Holman’s van was pulling into a handicapped slot just as we arrived. Other than us, no other vehicles. The van’s door glided back, a ramp slid out. By the time we were out of the unmarked, Holman had rolled down in his chair and was watching the breakers.

He wore gray sweats that accentuated the heft of his upper body and tried to do the same for wasted legs. His beard was neatly trimmed, his hair plastered down hard, to resist the breeze.

We positioned ourselves between his chair and the sand.

“Thanks for coming, gentlemen. This is a place I go to relax.”

“What’s on your mind, Professor?”

Holman watched a solitary beachcomber parallel the tideline, fishing through sand with a metal detector. Stopping to inspect something shiny, the man tossed it back.

Holman said, “I see them out here all the time. No one ever finds anything.” Smiling. “Maybe everything’s already been discovered.”

“Oh, I don’t know, sir,” said Milo. “My job, I’m learning new stuff all the time.”

“Good for you.” Holman licked his lips. “This is extremely difficult, but I feel I need to.”

Thick fingers drummed the wheels of his chair. “I want to be clear, at the outset: I love my wife. She takes good care of me.”

Tightening up on the last three words. “Why should I complain if she has needs?” Holman’s barrel chest heaved. “Like many people in our situation, Marjie and I engage in mutual deception. She pretends not to miss what we had, I pretend not to know she’s pretending.” Inhaling. “Thirty-eight years has cemented our relationship.”

“Makes sense,” said Milo.

“So I don’t blame her,” said Holman. “I won’t claim it doesn’t bother me, but I’m not tormented.”

The beachcomber picked up something else. Held it to the light. Discarded it.

Holman watched with satisfaction. Grew grim. “The ones that peeved me were so-called friends of mine, and even there, I know I’m being irrational. Two guys, in particular, part of our social group. After my accident, my relationship with them changed because it had been based on tennis, basketball, squash, all that good stuff.”

A heron soared west. Needle-nosed, blue-gray pterodactyl with a six-foot wingspread. Stalking my koi pond, the bird would be the enemy. Out here, a magnificent creature.

Ned Holman said, “I’m running on because I want you to understand Marjie. She’s not some slattern, she’s a fine woman.”

A button-press rotated the chair away from us. We shifted to face him. Western light limned his bulky frame with a bright silver aura.