George heard the door to the room open and felt someone come in and stand next to him. At first he thought it was one of the nurses, but it wasn’t.

“Any change?” asked Paul Caldwell.

“Hello, Paul. No, nothing new.” George met Paul when he had first arrived. Paul, too, had been standing vigil in between runs back down to the ER. George’s first reaction was anger and jealousy, but he soon realized that both emotions were uncalled for. When he heard that Paul had been in the vehicle involved in the accident with Pia, he had assumed Paul had been driving and was responsible for what had happened. And he had further assumed that he and Pia were an item, which seemed to make superficial sense, as George recognized Paul as a handsome and intelligent doctor. When George learned that he was wrong on both accounts, he felt foolish and was moved to admit his mistake and apologize. He also quickly came to be grateful for Paul’s concern and the fact that Paul had been an effective ombudsman for the most difficult period of Pia’s hospitalization, making sure the best surgeon available had come in to take the case.

“Listen, George, my offer that I made yesterday still stands. You should go over to my apartment and lie down for a couple of hours. And have a proper shower and change your clothes. Frankly, if you did that you’d be doing us all a favor.”

George looked over at Paul, and he was smiling. George appreciated Paul’s attempt to defuse the tension with a bit of humor, and as soon as Paul mentioned lying down, George suddenly felt an overwhelming fatigue come over him.

“You know, Paul, I may just do that. I don’t think much is going to change here for the next few hours.”

“No. The plan is to reduce the drugs over the next day or so and bring her out of this sleep. Everything seems to be nice and stable. My sense is that she knows you’ve been here, George, I’m sure of it. But I imagine you want to be in good shape when she fully wakes up.”

“Yes, you’re right. Maybe I will take a couple of hours.”

“Good. I’ll get a cab for you. I wrote the address down, and here’s a key.”

Paul handed over what George needed.

“Paul, how are you feeling? I’m sorry I never asked.”

“Me, oh, I’m fine.”

In truth, Paul’s left hand was causing him a lot of discomfort, but he wasn’t going to complain, given how lucky he had been to walk away from the accident with nothing worse than a mild concussion from his head hitting the roof of the car—like Pia, he, too, had been knocked unconscious for a time—a couple of broken fingers, and bruising on his chest and thighs.