ALEX FOUND COURTNEY DENHAM IN AMEL’S OFFICE, SCRUTINIZING SOME test results. “I can come back later.” He swung on his heel.

“Don’t worry, man, I’m done. You’ll be pleased to hear that Lucy King’s operation went really well. The tissue match might not have been quite as close for her as the first organ we found, but the heart itself was light-years better. She’s a fighter, that girl.”

Alex was genuinely fond of Courtney. He was Trinidadian, and his accent—which had never quite left him—was mellifluous and always full of humor, which was especially welcome today. He was also an impressive cardiologist.

He walked toward Alex and grasped his hand. “Sorry to hear the news, Alex. Will was a special human being. Wicked sense of humor. I was an admirer.”

Alex couldn’t manage a “thank you”; but he felt it, and confirmed the pressure in the hand. Courtney left the room.

“You shouldn’t even be here today, Alex. I asked your secretary to tell you that. We can manage without you for a while.”

“It’s easier, Amel; I’d rather be here, and be useful. Besides, Lucy has no family in the UK, and I think she depends on us more than usual. That backup from relatives is such a vital part of postoperative care, and she’s completely without it. I understand her flatmate is like a sister, but it’s not the same thing. I’m happy to do my bit.”

Others, being alert to heightened sensitivities, might have avoided the subject; but Amel judged Alex’s needs differently. “It was some kind of accident, I gather. Do you have any idea how it happened?”

Alex felt oddly relieved by the question. He couldn’t seem to go into this with his father, who was reeling from the loss of his wife and son in less than a year. He hadn’t wanted to answer Alex’s questions about police reports, and other possible drivers.

“Supposedly Will crashed into a bridge over high-running water, in the midst of thick fog. They suggest he was probably tired and not paying attention.” He spoke without emotion, then gazed up at Amel. “But I find that nearly impossible to believe. Will was too experienced on a bike. If he was tired—too tired to get it right—he’d have pulled over. He lived dangerously, I admit; but he knew the line between daring and madness.”

“The fog wouldn’t have blurred the two?”

“He knew the river; he knew every lane, better than anyone. I just can’t believe his misjudgment would be that serious. How do you get right across Italy, France, Greece, unscathed, and then make a tragic mistake a mile from home?”