from his cup, then put a piece of cake in his mouth and slowly chewed it. "It probably helps some of us. Others need a cat or a community project. Personally, I find our conversations with Dr. Sagal the most helpful--I need to dig deep into my soul and try to figure out the roots of my problems. Then I have to uproot them."

"Then why do you participate in the project?"

Jerry placed his cup on the table and looked into her eyes.

"Lucy, are you Catholic?"

"Yes."

"Then you must understand the difference between those raped by some passer-by on a street or molested by a lecherous neighbor at the age of twelve and the victims of the Catholic priests."

"You mean because Catholic priests represent Christ? But the mosaic--"

"Lucy, I grew up in a very religious family. I honestly think my own father molesting me would have had lesser effect. Well, maybe if my own father did it would mean the same, but nobody else even comes close, as far as the impact on my psyche goes. We call our priests Father. Your priest's as close to a Saint as you're going to meet. He took the vow of celibacy and a vow of poverty. He can do nothing wrong; he's a symbol of our faith, the bridge between us and God. And when your whole life is built upon faith, and somebody crushes that...."

Jerry grabbed the cup with both hands and took several large sips. His left hand was slightly shaking.

"Jerry, I understand." Lucy had to restrain herself from grabbing his hands and squeezing them. "I grew up in a similar environment. If, God forbid, my father molested me, I could've told Mom. Most likely, I would have. But a priest... I doubt I would've said anything to anyone; they wouldn't have believed me anyway."

Silence hung over the table as both withdrew into their private worlds. Finally, Lucy raised her head and saw Jerry studying her. She smiled. The best date is when you are as comfortable being silent as talking. The pauses in their conversations weren't heavy, and she loved him for it.

"I asked you about the mosaic," she said.

"Oh, yes, sorry. We do the mosaic for them. I mean, it might help somebody heal, and thank God for that, but there're plenty of art therapy places around, and Dr. Sagal refers her patients to them all the time. She wants to give this mural to the Church. Let them see what they've done."

"She told me the same thing. Do you think they'll understand it?"

"I hope so." Jerry sighed. "I do hope so. Otherwise, they'll lose everything. As I said, we have a special relationship with our priests. Catholic priests are not like Jewish rabbis or Muslim imams; they're not even like Protestant ministers. Obviously, our bishops and archbishops know that. Knew that. How could they--"

Jerry's voice jumped up half an octave; he started coughing, drank more coffee, and took a couple of minutes composing himself. Lucy held the cup in her hand, afraid to put it down and startle him with the noise.

"How could they not know they were crushing faith," he continued. "Forgive me the constant annoying comparisons, but if you're raped by your uncle, you realize, sooner or later, that he's a pedophile, a criminal and a son-of-a-bitch. People like that have always existed, and, unfortunately, will always exist. It doesn't change our picture of the world. Well, it does when we're children, but by the time we're adults things fall into place. If I thought my case was an abomination and my priest one rotten apple, things would've been easier. But when you learn about all of them, the decades of cover-up, the transfers....."

Lucy was silent, still gripping the empty cup.

"I'm sorry, Lucy. I brought you here to have coffee, but instead...."

"This is why I didn't want to work for Dr. Sagal," sighed Lucy. "I didn't want to get involved in all that. I was never a victim of sexual abuse myself, and didn't know much about it. When I learned the details about the Church scandal, I wanted to stay away from it, to hide. I even tried not to watch TV or read the newspapers for a while. There's more pain out there than I want to comprehend. Just like you, I grew up in a religious family, and my world revolves around the Catholic Faith. My faith's my spine, and the world keeps kicking it, and kicking it, and kicking it. It's barely holding up at this point. But if it comes crashing down, there won't be anything left." She paused. "Yours was crushed it seems."

"Well, not quite. I restored it, piece by piece. Remember Janus? Even if all my life is black, as long as I can hold on to that red tail, I'll make it."

They fell silent. Lucy finally put the cup down.

Jerry's left hand was twitching again. "You probably won't want to see me after this, and I don't blame you. I can't seem to learn the art of pleasant, small talk. I'm a dating disaster."

