“The beer’s been gone for an hour,” Peter Wohl said. “We can call and get some. Or would you like something stronger?”

“Hello, Peter,” Amy said. “How are you?”

“Long time no see,” he said evenly.

“There’s scotch, bourbon, and gin, honey,” Brewster C. Payne said. “And Irish.”

“Yes, of course, Irish,” Amy said. “An Irish, please. A short one, over the rocks. And then I think we should call off the wake.”

Her father nodded and stood up to make the drink.

“Have you been out to Chestnut Hill?” he asked.

“Not since I saw you there. I gave Grace something to help her sleep, and I called a while ago and Violet said she’d gone to bed. I was tied up at the hospital.”

“I left when Dick went to sleep,” her father said.

In other words, passed out, Amy thought. He was three-quarters drunk when I left there.

“I’ll go out there first thing in the morning,” Amy said, and then turned to her brother. “I asked you how you’re doing?”

He shrugged.

“What a goddamned waste,” he said.

“I want a minute with you alone when everybody’s gone,” she said.

“None of your goddamned pills, Amy.”

“I’m trying to help,” she said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Your beer must be warm.”

“Is that a prescription? Booze in lieu of happy pills?”

“It might help you sleep.”

He met her eyes for a moment.

“Dad, could you make two of those, please?” he called.

Their father turned to look over his shoulder at her. She nodded, just perceptibly, and he reached for another glass.

“Charley,” Mary-Margaret McCarthy called, “we’re going.”

There was a tone of command in her voice. She was a nurse, an R.N. who had gone back to school to get a degree, and was, she had once confided in Amy, thinking about going for an M.D.

McFadden immediately stood up.

Matt needs somebody like that, Amy thought. A strong-willed young woman as smart as he is. He didn’t need Penny.

God, what a terrible thing to even think!

“We’re going too,” Martha Peebles announced. She already had her David-whom she usually called, to his intense embarrassment, “Precious”-in tow.

One by one, the men filed into the kitchen and shook Matt’s hand.

“Circumstances aside, it was good to see you, Amy,” Peter Wohl said, and offered her his hand.

“Thank you,” she said.

He was almost at the top of the stairs when she went quickly after him.

“Peter, wait a moment,” she called, and he stopped. “I’d like to talk to you,” Amy said.

“Sure. When? Will it wait until morning?”

“I won’t be with Matt more than a minute,” she said.

“OK,” he said with what she interpreted as reluctance, and then went down the stairs.

Her father touched her shoulder.

“You’re the doctor. Is there anything I should be doing for Matt?”

“Just what you are doing,” she said.

“Should I go out to Chestnut Hill in the morning, or is it better…”

“He’s your friend, Dad,” Amy said. “You’ll have to decide.”

“Yes, of course.”

Finally, after a final hug from Denny Coughlin, Amy was alone with Matt.

He met her eyes, waiting for whatever she had to say.

“This was not your fault, Matt. She had a chemical addiction-”

“She was a junkie.”

“-which she was unable to manage.”

“And I wasn’t a hell of a lot of help, was I?”

“What happened is not your fault, Matt.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

“The best thing you can do-an emotional trauma like this is exhausting-is to get a good night’s sleep.”

“And things will seem better in the morning, right?”

“I’ve got something to give you…”

“No, thank you.”

“…a mild sedative.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not climbing the walls, or hysterical, or…”

“It’s inside, Matt, it’s a pain. It will have to come out. The better shape you’re in when it does, the better. That’s why you need to sleep.”

“You are your father’s daughter, aren’t you? You never know when to take no for an answer.”

“OK. But people, even tough guys like you, have been known to change their minds. I’ll leave the pills.”

“Take two and call me in the morning?” Matt asked, now smiling.

“If you take two, you won’t be able to use a telephone in the morning. One, Matt, with water, preferably not on an empty stomach.”

“My stomach is full of Chinese.”

“I’ll be at home until half past seven or so,” Amy said. “If you want to talk.”

“Amy, believe it or not, I’m touched by your concern,” Matt said. “But all I need is to finish this”-he held up his whiskey glass-“and get in bed.”

And then he surprised her by putting his arms around her.

“Who holds your hand when you need it, Doc?” he asked softly. “Don’t you ever get it up to here with other people’s problems?”

“Yeah,” she said, surprised at her emotional reaction. “Just between thee, me, and the lamp pole, I do. But not with your problems, Matt. You’re my little brother.”

“Chronologically speaking only, of course.”

She hugged him, and then broke away.

“Go to bed,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She went down the narrow flight of stairs and turned at the bottom and looked up.

“Try to stay on the black stuff between parked cars, Amy,” Matt called down to her with a wave.

“Wiseass,” she called back, and closed the door to the stairs. She had just enough time to be surprised to find the landing empty when she heard the whine of the elevator.

That has to be Peter, she thought. If he said he would wait for me, he will.

And then she just had time to recognize the depth of her original disappointment when the elevator door opened. It was not Peter, it was Jason Washington.

Where the hell is Peter? Did he decide, “Screw her, I’m going home”?

“Good evening, Doctor,” Washington said in his sonorous voice. “Or, more accurately, good morning.”

“Mr. Washington.”

“Do I correctly surmise from the look of disapproval on your face that now is not a good time to call on Matt?”

“No. As a matter of fact,” Amy said with a nervous laugh-Jason Washington was a formidable male-“I think you’d be good for him. He said he was going to bed, but I don’t believe him.”

“I couldn’t get here earlier,” he said. “Inspector Wohl-he’s with the security officer in the lobby-thought perhaps you…”

Peter did wait. Why are you so damned pleased?

“I think you’re very kind to come at this hour, and that Matt will be delighted to see you.”

“Thank you,” Washington said, and waved her onto the elevator.

Peter did not smile when he saw her.

“Thank you for waiting,” she said. “I really wanted to talk to you.”

“So you said.”

“Could we go somewhere for coffee? Or a drink?”

They locked eyes for a moment.

“Most of the places I’d take you to around here are closed.”

“Would you have time to stop by my apartment?”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s an invitation to breakfast.”

“Of course it wasn’t,” she snapped. “I want to talk about Matt. Nothing else.”

“We tried the other, right, and it didn’t work?”

“It didn’t seem to, did it?”

“I’ll meet you in your lobby,” Peter said. “I hate to follow people.”

“Thank you,” she said, and got back on the elevator. By the time she turned around, he was already out the door.

“How are you holding up, Matthew?” Jason Washington asked as he reached the top of the steep flight of stairs.

“Most often by leaning against the wall,” Matt replied.

“He said, masking his pain with humor. I am your friend, Matthew. Answer the question.”

“You know the old joke: ‘How is your wife?’ and the reply, ‘Compared to what?’ I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”

“Try a one-word reply.”

“Empty,” Matt said after a moment.

Washington grunted.

“I would suggest that is a normal reaction,” he said. “I would have been here earlier, Matthew, but I was about the King’s business, protecting our fair city from assorted mountebanks, scoundrels, and scalawags.”