All of this was familiar: the dull linoleum floor; the windows with years of dust; the motes in the air. High in the wall opposite her someone had pasted a white paper bird in flight. Beyond the bird a towering cumulous cloud drifted past. Moments later, another appeared and followed the first. All morning she would look up through the window and note another cloud in the processional.

She sat at the old wood table, its edges and corners worn, with her inquisitors around it; herself, sitting with the five of them. From her left, Bruckner, Cornish, Lemieux, Montalvo, and Warner. They were in alphabetical order, probably a coincidence.

She knew them all. She knew, approximately, the questions they would ask, mostly irrelevant. Bruckner would pose show-off questions and pass her if she took them seriously. Warner, the only woman, and a feminist, would pass her. Lemieux, her adviser, would do everything he could to help her, without being obvious, and without rocking anyone's boat. Cornish and Montalvo were going to be difficult.

The questions were a way for her examiners to show they were prepared, and to check that she herself had prepared, though by now she knew the subject better than her examiners. Above all, they wanted to know that she was taking the game seriously. These people were a club, and they wouldn't let her in if they knew what she really thought. She was contemptuous of this ritual, and she was nervous. She never did well when she was nervous, and the only way she'd ever found to keep calm was to be over-prepared. She hadn't studied enough.

Bruckner opened: "It seems to me that you've concentrated more on the politics of coffee here than on the economics. You quote Moore and his notion of a 'bourgeois revolution', which seems almost neo-Marxist, or revisionist Marxist. But the title of your dissertation implies that the subject is coffee as a force for egalitarianism. Have you considered Torres-Rivas' idea that the Isthmian elites are both agricultural and industrial?"

"Yes. I quote him on page -- ". Ada flipped through the copy in front of her. "Page eighty-three. I agree with him. I quoted Moore because... I quoted him because I think he's right. There are elites. Torres-Rivas is right, too. Moore oversimplifies." Bad answer, because unclear. Worse, Bruckner's face was red because her answer had shown that he'd missed the reference to Torres-Rivas. Strike one.

Lemieux tried to smooth things over with a question of elaboration, asking her to explain the difference between Moore and Torres-Rivas. When she botched the answer again, he switched to a different tack: "How does the fluctuation in coffee prices affect the relations between the elite and the small growers?"

Ada sighed. It was going to be a long morning. She should have eaten breakfast. She needed to go to the bathroom, too, but it was too soon to ask.

Her focus, and her answers, improved as the questioning continued. She was finally getting her focus, though maybe not enough to make up for her early mistakes. Cornish asked only one question, an easy one. Montalvo grilled her mercilessly. And Bruckner recovered with several more show-off questions. Ada thought she might actually squeak by. Around mid-day they asked her to wait outside for a little while. "A little while" turned out to be an hour, so it was going to be close.

They called her in and suggested that she revise a few sections of the dissertation. "It wouldn't take much effort", Lemieux said. "You're very close to having a defensible work. We've written down our suggestions. A few more months -- "

She laughed. "No, thank you. One Ph.D. is enough. Ostentation isn't my style. Besides, I won't be able to get it done before the baby arrives, and after that I'll be too busy." She wished she had a camera for the expression on Warner's face.

Montalvo cleared his throat and opened his mouth, then shut it again. He glanced at Lemieux, who avoided his eye. Ada smiled at Warner, whose face went blank.

When no one spoke, and seemed like they never would, she left. In the hall she laughed again. It was over, and she didn't have to work on that nonsense any more. What a waste of time, money, and effort. She didn't care; she didn't have to meet anyone's expectations, not even her own. She'd had enough.

She wanted to dance down the hall, singing. This was a new experience, interesting, even. She'd never given up before. What had possessed her to go through this exercise in masochism a second time? Boredom, or force of habit?

Lemieux caught up to her on the steps outside. "That was embarrassing. Are you really throwing this away? All your work and time?"

"Yes. I have something else to think about. I'm through with academics."

"Well, then," he said, and handed her the dissertation. "You left this behind. You might as well keep it. As a souvenir." He smiled. "I don't blame you. I was tempted to do the same when I defended mine."

"Thank you. It was nice knowing you."

"The pleasure was mine. You were -- are -- a great student."

She called Owen from campus, and from home, but couldn't find him. He was probably in a meeting somewhere. She headed for Sarah's and watched her friend take photographs for two hours. It was boring, and calming, and she enjoyed it.

"There," Sarah said when her last customer left. "Would you like some coffee?"

"That's hysterical. No. Not today."

"So tell me what happened. Did you pass?"

"No."

"Bastards."

"It was my own fault. I wasn't prepared."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm not sure. It's complicated. I'm worried what I'll say to Owen. He wanted me to get that second doctorate. But I never wanted it much. It doesn't bother me that I failed, it bothers me that it doesn't bother me. I don't know what to do now." She lifted her shoulders and held out her arms in front of her, palms up. "I have no idea what I'm going to do."

"Take it easy. Get ready for the baby."

"I've never taken it easy. I don't know how."

"It's time you learned." She patted Ada's belly. "Do you know the sex yet?"

"No. I don't want to. Owen wants a boy, but he knows I want to be surprised. If he knows the sex, he's doing a good job of hiding it. But he's always been good at hiding things."

"Why did you marry him, anyway?"

"I wanted children. I needed a husband so I could start a family. He was the only candidate. I don't know anything about business, but I think a marriage is like a business deal. You give something, you get something. Owen is a very good negotiator. He wore me down. I was tired and he wore me down. I finally gave up and signed the deal. I was lonely. It looked like the best deal I was going to get."

"Do you love him?"

"Yes. Not so much romantically. Actually, that too, although it took a while. I love him more as a spouse, a mate. After Gina I detested him. I never thought I could feel that way about anyone, but I did. Then there was Alaska, and he was so happy and boyish and he's been so good and kind since then, and I feel -- " she gestured outward from her breasts, "I feel this warmth, this bond with him. We have so many things together, things we've shared through the years. Companionship. We understand each other. Yes I love him. Things change in a marriage. They're always changing. I like this domesticity. This feeling of having a hearth, and sharing your hearts. I only wish he were home more."

Sarah took her hand off Ada's belly. "Come on," she said. "I'll buy you some new clothes. Maternity clothes. My gift to you and baby there."