"Could he do that without your signature?"

"He could. Back when we bought the house, he insisted it be in his name only. He gave me some excuse about taxes and insurance, but at the time I didn't care."

"Did he take it in cash?" Jack questioned.

"No, I've been told it was wired to a numbered offshore account."

"If you need cash, let me know. I have more than I've ever had, thanks to not spending even a pittance of my salary for the last decade."

"Thank you, brother. I'll keep that in mind. We'll make out fine, although I might have to augment my salary with some private practice."

After a few endearments, Jack disconnected. He did not return to the party immediately. Instead, he thought about the unfairness and capriciousness of life. While he was looking forward to a honeymoon with Laurie and a promising future, Alexis and the children were staring at uncertainty and emotional pain. It was enough, Jack thought, to make someone an epicurean or very religious, one extreme or the other.

Jack stood up. He opted for the former and was interested in getting Laurie home.

Jack had wanted to take Laurie to someplace unique and off the beaten path for their honeymoon. He'd thought of someplace in Africa, but decided it was too far. He'd thought of India, but that was worse, as far as distance was concerned. Then someone suggested Cuba. At first Jack had dismissed the idea because he thought it couldn't be done, but going on the Internet, he soon learned he was wrong. A number of people, but not too many, were going to Cuba either through Canada, Mexico, or the Bahamas. Jack had chosen the Bahamas.

The flight from New York to Nassau on Saturday, the day after the wedding, had been ho-hum, but the one from Nassau to Havana on Cubana Airlines had been livelier and entertaining, and had given them an early taste of the Cuban mentality. Jack had arranged for a suite in the Hotel Nacional de Cuba, sensing it would have a hint of old Cuban charm. They hadn't been disappointed. It was sited on the Malecon in the Vedado section of old Havana. Although some of the amenities were dated, the original Art Deco splendor shone through. Best of all, the service was a joy. Contrary to what Jack might have thought, the Cubans were a happy people.

Thankfully, Laurie had yet to insist on more sightseeing than relaxing walks through the old, central section of Havana, which had been restored for the most part. Several of their strolls had taken them beyond the restored area and into sections where the buildings were in a sad state of disrepair yet still with a vague hint of their original grandeur.

For the most part, both Jack and Laurie had been content to sleep and eat and lie in the sun. Such a schedule had given Jack adequate time to tell Laurie the details of what had happened in Boston as well as to discuss the situation at length. Laurie was sympathetic to everyone, including Jack. She'd called it an American medical tragedy. He'd agreed.

"How about we arrange for a tour into the countryside," Laurie suggested suddenly, breaking into Jack's rejuvenating, mindless repose.

Jack shielded his eyes from the sun and turned to look at his new wife. Both were reclining poolside on white lounge chairs. Both were clad in bathing suits and mutually slathered in SPF forty-five sunblock. Laurie was regarding him with eyebrows raised. He could just see them over the top of her sunglasses.

"Do you really want to sacrifice this wonderfully indolent life?" Jack questioned. "If it's this hot seaside, it will be like an oven in the countryside."

"I'm not saying we have to do it today or even tomorrow, just someday before we leave. It would be a shame to come all this way and not get a flavor of the island outside of this touristy area."

"I suppose," Jack said without a lot of enthusiasm. Just thinking about the heat of the island's interior made him feel thirsty. He sat up. "I'm going to get something to drink. Want me to bring you back something?"

"Are you going to have one of those mojitos?"

"I'm tempted," Jack said.

"You really are on vacation," Laurie said. "All right. If you're game, I am, too. I just might have to nap this afternoon."

"Nothing wrong with that," Jack said. He got to his feet and stretched. What he really needed to do was rent a bike and go for a serious ride, but that thought stayed with him only halfway to the bar. Lazily, he decided he'd look into it tomorrow.

Catching the eye of one of the bartenders, Jack ordered the two drinks. It was exceptional for him to drink at all, much less in the afternoon, but he'd been encouraged to try it the day before, and he'd enjoyed the utterly relaxed feeling the alcohol had given him.

While he waited, Jack's eyes wandered around the pool area. There were a few women with world-class figures that encouraged a brief appreciative glance. His eyes then wandered out to the broad expanse of the Caribbean Sea. There was a slight, silky breeze.

"Your drinks, sir," the bartender said, catching Jack's attention. Jack signed the check and picked up his drinks. As he started to turn back toward the pool, his eyes caught the face of a man across the peninsula-shaped bar. Jack did a double take. He leaned forward and unabashedly stared. The man's eyes briefly engaged Jack's but without recognition and were soon redirected to the handsome Latin woman sitting next to him. Jack watched him laugh with easy grace.

Jack shrugged, turned again, and started back to his lounge chair, but he got only a few steps before he turned again. Making up his mind to get a closer look, Jack walked around the bar and approached the man from the rear. He advanced until he was directly behind the individual. He could hear him speaking. It was passable Spanish, certainly better than Jack could muster.

"Craig?" Jack said, loud enough for the man to hear, but the individual did not turn around. "Craig Bowman," Jack said a tad louder. Still there was no response. Jack looked down at the two drinks he was holding, which were restricting his options. After another short debate, Jack leaned into the bar on the side of the man opposite his companion. Jack put one of the drinks on the bar and tapped the man on the shoulder. The man swung around and met Jack's gaze. There was no recognition, only a question with eyebrows raised and forehead furrowed.

"Can I help you?" the man questioned in English.

"Craig?" Jack questioned, watching the man's eyes. As a former ophthalmologist, Jack tended to look at people's eyes. The same way they often gave hints of general illness, they could give hints of emotion. Jack saw no change. The pupils remained exactly the same size.

"I believe you have me confused with someone else. My name is Ralph Landrum."

"Sorry," Jack said. "I didn't mean to be a pest."

"No problem," Ralph said. "What's your name?"

"Jack Stapleton. Where are you from?"

" Boston originally. How about yourself?"

" New York City," Jack said. "Are you staying here at the Nacional?"

"No," Ralph said. "I've rented a house just out of town. I'm involved in the cigar business. How about yourself?"

"I'm a medical doctor."

Ralph leaned back so Jack could see his lady friend. "This is Toya."

Jack shook hands with Toya across the front of Ralph.

"Nice to meet you both," Jack said after stumbling through a little Spanish for Toya's benefit. He picked up his drink. "Sorry to be intrusive."

"Hey, no problem," Ralph said. "This is Cuba. People expect you to talk with them."

With a final nod, Jack took his leave. He skirted the bar and returned to Laurie. She pushed herself up on one elbow and took one of the drinks. "It took you long enough," she said jokingly.