A doctor appeared, a neurologist named Blake Barrigan, whom he recognized from the country club. Barrigan was interested in Walker’s cognitive functions and ran him through a series of tests. Walker knew his own name. He knew Ronald Reagan was president of the United States, even if he hadn’t voted for the man. He could count backward from one hundred by eights, a task he wasn’t sure he could manage ordinarily. Barrigan was middle-aged and solemn, and while Walker could see his mouth move and knew he was conveying reassurances about his condition, he was too tired to care.

The next time he opened his eyes he was in a private room and people were talking in the hall. He consulted his body; his right elbow ached and his chest felt compressed where they’d apparently taped his ribs. He touched the right side of his head and felt a painful knot. He probably had minor injuries he wasn’t aware of yet. He could smell cooked meat and the scent of green beans with a metallic edge, reminiscent of the canned variety of his youth. The clatter outside the door suggested a meal cart with food trays.

A nurse’s aide came in and asked if he was hungry. Without waiting for a response, she lowered the rail on one side, cranked up his bed, and placed a tray on his rolling bed table, which she pushed within range. There was a carton of orange juice and a small container of cherry Jell-O sealed with an elasticized plastic cover like a little shower cap. “What’s today? Sunday?”

“Monday,” she said. “You were admitted from the ER an hour ago, so you missed dinner. Do you remember coming in?”

“Is my wife here?”

“She just left. A neighbor was watching the children and she had to put them to bed. She’ll be back in the morning. Are you in pain?”

He shook his head in the negative, stirring the headache he hadn’t been aware of. “I don’t understand what happened.”

“Dr. Barrigan can explain everything when he gets here. He has a patient on the surgical floor and he said he’d look in on you again before he left for the day. Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m fine.”

Once his supper tray had been removed, he opened the bed table drawer and found a pocket mirror. He checked his reflection. He had two black eyes, a purple knot on his forehead, and a smoky discoloration on the right side of his face. He must have hit the windshield or steering wheel on impact. He put the mirror away, realizing he was lucky he didn’t have cuts or broken facial bones.