“Once burned, twice shy. Twice burned, you pick up your cards and go home.”

“Rina—”

“I’m serious! I can’t take it! I can’t take…” Rina sighed, whispered, “Is he going pull through?”

“I don’t know, Rina.”

“What do you think?”

“Honey, I wouldn’t even attempt a guess.” He kissed his wife’s head, looked intently into her puffy blue eyes. “He appreciated the faith you had in him. He also asked if you could say Tehillim for him.”

“He actually said that?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my, my…” Rina gazed upon her husband with faraway eyes. Her hands reached into her purse, pulled out a thin Hebrew book. She held it up. “I don’t know why I bothered bringing it.” Her eyes spilled tears. “I practically know all of Psalms by heart.”

Decker’s eyes watered. “I’m sorry, Rina. I did the best I could, but it wasn’t enough. The sad part was I felt it coming. As soon as I saw Dolores Sparks’s hand disappear into her robe, I jumped her. But it wasn’t soon enough. If I had only gotten to her a second earlier—”

“If you had gotten to her a second earlier, it might have been you instead of him.”

Decker paused, realizing the gravity of her statement.

Without a word, she opened her book, wondering whether or not gentiles said Tehillim for one another like the Jews did. And if they did, how did they choose which psalms to say? Tradition had it that Jews recited the psalms that corresponded to the letters of the Torah-given name of the person in need. Obviously, Bram didn’t have a Torah name. But since Abram Matthew had a Hebrew equivalent—Avram Matisyahu—she plowed ahead.

She hadn’t gotten very far when Myron Berger walked into the waiting room. From the look on his face, it was clear she needn’t have bothered to start.

She closed the book and recited, “Baruch atah adonai elohenu melech haolam dayan haemet.”

“Blessed are you, Hashem, our God, King of the universe, the true judge.”

The Jewish blessing upon hearing distressing news.

Decker closed his eyes and opened them, dread in his stomach. Berger’s blue gown was soaked with blood, his mask dangling over his scrubs like a pinafore. His eyes skittered across the sea of beaten faces as he tried to find the right words.

“I’m sorry…” The surgeon averted his eyes. “I did what I could…but he was too far gone…”

The silence was crashing.

Berger said, “Maybe, if I had been your father…with his skills, I could have…I’m terribly sorry.”

Paul got up, walked over to Berger, and placed his hand on the surgeon’s shoulder. He retreated a few steps, then erupted into silent tears. Michael reached out to him, the two brothers fell upon each other’s necks, choking back sobs. The sisters embraced and cried out loud.