Shortly after seven, Jack was trundled off to the operating room, and I went to the coffee shop and brooded over why, even now, I hadn’t been able to show him more affection. I had squeezed his hand a couple of times and told him not to worry, but I could’ve done as much for a comparative stranger.

He was brought back from the recovery room around eleven, and Duff and Franny returned shortly after that. I noticed no change in their relationship toward each other then, but later I remembered how unusually quiet Franny had been.

Dr. Fowler and the surgeon, a Dr. Vincent, came to see us and reported that the operation had been a complete success and Jack was doing splendidly. They also said they’d like to keep him in the hospital for about ten days.

“He’ll need nursing care when he goes home then, won’t he?” Duff asked.

“It probably would be good to have professional help for a short while, until he can shift for himself,” Dr. Vincent said.

“We can get someone in Scarsdale,” I said.

“We could get someone to take care of Dad here too, couldn’t we?” said Duff. “Mrs. Weber’s daughter is a nurse, isn’t she?”

“Stephanie Weber had two years of training at this hospital,” Dr. Fowler said. “I would say she could serve as a good practical nurse, which is all you need in this case.”

“We won’t discuss it now,” I said.

Jack was coming around, although he was still pretty groggy. We talked with him for a few minutes, and then, on the advice of Dr. Fowler, let him go back to sleep while we returned to the farm.

There I cooked bacon and eggs—I was starved by then, with the worry over Jack abated—and we all ate heartily and went to bed, or at least I know that Franny and I did. I’m not sure what Duff was doing then. Anyway, I was just dozing off when the front doorbell rang. I put on my robe and went to the door, fearful that it might be someone with bad news about Jack.

It was a telephone serviceman. “I came to install the phone,” he said. “John W. Caine?”

“Yes, but we didn’t order—”

“Somebody ordered it.” He showed me a piece of paper. “And the order was confirmed by your neighbor down the road. Let’s see . . . Emil R. Weber. We generally try to get a confirmation before we drive any great distance—just to avoid the practical jokers.”

Duff came downstairs and to the door. “I ordered the phone, Mom,” he said. “I thought we’d probably need it because of Dad.”

“But we’re not going to stay here!”

He was very patient. “But while we are here, we’ll want to phone the hospital, won’t we? And Dad may want to phone us.”