Tom’s life was inextricably bound up with the tumultuous events of that era. His seven-week affair with Viola had begun two days after they had patched up Jimmy Revels, Luther Davis, and the Double Eagles after that highway brawl, and it had ended—truly ended—on the day Frank Knox died. One day prior, Viola had asked Dr. Lucas to switch her to Dr. Ross, leaving Tom crazed with longing and emotionally adrift. When he arrived at the clinic the next morning, he’d been thinking only of himself, with no idea what fate had in store for him. Within sixty minutes, Viola Turner would teach him just how blind a man could be to the world around him, and even to those he loved.

As per Dr. Lucas’s orders, Viola began that day working under Dr. Ross, who was elated by the new arrangement. Tom got Anna Mae Nugent, an older white nurse, as a substitute. He went through the motions with his first five or six patients, then told Anna Mae that he needed to make some calls from his office. He’d just closed the door and removed his stethoscope when he heard a shout from up near reception. A moment later, Anna Mae came barreling up the hall.

“They just brought a man in from Triton Battery!” she cried. “A pallet of batteries fell on him. He’s tore up bad, Doc. Looks like a hospital case, but he was already here, so I told them to put him in the surgery.”

Tom grabbed his stethoscope and walked calmly toward the surgery, his grief over Viola easing with every step. Dr. Lucas was performing an appendectomy at the Jefferson Davis Hospital, but even if he’d been in the clinic, Lucas would have expected Tom to take this case. Dr. Lucas liked nice, clean surgeries scheduled far in advance. Surprise traumas weren’t to his taste. The upshot of all this was that Tom wouldn’t even have to ask for Viola; it was understood that she assisted on all trauma cases that came to the clinic.

“Do you need help, Tom?” Jim Ross asked from a doorway to his right. “Anna Mae said the guy looks bad.”

“No, I’m fine,” Tom said quickly. “I’m just going to stabilize him, then get him transported to the emergency room. I’d appreciate it if you’d call an ambulance for me.”

“Done.”

“Anna Mae?” Tom called. “Pull the man’s record.”

“I’ll have it down there in a second.”

Tom turned the corner and almost plowed into Viola, who was hurrying up the hall from the direction of the surgery.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Who’s with the patient?”

“Two of his friends.”

“No nurse?”

“No.” Viola’s face was taut, her eyes dead. “I’m not treating him.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I’m not treating that man.”

“Who is it?” Tom asked, stunned by her defiant tone.