“If there’s anything I can do, please let me know,” said Berman, looking back at Pia. He smiled to himself, knowing what he’d like to do.

“There is one thing,” said Paul. “You can stop sending the flower arrangements. It’s a bit much. Too funereal. And particularly the lilies are stinking up the place.”

Berman smiled again. This guy was a trip, but he held his tongue. Instead he just nodded and left.

Paul looked back at Pia, who surprised him by staring at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Well, hello, stranger. What a nice surprise. How do you feel?”

“Paul! Where am I?” Her voice was hoarse. She tried to cough but it was feeble.

“You’re in the Memorial. You’ve been here a week.”

“A week?” Pia managed with consternation. “What happened?”

“There was an accident. A car accident.”

“I’m starting to remember. We were looking for the white van.”

“We were,” Paul agreed. “But I don’t think you should be worrying about it now. There will be time. How do you feel in general?”

“I hurt. I feel groggy and like I’ve been run over by a garbage truck.”

“I can imagine. I’m sorry. Listen, we kept you in a drug-induced coma for a few days because we were a little worried about you. Among other things, you had a bad concussion. But you’re going to be fine. You’ll feel progressively less groggy as the drugs wear off.”

“My head hurts.”

“I’m not surprised. You probably hurt elsewhere, too. We’ll have a self-administered narcotic piggybacked into your intravenous line as soon as I let your hospitalist know you are awake. But don’t worry about it now, just rest.” He stepped up alongside the bed and lifted the call button attached by a safety pin to Pia’s pillow. He showed it to her. “If you need pain medication before the do-it-yourself is in place, just push the button.”

“Why are my arms tied up?” Pia had tried to raise her arms but couldn’t.

“They are just wrist restraints,” Paul said as he undid Velcro straps. “We didn’t want you pulling out your IV.”

“Tell me! Was that Zachary Berman who was just here?”

“It was.”

“What was he doing here?”

“Beats me!”

“Was George here while I’ve been out of it or was I dreaming? I seem to remember his voice.”

“You’re right. He is here in Boulder. At the moment I made him go get something to eat. He’s going to be very pleased you are awake.”

“Why on earth did Berman come here? That makes me feel . . . I’m not sure how it makes me feel. But it’s not good.” Pia’s speech was getting clearer, and Paul could tell from its timbre that she was getting agitated.