The two of them were seated in an examining room. Twenty minutes later, Matt Birenbaum came in: a short man in his fifties with wiry gray hair styled in a bad comb-over. Rina stood up from the chair.

“Sit, sit. I’m fine. How’s the family? What’s the Loo been up to?”

“The usual mayhem. How are the boys, Matt?”

“Josh is starting Penn Med School in the fall.”

“Mazel tov. He must have liked what he grew up with.”

“Tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen.” Birenbaum looked up from the chart that Gabe had filled out in the waiting room. “Rina tells me you’re a pianist?”

“On my exceptionally good days.”

“And you hurt your hand in a fight?” The doctor looked disapproving.

Rina said, “He was attacked by a mugger.”

Birenbaum looked up. “Wow. That’s scary. Did he hurt you in places other than your hand?”

“No, just my hand. And that was from punching him. I think I overdid it.”

“Well, thank goodness it was fists and not a gun.” Gabe didn’t bother to correct him. “No other health problems?”

“I’m in good health except for my zits. I like had this major breakout attack.”

The doctor regarded his forehead. “It would help if you cut your hair.”

“Probably.”

“I can give you a scrip for a cream.” He put down the file. “I’m just going to do a quick exam.”

He took Gabe’s blood pressure and his heart rate, listened to his chest, checked out the eyes and the ears and the throat. Rina was impressed by his thoroughness. Birenbaum said, “All right, young man, let me see the damage.”

Gabe gave him his left hand. The doctor regarded the flesh. “Big hands. How tall are you?”

“Six feet.”

“And how old are you?”

“Almost fifteen.”

“So you still have some growing to do.” He flipped the hand over and then over again. “A little bruised, that’s for certain.” He flexed the fingers and rotated the wrist. “Nothing’s broken.” He pressed and pulled, trying to find tender spots, noting when the boy made a face. “Any numbness?”

“No.”

“Any pain when you stretch your arm or fingers?”

“No.”

“Have you tried playing the piano?”

“Not since I hurt my hand.” He paused. “I really haven’t touched the keyboard in five days unless you count accompanying the school choir, and I don’t count that.”

Birenbaum smiled. “I specialize in professional musicians. I have an instrument room including a piano with electronic hookups. When the musicians play, the readout gives me an idea about their hands and fingers, the deficits and strengths. If you are a serious musician, I’d like to monitor your hands as you play.”

“Sure.”