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Christmas?” he asked.
    â€œYes. We’ll have a big party for her right here and you’re invited.”
    If he was amused by that, he gave no indication of it. He flipped through the most recent pages. “Has she had any epileptic fits in the past that you remember?”
    â€œNo,” Jennifer said with certainty. “That’s not what this was.”
    She wanted JD to get better, not to be diagnosed with another disorder. With this doctor, she thought there might be a chance. There were a lot of new things that would be tried out if there were family around.
    Baer wrote down some notes on the clipboard. “I’m writing a prescription for some sedatives, in case she becomes agitated again.”
    Disappointment poured through her. “Is that all we’re going to do?”
    He looked at her with surprise.
    Jennifer bit her tongue. She didn’t want an enemy but an ally. “I was wondering if you could review her files…perhaps see if there’s anything that needs to be changed on her meds…or other things. Treatment that might trigger more responses.”
    The physician looked down at the clipboard again. “Okay. Put her on my schedule for tomorrow. We’ll see if there’s anything that needs to be changed.”
    This was a start.
    â€œI’m impressed,” Pat said after Baer left the room. “You really care about her, don’t you?”
    Jennifer looked over at the bed. JD’s eyes were once again open and watching her.
    â€œYes, I do.”

5
    Santa Fe, New Mexico
    L iving in three cities certainly did nothing to cut the size of the crowd.
    Cynthia Adrian had planned a luncheon for two hundred after the funeral service. Looking out the small window of the chapel at the packed parking lot, she feared they might have twice as many guests as she’d counted on.
    She glanced at her watch and smoothed back her shoulder-length blond hair. Unbelievable. Ten minutes until the service was to start and her mother still hadn’t arrived. She took her cell phone out of her purse and considered calling her to see where she was.
    Cynthia had been forced to take over the planning of her father’s funeral arrangements. Everything—from deciding on the minister to arranging for speakers, even sending a driver to the house to bring her mother here. All Helen had to do was be there.
    But being there had always been her mother’s problem.
    The minister knocked lightly and looked into the room. “Will we be starting on time, Ms. Adrian?”
    Could they start this funeral without Fred Adrian’s wife of thirty-five years?
    â€œI’m calling my mother right now. I’ll let you know—” She snapped the phone shut. “Never mind, here she is.”
    Cynthia watched the black sedan pull up in the front of the church. “We’re starting on time.”
    She went out the side door to meet Helen in the parking lot. The driver stepped out and opened the back door. Out of nowhere, a reporter and a photographer materialized by the car. The camera was clicking away at her mother as she stepped out.
    â€œSorry about your loss, Mrs. Adrian,” the reporter said, holding up a small tape recorder. “Could we just ask you a question or two?”
    Helen Adrian stared at them unsteadily for a moment and then shrugged. “Why not? It’s just my husband’s funeral.”
    â€œMrs. Adrian, could you tell us how your husband, as director of research at New Mexico Power, would react if he knew about the accident in the Gulf of Mexico today?” the reporter asked. “Wasn’t that specific research program a pet project of his?”
    â€œYes, my husband loved those pet projects of his. They became more important to him than his family.”
    Cynthia noticed how her mother, using her years of drinking experience, was holding on to the car door to keep her balance.
    â€œIf he were alive, do you