He gave me a courtly bow and got in his car. Then he lowered the window and said, “If your son has any more trouble sleeping, give him a couple of those capsules.”

“He won’t have any more trouble,” I said. “Duff has always slept like a log.”

Dr. Fowler nodded and drove off. When I went back into the house, Jack had taken the medicine and within minutes he was feeling better. We all sat on the floor and played four-handed rummy until the ambulance came forty-­five minutes or so later.

The two attendants put Jack on the stretcher and carried him out, while I packed his toothbrush and shaving equipment. Then Franny got in the ambulance with her father and Duff and I followed in the Chevy to Ashland Hospital.

There Jack was whisked into a gown and onto a table and rolled down to the X-­ray room, where he spent about half an hour. Then he was brought back to a cheerful looking room and given some more medicine that put him to sleep almost immediately.

He was scheduled for surgery at eight o’clock and, at Dr. Fowler’s suggestion, the staff orthopedic surgeon was going to put a pin in his hip. The X rays had shown the fracture to be of such a nature that the cast could be a simple one, allowing him some degree of mobility on crutches. Also, a cardiologist would be checking Jack before the operation and would stand by during it. If he deemed it advisable, the cardiologist would get in touch with our Dr. Raphael in New York before anything was done to Jack.

So all seemed well, or as well as could be expected. I intended to stay at the hospital until after the surgery, but I saw no reason for Duff and Franny to lose a whole night’s sleep, even though they both pleaded to stay. I can still swear that I saw tears in Duff’s eyes then.

Even though he didn’t have a license, I felt that this was an emergency that justified his driving the car home. As I have indicated, I wasn’t concerned at all about his ability to handle the Chevy or even about his driving judgment. He had shown himself to be skillful as well as cautious behind the wheel.

As he and Franny got in the car I asked him, “What were you dreaming about anyway a while ago?”

He looked at me very seriously, his blue eyes, as always, seeming oversized behind his fairly thick glasses. “I thought I saw a crazy-­looking man on a horse,” he said. “He tried to ride over me.”

Franny laughed and I laughed and Duff drove away. On the way home—I learned much later—he tried to sexually molest his ten-­year-­old sister.

4

Chapter Four