Lucy saw clouds in Alex’s eyes. They were still strong, but there was something else in them, another emotion. Questions, ideas, mute debates. Another man would do her less justice; but Alex might be the one person who would try to see the world through her eyes. He stood up and found his cell phone, dialed a number, and crossed to Lucy while it was ringing. “They may not tell me. I haven’t mentioned, I passed your case over to James Lovell early this week. I thought it might be time—Hi, Jane, it’s Alex Stafford.”

Lucy had only a moment to embrace the implications of Alex resigning professional care of her; then she listened while he commiserated that Jane was working on yet another Saturday, joked with her that he didn’t want to be called in, it was his weekend off, anyway he wasn’t in London, he’d bring her back some Calvados. She thought he was more conversational than usual. Then his free hand swallowed Lucy’s and he asked the question: could she check her files, let him know from which region Lucy’s heart had been harvested? “Jane, it’s important, or I wouldn’t ask.” Time was suspended. She watched Alex for the answer. He was nodding. “Yes, I see. Jane, can you look at any more details? Are you able to tell me anything about the actual hospital?” And then he stopped shilly-shallying. “Or, Jane, could you just simply tell me—the donor?”

Lucy heard the silence: the chirping through the receiver had ceased. Alex looked at her obliquely. “Can you say…I won’t ask more than this. Might the name mean anything to me?” Lucy heard the bounce in Jane’s voice—her usually infectious Irish energy—go suddenly flat. Lucy realized that, in the wake of Will’s death, many more people would have heard his name spoken in connection with Alex, and if it hadn’t meant anything to Jane at the time, it would in hindsight. Alex crushed her fingers. “That’s fine. Don’t worry. That’s a huge help. Thank you. Jane, get home to your family.”

Alex hung up. He looked into Lucy’s velvet eyes, the brown now a steel gray; and he folded her in his arms without words. She returned his hug with compassion, and when he loosened his arms after a while he said only: “How did you really know?”

She made a swift decision. Alex was a reasonable man. He was immensely tolerant of whatever others thought, whatever prayers they needed, whatever faiths they held; but he was firmly grounded in this world with his five senses. Now, however, she took both of his hands and looked at him with placid strength on her own part. She felt she had seen the land of the dead; she would tell it like it was, even at the risk of ridicule.