"You are wrong, Jerry. I'm actually glad we got to talk about it. You're not knocking my faith, you support it. If you could keep yours...."

Lucy gave in to the impulse. She reached out and covered his fingers with her hand. She wanted to caress these tortured fingernails, heal them, help them grow back. Jerry stared at his empty cup.

"Let's go somewhere next week," he finally offered.

***
On Monday, Lucy, Jane and Dr. Sagal had lunch at a cafe across from the office. It was a warm, sunny day. A light breeze ruffled the napkins on the table. The panini sandwiches melted in their mouths, and all three were in excellent moods. Jane went to her twentieth high school reunion over the weekend and chatted non-stop about her classmates: who changed, who didn't, whose career choices were big surprises, and who didn't meet the expectations. Lucy and Dr. Sagal smiled and nodded--Jane was a good storyteller, and the setting was perfect for this kind of useless banter.

Suddenly, Jane stopped, extinguished her smile and looked at Dr. Sagal.

"I had a friend in high school--Kate. She was a normal, happy-go-lucky girl, reasonably smart. The last couple of years we mostly picked different classes and didn't see each other much. Then we went to different colleges and eventually lost touch. A few years ago I met a common acquaintance, and she told me Kate had some horrible problems. She was depressed for many years, couldn't hold a job, and even divorced her husband. Or he divorced her--I'm not sure. I remember being quite surprised--it didn't sound like Kate. But I had plenty of my own problems at the time and didn't give it much thought. This weekend, I learned our Phys Ed teacher recently went to jail for sexual molestation of students."

"He raped her!" exclaimed Lucy. People at the surrounding tables turned their heads. Lucy covered her mouth.

"If he raped her, it would have been easier to understand. It wasn't that. He liked to masturbate in front of the girls, and sometimes asked them to 'help' him. But only with their hands. And he didn't force anyone. Kate was a witness at his trial. She said he did it only once, and she didn't resist. She was 16 at the time, not exactly a prepubescent girl, but she claims that one episode ruined her life. Can you explain it?"

"Explain what?" Dr. Sagal put down her panini and dabbed a napkin at the corners of her lips.

"I mean...." Jane searched for words. "Some women were raped by their own fathers, and some heterosexual guys were forced into homosexual acts by their priests, yet most of them function, work, start families, go through therapy, and so on. This girl touched her teacher's penis once, voluntarily, and at a reasonably mature age. Yet she's a wreck and can't get on with her life. She barely leaves her room now. How do you explain that?"

"Yeah, we see it sometimes in our practice." Lucy agreed. "Some patients need years of treatment just because a priest dropped his pants in front of them once, and others went through hell and high water, but need only minimal intervention."

"Everyone's psyche is different," said Dr. Sagal. "Our reactions to the same stimuli vary too. Say two people were mugged on the street in front of their houses. One only worries about the lost money, but the other may not be able to leave his apartment for a year afterwards. Sexual crimes are not much different from other traumas, as far as the victims are concerned. Look at soldiers who return from military conflicts--some thrive, and some are done for. How do you explain that? The truth is, you can't. This equation has too many variables, from the physical structure of the brain to the mother's breastfeeding patterns. Nature, nurture...."

"Tell me something, Dr. Sagal," interrupted Lucy, "is it true that the victims of Catholic priests have it harder than the others? I mean, because of faith, the nature of Catholicism, and all that."

"We've just established that everything depends on the person." Dr. Sagal sounded like patience personified. "Yes, of course, the Catholics have special relationships with their priests, but if, say, a girl worships her father, and he rapes her, then I don't think she'll have it much easier. Although it's possible she won't have it as bad as Kate, who masturbated her teacher once. The brain is not objective in its responses."

Jane chimed in. "I wouldn't want to be a psychiatrist."

***

Jerry and Lucy walked in the park, holding hands.

"I'm not comfortable even thinking about it, never mind saying it, but... Do you think Dr. Sagal's religious persuasion plays a role in how she conducts her therapy sessions?" Lucy felt herself blush.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Dr. Sagal's Jewish, right? She never talks about it, but with the last name like that...."

