"I suppose with some patients. But it didn't bother Craig. In fact, he seemed to like it because he started making house calls at off-hours. I think to him there was something retro and nostalgic about it."

"House calls?" Jack questioned. "Making house calls is usually a waste of time. As a modern-age doctor you're so limited in what you can do."

"Nonetheless, some of the patients love it, including the deceased. Craig had seen her often after hours. In fact, he had seen her at her home the morning of the very day the malpractice was supposed to have occurred. That evening she took a turn for the worse, and Craig made a house call."

"It seems to me it would be hard to find fault with that."

"One would assume so, but according to the plaintiff's attorney, it was Craig's making the house call rather than sending the patient to the hospital that caused the malpractice, since it delayed the diagnosis and emergency treatment of a heart attack."

"That seems absurd," Jack said indignantly.

"Not when you hear it coming from the plaintiff's attorney during his opening statement. You see, there are other circumstances surrounding the episode that are important. It happened when Craig and I were officially separated. At the time, he was living in an apartment in Boston with one of his nubile secretary-cum-file clerks named Leona."

"Good God!" Jack exclaimed. "I don't know how many stories I've heard of married physicians having affairs with their office help. I don't know what it is about male medical doctors. In this day and age, most men in other endeavors know not to date their employees. It's asking for legal troubles."

"My sense is you are being too generous to the middle-aged married males who find themselves locked in a reality that didn't live up to their romantic expectations. I think Craig falls into such a group, but it wasn't Leona's twenty-three-year-old body that was the initial lure. It was, ironically enough, the change to the concierge practice, which provided something he'd never had: free time. Free time can be a dangerous thing for someone who'd spent half of his life as single-minded as Craig. It was like he woke up and looked at himself in the mirror and didn't like what he saw. All of a sudden he had this manic interest in culture. He wanted to make up for lost time and become overnight his image of a well-rounded person. But it wasn't enough for him to do it alone like a hobby. Just as he did with medicine, he wanted to indulge it with one hundred percent effort, and he insisted I go along with it. But obviously I couldn't, not with my job and the responsibility of the girls. That's what drove him out, at least as far as I know. Leona came later, as he realized he was lonely."

"If you're trying to make me feel sorry for him, it's not going to work."

"I just want you to know what we're up against. The plaintiff's attorney knows that Craig and Leona had tickets for the symphony on the night the plaintiff's wife died. He says witnesses will prove that Craig made the house call even though he suspected the patient had a heart attack on the outside chance it wasn't. If he had found that to be the case, he would have been able to make the concert. Symphony Hall is closer to the plaintiff's house than Newton Memorial Hospital."

"Let me guess – this Leona is scheduled to be a witness."

"Of course! She's now the spurned lover. To make matters worse, she is still working in Craig's office and he can't fire her for fear of another lawsuit."

"So the plaintiff's attorney is contending that Craig put the patient at risk by playing the odds against the possible diagnosis."

"That's essentially it. They're saying that it's not up to the standard of care in terms of making a timely diagnosis, which for a heart attack is critical, as events have shown. They don't even have to prove that the woman would have survived had she been taken to the hospital immediately, just that she might have. Of course, the cruel irony is that the allegation is diametric to Craig's practice style. As we've said, he's always put patients first, even before his own family."

Jack ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "This is more complicated than I thought it would be. I assumed the question revolved around some specific medical issue. This kind of case means there is even less chance of my being any help than I thought."

"Who knows?" Alexis said fatalistically. She pushed back from the table, went over to the service desk, and hefted a sizable manila envelope stuffed with papers. She brought it back to the table and plopped it down. It made a resounding thump. "Here's a copy of the case I put together. It's pretty much everything, from interrogatories to depositions to medical records. The only thing that's not included is a transcript of today's proceeding, but I've given you a good idea of what was said. There's even a couple of Craig's recent research papers he suggested I include. I don't know why: maybe to save face, imagining you'll be impressed."

"I probably will be if I can understand them. Anyway, it looks like I have my work cut out for me."

"I don't know where you want to work. You have a lot of choices. Can I show you a few alternatives besides your room downstairs?"

Alexis led Jack on a tour of the first floor of the house. The living room was huge but appeared uncomfortably pristine, as if no one had ever stridden across its deep pile carpet. Jack nixed that. Off the living room was a mahogany-paneled library with a wet bar, but it was dark and funereal with poor lighting. No thanks! Down the hall was a media room with a ceiling-mounted projector and several rows of lazy-boy chairs. Inappropriate, and worse lighting than the library. At the end of the hall was a sizable study with matching his-and-hers desks on opposing walls. His desk was neat with each pencil in a pencil cup sharpened to a needle-like point. Her desk was the opposite, with haphazard stacks of books, journals, and reprints. There were several reading chairs and hassocks. A bow window similar to the one in the great room looked out onto a flower bed with a small fountain. Directly opposite the window was floor-to-ceiling shelving on either side of the entrance door. Among a mixture of medical and psychology texts was Craig's old-fashioned leather doctor's bag and a portable ECG machine. As far as being a work area, the best thing about the room was the lighting setup, with recessed ceiling fixtures, individual desk lamps, and floor lamps by each club chair.

"This is a terrific space," Jack said. "But are you sure you don't mind me in your personal study?" He switched on one of the floor lamps. It cast a wide, warm glow.

"Not in the slightest."

"What about Craig, since it's his space, too?"

"He wouldn't mind. One thing I can assure you about Craig. He's not territorial."

"Okay, then, here's where I'll be. I have a feeling it will take me quite a few hours." He put the bulging manila envelope down on the table between the two reading chairs.

"As the saying goes, knock yourself out. I'm off to bed. With the need to get the kids off to school, tomorrow comes early around here. There are plenty of drinks in the kitchen refrigerator and more in the wet bar, so help yourself."

"Terrific! I'm all set."

Alexis let her eyes wander down Jack's frame, then back to his face. "I have to tell you, brother, you look good. When I visited you out in Illinois, and you had your ophthalmology practice, you looked like a different person."

"I was a different person."

"I was afraid you were going to become overweight."

"I was overweight."

"Now you look hale, hungry, and hollow-cheeked, like an actor in a spaghetti western."

Jack laughed. "That's a creative description. Where did that come from?"

"The girls and I recently watched some old Sergio Leone movies. It was an assignment for a film class Tracy's taking at her school. Seriously, you look like you're in good shape. What's your secret?"