Unflagging entertainment along the mountain didn’t disrupt the lama’s routine. The occasional few stray bars of music, or laughter that carried on the night breeze was never enough to keep him from sleeping—he was usually in bed by 9 pm. And when he woke for his first meditation session of the day at 3 am, surveying the pristine tranquility of the moonlit valley, it was as if he was the only person in the world.

Over the decades, the socializing next door had fallen away, Tom had begun to stoop and Tina slowed down. There was no escaping the aging process, not that ageing alone accounted for the changes that had come over Tom—and, as a consequence, Tina. There was a more troubling reason why the former Colonel would spend so many solitary hours on the balcony staring into the night, a tumbler of bourbon beside him.

Something he had been able to rationalize, suppress, or ignore through most of his working life was taking advantage of the stillness of his retirement to emerge from its basement trunk and slide into waking consciousness. Something that had only ever revealed itself before in his worst nightmares would creep out at unexpected moments—and once glimpsed, devour all of his attention. Horrific, sickening, misery-inducing, it was something he found hard enough to admit to himself let alone anyone else.

Lama Tashi had seen it clearly the very first time they’d met. That occasion had been a couple of months after his arrival, wheeling his trash can to the end of the road for the weekly collection. Tom had just transported the Jackson’s own can on the back of a macho-looking pick-up truck. Turning to find his new neighbor approaching, he had instinctively assumed his unassailable, military man pose.

When Lama Tashi met Tom’s clear blue eyes, he immediately saw what was in his heart—and his expression was filled with compassion.

Abashed, Tom hadn’t known how to respond. Never had he found himself so completely transparent, especially with regards to that worst of all horrors. He was so successful at hiding it, he doubted that anyone even suspected it was there. Now, caught unawares by a man of self-evident virtue, he didn’t know how to react. He certainly wasn’t prepared for the rush of benevolence from Lama Tashi’s heart, which made him feel both awkwardly self-conscious and utterly unworthy. So he had retreated behind a veil of elaborate courtesy, insisting on giving Lama Tashi a ride back to his house, talking all the way about the city’s garbage collection policy.

From the next week on, Tom always stopped by to collect his neighbor’s trash can and return it to him, once emptied, later in the day. After the worst winter snowfalls, he’d clear away the snow on Vulture Peak Drive, not only to his own front door, but to the lama’s too.