“No,” Nicholas said. “Alan loves to show it off.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” I said.

Nicholas led me up the circular stairs to a long hallway, both sides of which were lined with doors. The hallway led to another hallway and ended at a loft and another set of stairs.

“I could get lost in here,” I said.

“Lots of people do,” he said. “Come look at this.” We walked into a spacious room lined with bookshelves, many filled with leather books. It had a fireplace with an antique model of a ship on its mantel, and in the center of the room was a beautiful antique desk. The ceiling was high and multifaceted with a wooden beam stretching the length of the room.

“This is Alan’s den,” Nicholas said.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Alan likes nice things.”

I turned back to him. “Are Alan and Careen happy?”

Nicholas pondered the question. “They’ve been married almost forty years, so I hope so. Alan’s not an especially affectionate man, so their relationship is very partner-like, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

“But he’s not cheating on her.”

Nicholas shook his head. “Oh no. He’s a man of strong ethics and a very conservative Catholic. He once told one of the lawyers, ‘If you’re going through a midlife crisis, don’t cheat. Buy yourself a Ferrari instead. It’s cheaper.’ ” Nicholas smiled. “Want to see something cool?”

“Yes.”

He pushed on one of the shelves, and it opened into a room. I clapped. “That’s like in the movies.”

“Every man wants a bookshelf that opens into a secret room.”

“Where does it go?”

“Come inside,” he said.

We stepped into the room. Like the outer room it had bookshelves, though the books weren’t legal tomes but novels and personal reading, including a few Grisham, Patterson, and Vince Flynn thrillers. There were also several framed photographs of Alan with famous people, including President Bill Clinton, Bob Hope, and Maureen O’Hara.

“Actually, it’s a safe room,” Nicholas said. “In case terrorists or someone crazy breaks into his house. They can hide in here until the police arrive.”

“Sometimes I’d like a safe room to hide in,” I said.

“To hide from what?” Nicholas asked.

“Life.”

Nicholas looked at me, then nodded as if he understood. “My father served in Vietnam. When I was young he told me that everyone needs an emotional foxhole. A place to hide when life’s storms hit.”

“Do you?”

“Of course,” he said. “There’s a quote widely misattributed to Plato that says, ‘Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.’ It’s true. Everyone has struggles. Everyone has suffered more than you know. That includes you and me.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.