At 1:35 that morning, I was awoken from a sound sleep: Dolan on the phone, calling from the ER at St. Terry's. "Stacey's back got worse after I dropped him off. He called me at midnight and asked me to bring him in. They took one look at him and rounded up the doc on call. I'm waiting to hear what the fellow has to say."

"You want me to come over?"

"Hang on a second." He put a hand over the mouthpiece and conducted a muffled conversation with someone else, then returned to the line. "I'll call you back in a bit. Soon as I find out what's going on." I replaced the handset, now wide awake. If Dolan intended to phone again, there was really no point in going back to sleep. I flipped on the light and fumbled for my running shoes. Given my new efficiency measures, I was fully suited up in sweats and crew socks. I needed only brush my teeth and run wet hands through my mop and I was ready to go.

I parked on a side street across from the hospital emergency entrance. I love the town at that hour. Traffic is sparse, the streets are empty, most businesses are shut down. The temperature had dropped into the forties and the lights in the emergency room looked inviting. Apparently, the usual weekend traumafest hadn't gotten under way as yet, because the front desk was deserted and all was quiet. I found Dolan reading a magazine in the reception area. He rose when he saw me.

Without even thinking, I gave his cheek a buss. "How's he doing?"

"They're in the process of admitting him. I could have saved you a trip. I tried calling you back, but I guess you'd already left by then."

"Don't worry about it. I was up anyway. What now? Will they let you see him again?"

"They gave him something for the pain and he's out of it. He probably won't know the difference, but I'll feel better if I do. After that, I thought I'd make a run over to his place and pick up some of his things. Toothbrush and comb, stuff like that."

"Why don't I find us a cup of coffee? There's bound to be a vending machine on the premises somewhere."

We sat together for half an hour, sipping treacherous-smelling lukewarm coffee from thick paper cups with handles like flat-folded butterfly wings. He said, "What were you doing home? I was all set to leave a message. I figured you'd be out on a date."

"People don't date anymore; at least I don't," I said.

"Why not? What's wrong with it? How else are you going to meet someone?"

"I don't want to meet anyone. I'm fine, thanks so much. What about you? You're single. Are you dating these days?"

"I'm too old."

"Me, too," I said, peering over at him. "How long ago did your wife die?"