“Take it easy, babe. Everything's okay.”

“Is he firing me, Charlie?” A lone, sad tear crept down her cheek. But Charlie Peterson shook his head.

“No, Sam, of course not.”

“But?” She knew. She already knew.

“He wants you to go away for a while, to take it easy. You've given us enough to run with for a while on the Detroit account. And it won't kill the old man to think about business for a change. We can get along without you, as long as we have to.”

“But you don't have to. This is silly, Charlie.”

“Is it?” He looked at her long and hard. “Is it silly, Sam? Can you really take that kind of pressure and not buckle? Watching your husband leave you for someone else, seeing him on national television every night chatting with his new wife as you watch her pregnant belly growing? Can you really take that in stride without missing a step? Without missing a goddamn day at work, for chrissake, insisting on taking on every new account in the house. I expect you to crack yourself wide open sooner or later. Can you really put yourself on the line like that, Sam? I can't. I can't do that to you, just as your friend. What that son of a bitch did to you almost brought you to your knees, for God's sake. Give in to it, go cry somewhere, let go of it all and then come back. We need you. We need you desperately. Harvey knows that, I know it, the account guys know it, and you damn well better know it, but we don't need you sick or crazy or broken, and that's how you're going to wind up if you don't take the pressure off now.”

“So you think I'm having a nervous breakdown, is that it?” She looked hurt as well as shocked, but Charlie shook his head.

“Of course not. But hell, a year from now, you could. The time to take care of the pain is now, Sam, not later, when it's buried so deep that you can't find it anymore.”