"Yes, of course, I'm sure she is Jewish. Why do you think it influences her therapeutic style?"

"Do you remember how, during our first meeting, we discussed the difference between the Catholic priests and rabbis or imams? We just don't have the same perception of God, religion, and, most importantly, the role of the priest. We had lunch together recently, and I asked whether there's a difference, in her opinion, between the victims of the Catholic priests and the others. She said everything depends on the person."

"Perhaps much does depend on the person, although our faith is special, too."

Jerry took the time gathering his thoughts. Lucy was getting used to his long pauses--and liked them.

"See, for me the fact that my abuser was a priest played a huge role, precisely because of what the abuse did to my faith. I don't know whether this is true for most. Either way, during our therapy sessions I felt Dr. Sagal understood me very well, like no-one else before her. I wonder whether a good therapist needs to be a Catholic."

"For God's sake, Jerry, of course it's not necessary. She's a great therapist; everyone says that much. I just want to know your honest opinion. Do you think a Catholic would have been a better therapist for you?"

"I can't imagine a better therapist, honestly. She helped me accept myself and stop feeling sorry for myself and regretting what has been irretrievably lost. We talked about Faith, too."

"Really? What did she say?"

"She asked what was the most important thing for me--what held me together. I said I held on to my immortal soul. The scariest thing about denying your Faith is accepting your mortality. I don't want to live knowing I'll never see my departed loved ones again. We all need to know where we came from and where we are going. She agreed. We also talked about choice a lot."

"Between good and evil?"

"Yes, but it's more complicated than that. God didn't take the choice away from us. Everybody knows that. But every time something terrible happens, especially if you are one of the victims, it's hard to accept that God allowed it. As if it's his job--to let or not let things happen."

"Yeah, especially if the evil act is perpetrated by his representatives on earth...."

"Amazing. I told her exactly the same thing. Do you know what Dr. Sagal said?"

"What?"

"That it was their choice, too, to become priests. Becoming ordained as a priest does not guarantee good behavior or inoculate you against temptation. Difficult choices do not escape any mortals, and our priests are living proof of that. Priesthood puts more responsibility on their shoulders, so if they cross the line between good and evil, their sin's worse than if the same crime was committed by a layman. We have to pray for their souls. But their bad choices do not cancel out my Faith or kill my soul. Do you understand?"

Two weeks had passed since their first meeting. They'd met three times since then, but had not returned to the topic--until this day. Instead, they talked about their failed marriages and their sons, about work, sports, travel, anything at all but that. While waiting for each date, Lucy counted the minutes, but as soon as she saw Jerry, she forgot all about the time. Theirs was the easiest, happiest relationship she had ever had. At the end of the previous date, he kissed her, and after a few minutes Lucy had to force herself to separate her lips from his and run home. She felt weightless.

Today was Saturday and the kids were spending time with the ex-spouses. Jerry and Lucy met in the morning and planned to spend the whole day together. Jerry came to this date with a huge bouquet of colorful, fluffy flowers.

"Oh, you didn't have to." Lucy hugged the flowers. "This is so much better than the formal roses. At least for me."

"I don't much care for the formal stuff either. These suit you better." Jerry smiled ear to ear.

"Now I have to walk around the park with them in my hand."

"Why not? A beautiful woman with beautiful flowers."

"Stop it." She blushed. "You look great yourself--all lit up from within. Did something good happen?"

"Yes, I saw you. But besides that I have some good news. Dr. Sagal said I don't need therapy anymore. I can control my symptoms myself. So, you are talking to a practically normal person. And nothing stands between us now--I'm no longer a patient of your boss."

Lucy decided to ask him about religion after Jerry mentioned he'd had another therapist before Dr. Sagal, and felt the change was one of the best decisions of his life. Jerry's response lifted the heavy weight that pressed on her heart from the moment she first read about the pedophile scandal in the Church. She shouldn't have doubted the words of Christ just because somebody, even a priest, took a wrong turn on the road and made terrible choices.

