But even if he were willing to pay that price, how could he work in proximity to a woman he loved but could no longer touch? How could he treat her as merely an employee? How could she ask that of him? And how could she endure it? Unless … no—she loved him still. Of that he was certain. Viola would keep her job because she needed it to eat. Any merciful separation would have to be provided by him. That meant finding a new clinic. Maybe starting his own practice …

By the next morning, Tom had fallen into a state of near catatonia. He didn’t shower before driving to work, and he moved like an automaton when he got out of the car, not speaking to anyone he passed on the sidewalk. He knew no other way to face the lie he would now be living, one that slowly starved the soul rather than nourishing it, one that snuffed out hope rather than kindling it. What Tom did not know was that behind the door of the clinic that morning waited a future of blood and violence that would surpass even the war—

“Dr. Cage?” called a panicked voice. “Dr. Cage, the door’s locked!”

Tom heard a harsh rapping at his office door. How long had it been going on? “Just a damn minute,” he said under his breath. With a last look at the Polaroid of Viola, he slipped the photo back into The Killer Angels and reshelved the book.

“Dr. Cage!” Melba cried, her voice insistent. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine! I’m coming!” He took a deep breath, then opened the door and stepped back so that Melba could enter. “I must have locked it by mistake.”

“Don’t do that!” said the nurse. “I didn’t know what might have happened in here.”

“Melba …” He shook his head and opened his palms. “I’m not going to kill myself or anything.”

“Of course not. I just … your heart. Anything could happen, and at any time. That’s what your cardiologist said.”

“I locked it by mistake,” Tom said gently. “But listen … if it’s my time, there’s not much we can do.”

Melba gave him a sisterly glare. “Don’t you say that. Don’t talk like that.”

“All right.”

“Well, then. The reason I needed to talk to you is that someone’s been calling on the phone for you. He’s waiting on the line now.”

Tom looked at the phone on his desk. “I didn’t hear it ring.”

Melba squinted in puzzlement. “You didn’t?”

Over the years, so many thousands of patients had called Tom that he’d developed the ability to tune out the telephone altogether. “Lost in thought, I guess. Who is it?”

“He wouldn’t say. The caller ID said ‘pay phone,’ but all the man will say is that he served in Korea with you.”

Tom felt his heartbeat quicken.