“ Forest in a jar,” Maggie said under her breath.

The doctor took a seat. On top of her desk sat a few scales, some old-looking books and an old computer circa 1978.

She saw Maggie and me studying the jars. “I prescribe herbs based on your life and your problems in life.”

“Physical problems?” I asked.

“Or mental or life problems. Human beings…we are essential parts of nature. Nowadays too many not remember that. Too many try to find way out of something difficult by inventing something new.” She waved an arm at the jars. “No need for new. You tell me problems. Nature already has remedy.”

Maggie and I began asking a number of questions-Were these herbs sanctioned by the FDA? (Not sanctioned, but no problem, Dr. Li said.) Did she have a medical license? (No, she was educated in Hong Kong on holistic healing and herbal medicine.) Was there any kind of patient who shouldn’t take herbs? (Some patients needed different kinds or less, but everyone could benefit from herbs.)

I looked at Maggie. One of her eyebrows was raised, and I could see her thinking, What a racket. Her South Side Irish upbringing didn’t permit much room for nontraditional medicine. Maggie’s family was more the grin-and-bear-it type.

Dr. Li appeared to tire of our questions. “Okay, why you here?”

“I was recommended by a friend of mine.”

The woman beamed. She had graying black hair, pulled back at the nape of her neck and wore no makeup. When she smiled, she showed a large gap in her front teeth, but it was a beautiful smile nonetheless, her brown eyes lit up and you couldn’t help but feel a positive energy. “Who friend?”

I looked again at Maggie, who gave a slight shake of her head. We’d decided earlier not to say Forester’s name right away, but rather to get the lay of the land first.

“This friend recommended me to you because I’m having a lot of problems in my life,” I said.

“Okay, okay,” she said with encouragement, bobbing her head.

I began talking. And talking. It was easy enough. My fiancé had taken off, I said. I was having trouble sleeping. I was having trouble concentrating. I felt out of control. I didn’t know what would become of me.

When I was done, Maggie squeezed my hand.

The doctor stood from her desk, walked around it and took my other hand at the wrist. “I listen to pulses.” Her warm fingers probed the inside of my wrist. She moved them incrementally, her face scrunched in concentration. “Mmmph,” she said a few times, as if stumped by the results. She asked me a number of questions about my health, my habits, my eating.

Finally, she dropped my hand and moved to the rows of jars. “Your heart is weak,” she said. “Very weak. I will give you herbs to make strong. You feel better.” She began opening them and pinching contents into a paper bag. “You make tea from this. Use only little. Drink every day.”

I thought of the herbs Forester had in his house, the ones that apparently had ma huang in them. They were in a bottle already, which was perfect for Forester, who was always on the go and would rarely have time to stop and make tea, or even have it prepared for him.

“Is there any other way to take the herbs?” I said. “I travel a lot and it would be hard for me to make tea on the road.”

She stopped. “Yes, I have liquid herbs, and I mix for you, but not as potent. More for long-term patient. You come back and see me?”

I could almost hear Maggie scoff.

“Sure,” I said.

Dr. Li pushed the paper bag to the side and moved to a baker’s rack of brown liquid in small tubes. Using an eyedropper, she began opening different tubes and squeezing droplets into a small bottle with a simple label, the kind in Forester’s cabinet.

When she was done, she handed me the bottle. “You use twenty drops. Warm water. Two times day.” She beamed as if she’d given me the key to the Forbidden City. “Thirty dollars.”

I pulled cash out of my purse and handed it to her. “So, my friend who recommended you was Forester Pickett.”

She blinked rapidly, but then her smile widened. “I love Forester! How Forester doing?”

I handed her the cash. “Forester is…Well, Forester passed away last week.”

The blinking started again. The smile crashed. “Passed? You mean…”

“Yes, Forester died.”

The blinking stopped and her face froze into a mask of shock. “He die? Why?”

“He had a heart attack.”

Dr. Li turned abruptly and made her way to her desk. She sat down hard and put an elbow on the arm of her chair, her chin on her fist. “Forester was great man.”

“Yes, he was.”

“I am very sad.”

“Yes, we are, too. Do you know any reason why he would have a heart attack?”

Her eyes, which had been staring vacantly toward the louvered blinds on her windows, bolted to me. “What? I am Chinese doctor, not heart doctor.”

“But he was your patient,” Maggie said.

“I give him herbs for energy and to make him strong. He is an old man.”

“He was only sixty-eight. That’s not so old these days. Did you give him ma huang?”

She swallowed hard. “I no discuss treatment of patients.”

“But you just were discussing how you gave him herbs for energy.”

“I no discuss treatment of patients.” She shook her head. “No, no.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Dr. Li stood. “Okay, you feel better soon.”

I looked at Maggie, who shrugged.

I stood and held out my hand to Dr. Li.

She shook it, but barely looked me in the eye.

Maggie and I made our way down the slanted stairs. I heard the hard slam of Dr. Li’s door.

“Maybe she gave Forester the ma huang because she thought it would make him feel good,” Maggie said, “and now she’s feeling guilty that she might have contributed to his death.”

“Do we need to turn her in to the cops? Would they prosecute her?”

“Hard to say. She never admitted to giving him ma huang.”

I stepped out onto the street and I saw him-the short guy with the wavy, black hair. Same guy I’d seen that night in my neighborhood. Same guy I’d seen at the playground. He was standing across the street now, under the shade of a blue awning. I recognized the jut of his elbows. I recognized the tan jacket.

And then he started to cross the street. He didn’t look either way for oncoming traffic. He was staring straight at me, and I felt a jolt of terror run through my body.

I grabbed Maggie by the arm, waved frantically for a cab and practically pushed her into one when it stopped. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” I said.

50

Sam Hollings walked through the penthouse apartment, his bare feet padding softly over the yellow marble floors. The apartment was top-of-the-line, but it was empty, save for a few bland pieces of furniture placed by the real-estate agent in order to show it. There wasn’t even a bed, and although he could have certainly purchased or rented one, he didn’t want to make himself comfortable. And so he spent his nights on a blow-up raft under a towel. This was his residence until the new owners could close and move in. Or until the rest of the pieces slid into place. But when or whether that would happen was a mystery. In fact, his future, once so solid and happily predictable, was now a large gaping hole.

The only person who knew he was even here was the real-estate agent and the guard in front of the building. He’d been staying put so the other residents wouldn’t see him, coming and going only when necessary and usually at odd hours.

Now, the mornings were the worst for Sam. It was first thing in the morning when his mind wasn’t on guard, when the memories leaped into his mind like children unaware they had been banished from a room.

First, he would remember the phone call, that time when he had first known that something was wrong, something that would change his life.