"I take my words back. She does understand us. Amazing."

"Nothing's amazing about it, Lucy. She can put herself in the other person's shoes. That's a therapist's talent, regardless of religion."

"Okay, so what's next for you?"

Jerry could call Dr. Sagal any time if he suddenly felt worse or suffered from another bout of phobias, but so far he felt great. The doctor even asked whether he had fallen in love.

Lucy laughed. "What did you tell her?"

"I said it was possible. Yeah, probably so, but I'm afraid to jinx it." He blushed and smiled at Lucy.

She stopped in the middle of the path, took Jerry's face into her hands and kissed him. Kids skipped past them; somebody yelled; the overfed ducks waddled around, quacking. The whole uncertain world swam about, forever making the wrong choices. They pressed into each other like it was their last hope to save their souls, feeling like they just climbed out of a long, narrow, dusty tunnel into the sun.

"You know," Jerry whispered in her ear, "one phobia I haven't shaken off, and probably won't now. I still can't make love in the dark. I no longer panic, but I can't relax either. I hope it won't be an obstacle for us...."

Lucy moved her face away and looked at him, smiling mischievously. "Let's go home and make love while it's still light outside."

***
Lucy took a couple of days off to go to Vermont with Jerry--Boston was getting too hot. They spent four days near a lake, making love in the morning, taking boat rides and long walks in the afternoon, and reading books in the evening, snuggled under the same quilt.

Lucy returned home refreshed and filled with joy; nothing could touch her. Patients' idiotic questions, her son's whining, even the mind-numbing bureaucracy of the insurance companies bounced off her halo of happiness like a tennis ball off a clay court. Unfortunately, while she was away, the work kept piling up, and now she faced a mountain of letters, reports, unsorted files and unfinished schedules. At five-thirty she had to pick up her son, but Lucy asked a neighbor to come over and watch him after seven; she had to return to work and do some catching up.

She opened the door with her own key, picked up a bunch of files and went to Jane's office--it was far cozier than her front desk spot. Lucy closed the door, turned on the computer and the table lamp, and started typing away. She was so engaged in her work that she didn't hear the front door opening. Suddenly, Lucy was startled by the sound of footsteps--somebody walked right by the door.

She looked at the clock. It was 9 PM. The building was empty when she arrived, and the cleaning crew left a couple of hours ago. Nobody else had the keys. She felt queasy. Trying to calm down and restrain her galloping heart, Lucy picked up a large paperweight off the table and tiptoed out of the room. She walked to the doctor's office. It was dark. Lucy tried the handle--the door was locked. Was she hallucinating? Lucy turned around to go back to Jane's office and saw a dim light coming out of the other end of the hall, from Janus' corner.

What could anyone possibly need in a corner containing nothing but a cat and a half-finished mural of letters and crosses? Slowly, holding her breath, she crept to the end of the corridor and looked around the corner.

Janus slept in his basket. Dr. Sagal was crouching in front of the wall and putting the finishing touches to the cat's mosaic likeness--gluing a small orange piece of glass to the end of his tail. She felt a stare on the back of her head and turned, startled. For a few long seconds, the women looked at each other in silence.

"Lucy, put the paperweight back where it belongs; I'm not going to mug you."

It took another few seconds for Lucy to understand the meaning of the doctor's words, close her mouth and put the press on the floor.

"I'm sorry; I wasn't expecting to see you here. I was afraid."

"It's okay. I just don't have time during the day to work on the mosaic. And I don't want to do it in front of the patients anyway. This is my personal project."

"Dr. Sagal, don't be mad at me, but--"

"But what, Lucy?" Her voice was stern, but the eyes held no threat--just the usual sad weariness.

"I really don't want to upset you, but this project is for the victims of the Catholic priests, and you, Dr. Sagal...."

"Sagal is my husband's last name. My maiden name is Connelly. Go back to work, Lucy."

Slowly, Lucy picked up the paperweight and went back to the office. She sat in front of the computer, opened the file and focused on her work.