The problem was that there was a good chance, at least on the first go-round, as Randolph had confided to her, that the case could be lost despite there having been no malpractice. In her heart of hearts, Alexis was sure of that from hearing the story and because she knew that Craig always put his patients first, even in those situations where it involved some inconvenience and even if it was three o'clock in the morning. In this instance, it was the double whammy of the malpractice claim and the midlife adjustment disorder that complicated the situation. The fact that they did occur together did not surprise Alexis. She hadn't seen many physicians in her practice, because seeking help, particularly psychological help, was generally not in the physician's nature. They were givers of care, not recipients. In this regard, Craig was a prime example. She had strongly suggested he seek therapy, especially considering his reaction to Leona's deposition and to the deposition of the plaintiff's experts, and she could have easily arranged it, but he had steadfastly refused. He'd even reacted angrily when she made the suggestion again a week later, when it was apparent he was becoming progressively more depressed.

As Alexis was continuing to debate whether to approach Craig and Randolph or stay where she was, she became aware of another person who'd stayed behind in the gallery after the mass exodus. What caught her attention were his clothes, which were almost identical to the plaintiff's attorney's in style, color, and cut. The similarity of dress as well as their equivalently brick-like habitus and dark hair gave them the superficial appearance of twins as long as they weren't together, because the man in the spectator area was at least one and a half times the size of Tony Fasano. He also differed by being less swarthy, and in contrast to Tony's baby-bottom facial skin, he had the regrettable sequela of severe teenage acne. The residual scarring on his cheekbones was deep enough to appear like that of a burn.

At that moment, Tony Fasano broke off his conversation with his assistant, grabbed his ostrich briefcase, and stormed through the gate into the gallery on his way out of the courtroom. It was obvious he was chagrined about the error regarding the tribunal ruling. Alexis wondered why he was overreacting, since his opening statement from her viewpoint had been regrettably effective and was undoubtedly the reason Craig was brooding. Tony's assistant sheepishly followed her boss. Without even a sideward glance or the slightest hesitation in his step, Tony called out, "Franco," while gesturing for the man dressed like himself to follow. Franco obediently did so. A moment later, they all had disappeared through the heavy double doors to the hall, which clanged shut with jarring finality.

Alexis glanced back toward her husband. He'd not moved, but Randolph was now looking in her direction. When he caught her eye, he waved for her to come join them. With an explicit invitation, she was happy to oblige. When she got there, Craig's face looked as downtrodden as she'd assumed from his posture.

"You must talk to him!" Randolph ordered, venturing from his studied, patrician self-possession with a hint of exasperation. "He cannot continue to behave in this despondent, defeated manner. In my experience, juries have special antennae. I'm convinced they can sense a litigant's mind-set and decide the case accordingly."

"Are you saying the jury could decide against Craig purely because he's depressed?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. You have to tell him to buck up! If he continues to comport himself in this negative fashion, there is the risk they will assume he's guilty of the alleged malpractice. I'm not suggesting they won't listen to the testimony or consider the evidence, but they'll do so only with the thought of possibly negating their initial impression. Such behavior turns a neutral jury into a prejudicial one and switches the burden of proof from the plaintiff, where it should be, to us, the defense."

Alexis looked down at Craig, who was now massaging his temples while cradling this head in his hands, elbows on the table. His eyes were closed. He was breathing through an open, slack mouth. Getting him to buck up was a tall order. He'd been in and out of depression for most of the eight-month pre-trial period. The only reason he'd acted "up" at all that morning and in the days immediately leading to the trial was the prospect of getting the trial over with. Now that the trial had started, it was obvious that the reality of the possible outcome had set in. Being depressed was not an unreasonable response.

"Why don't we all go to lunch, and we can talk," Alexis suggested.

"Mr. Cavendish and I will have to skip lunch," Randolph said. "I need to plan my opening statement."

"You haven't planned it before now?" Alexis questioned with obvious surprise.

"Of course I'd planned it," Randolph said testily. "But thanks to Judge Davidson allowing Mr. Fasano such discretion in his opening statement, I must alter mine."

"I was surprised by the plaintiff's opening statement," Alexis admitted.

"And indeed you should have been. It was nothing more than an attempt at character assasination or guilt by association, since they obviously have no evidence of actual medical negligence. The only good part is that Judge Davidson is already providing us with grounds for an appeal if needed, especially with Mr. Fasano's cheap trick of introducing the tribunal's finding."

"You don't think that was an honest mistake?"

"Hardly," Randolph scoffed. "I've had some of his cases researched. He's a plaintiff's attorney of the most despicable variety. The man has no conscience, not that I suspect one in his chosen field of specialty."

Alexis wasn't so certain. Having watched the attorney harangue his associate, if it were a charade, it was on Oscar level.

"I'm supposed to buck up, and you're already talking about an appeal?" Craig sighed, speaking for the first time since Alexis has arrived.

"One must prepare for all eventualities," Randolph said.

"Why don't you run along and do your preparation," Alexis said to Randolph. "Dr. Bowman and I will talk."

"Excellent!" Randolph said crisply. He was relieved to be freed. He motioned to his assistant to leave. "We'll see you back here in a timely fashion. Judge Davidson is, among his other less desirable traits, at least prompt, and he expects others to be likewise."

Alexis watched Randolph and Mark make their way through the courtroom and disappear out into the hallway before looking back down at Craig. He was watching her gloomily. She took Randolph 's seat. "How about you and I have some lunch?" she said.

"The last thing in the world I'd like to do at this moment is eat."

"Then let's go outside. Let's get out of this magisterial environment."

Craig didn't answer, but he did stand. Alexis led the way out of the bar area, through the spectator section, and out into the hallway and to the elevator lobby. There were small groups of people milling about, with some locked in furtive conversation. The courthouse oozed an aura of contention from every nook and cranny. Craig and Alexis didn't talk as they took the elevator down and walked out into a bright, sunny day. Spring had finally come to Boston. In sharp contrast to the oppressive, seedy courthouse interior, there was hope and promise in the air.

After crossing a small, bricked courtyard wedged between the courthouse and one of Boston 's Government Center 's crescent-shaped buildings, Craig and Alexis descended a short flight of stairs. Crossing the busy four lanes of Cambridge Street took some effort, but they were soon able to stroll out onto the expansive esplanade fronting Boston City Hall. The square was crowded with people fleeing their confining offices for a little sun and fresh air. There were a few fruit stalls doing brisk business.