“You should be worried about me,” Somers said. “He’s going to have to do PT for his leg, and he’ll probably murder me when I make him go to all the required sessions.”

A faint, dry smile flickered around Glenn’s mouth.

“This is weird for you, huh,” Somers said, trying to push himself free. “I’ll get up.”

Glenn waved him back, and after a moment, Somers settled into place again. Hazard’s arms tightened once, and then he was still. The sun was going down on the July day; the sky had deepened to purple, and the first stars shone through a crown of clouds. A murmur of voices continued from the TV; on Happy Days, the Fonz was giving his signature double thumbs up, which had the live studio audience in stitches.

“You look very happy,” Glenn said.

“I look like I was on the run, raided a children’s gymnastics school, and then got trapped in a basement.”

“You even sound like him sometimes.”

“Is that really such a bad thing?”

Glenn shook his head. “It’s a couple’s thing.”

Out in the hall, someone—presumably a patient—was shouting, “And if I want to pee in a goddamn Dixie cup, I’ll pee in a goddamn Dixie cup.”

Somers met his father’s eyes. Then Somers started to giggle, shaking with the laughter, trying desperately to suppress it. His father, to Somers’s eternal surprise, started to laugh too. Glenn laughed until he was crying, biting the back of his hand to keep from making any noise. Somers gasped for air; the bed rattled.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hazard grumbled, planting a hand on Somers’s face and forcing him away. “Can’t I have five fucking minutes?”

Glenn Somerset howled with laughter, and Somers laughed right along with him.

When the laughter settled, Glenn wiped his face and pulled the briefcase onto his lap. “John-Henry, I would like to say that everything I’ve done has been in your best interests. I don’t think you’d believe me. I’m not . . . I’m not even sure I believe it myself anymore, although I believed it at one time.” He traced the briefcase’s lines. “I suppose I’m trying to say things between us are complicated. I understand that.”

“Father,” Somers said. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve fired Chief Riggle. The man’s a buffoon, and worse, he’s got absolutely no loyalty. He was useful in a specific regard; he’s certainly paved the way for his replacement to be a stellar success. Now he’s gone, John-Henry.”

“I don’t think Cravens will come back,” Somers said. “You turned her out on her ass.”

“No,” Glenn said, and then he took a deep breath. “I don’t think she will.”

The Fonz must have done something that really slayed because the studio audience was all Somers could hear for a moment. Then he asked, “So what do you—”

Hazard slapped Somers’s leg so hard that he yelped. “For the love of fuck, he’s trying to ask you to be chief. Tell him yes so I can have my dinner and go to bed.”