of 1963, Chris felt a strange tide of emotion moving through him. Until this morning, when Agent Morse had subversively entered his life, he’d felt more content than he had since childhood. His father had been a good man, but he’d rarely pondered life’s deeper mysteries. In Tom Cage, Chris had found a mentor with a wealth of knowledge to pass on, but who did so without pretense or didacticism, almost like a Zen master. A trenchant question here, a small gesture while a patient’s attention was elsewhere—in this unassuming way, Tom had been turning Chris into more than a first-class internist: he was turning him into a healer.
But a career isn’t enough to sustain a man, Chris thought, feeling the vodka cross his blood-brain barrier. Not even if it’s a passionate calling. A man needs someone to engage his deepest emotions, to relieve his drives, to soften his obsessions, to accept the gifts he feels compelled to give, and maybe most important, to simply be with him during the thousands of small moments that in aggregate compose a life.
For almost two years, Chris had believed that Thora was that person. Along with Ben, she had closed some magic circle in his life. Before he married Thora, Chris had not understood how acting as a father to Ben would affect him. But in less than a year, with Chris’s patient attention, the boy had blossomed into a young man who amazed his teachers with his attitude and schoolwork. He was no slouch on the athletic field, either. The pride Chris felt in Ben had stunned him, and he’d felt it a solemn duty—even a privilege—to adopt the boy. Given what he felt for Ben, Chris could hardly imagine what having his own biological child might do to him. He almost felt guilty for asking more of life than he already had. Every week he watched men die without the things he now possessed, either because they had never found them or because they had foolishly cast them away. Yet now … everything had changed somehow. Alexandra Morse had released a serpent of doubt into his personal Eden, forcing him to wonder if he truly possessed any of the gifts he had believed to be his.
“Goddamn it,” he murmured. “Goddamn woman.”
“Did I mess something up?” asked a worried voice.
Chris looked over his shoulder and saw Thora standing behind him. She wore a diaphanous blue nightgown and white slippers with wet blades of grass on them. He’d been so absorbed in the footage and his thoughts that he hadn’t heard her enter the studio.
“You were pretty late getting home from the hospital,” she said diffidently.
“I know.”
“You have a lot of admissions?”
“Yeah. Most of them are routine stuff, but there’s one case nobody can figure out. Don Allen consulted Tom about it, and Tom asked for my opinion.”
A look of surprise widened Thora’s eyes. “I can’t believe Don Allen consulted with anybody.”
Chris smiled faintly. “The patient’s family pressured him into it. It killed Don to do it, I could tell. But if somebody doesn’t figure out what this guy has, he could die.”
“Why not ship him up to Jackson?”
“Don already talked to all the specialists at UMC. They’ve seen the test results, and they don’t know what to think either. I think the family figured Tom has seen almost everything in almost fifty years of practicing medicine, so they wanted him consulted. But Tom is stumped, too. For now, anyway.”
“My money’s on you,” Thora said, smiling. “I know you’ll figure it out. You always do.”
“I don’t know, this time.”
Thora moved closer, then leaned down and kissed Chris’s forehead. “Turn back around,” she said softly. “Toward the monitor.”
It seemed an odd request, but after a moment he turned and faced the screen.
Thora began to rub his shoulders. She had surprisingly strong hands for a lithe woman, and the release of tension in his neck was so sudden that he felt a mild nausea.
“How does that feel?”
“I almost can’t take it.”
Her hands worked up the sides of his neck and began to knead the bunched muscles at the base of his skull. Then she slipped her fingertips into his ears and began to massage the shells, working steadily inward with increasing pressure. Before long he felt like sliding out of the chair and onto the floor. One of Thora’s hands vanished, but her other moved down into his polo shirt, the palm circling his pectoral muscles with surprising force.
“You know what I was thinking?” she said.
“What?”
“We haven’t tried to get me pregnant in a while.”
No remark could have surprised him more. “You’re right.”
“Well …?”
She slowly spun his chair until he found himself facing her bare breasts. Normally, they were porcelain pale—her Danish blood—but like her friends, Thora had recently become an addict of the tanning salon, and her skin glowed an uncharacteristic burnished gold, with nary a line in sight.
“Kiss them,” she whispered.
He did.
She a made a purring sound deep in her throat, a nearly feline expression of pleasure, and he felt her shift position. While her fingers played in the hair at the back of his neck, he worked delicately but steadily at her nipples. They were infallible sources of arousal, and soon Thora was breathing in shallow rasps. She bent her knees and reached down to see if he was ready. Finding him hard, she unsnapped his pants, then knelt and tried to pull them down. He raised his hips for her, then sat back down.
Without delay Thora lifted her gown and sat, wrapping her strong legs around his waist and the chair back. Chris groaned, nearly overcome by her urgency, which he had not experienced in some time. But tonight Thora was the woman he had fallen in love with two years ago, and the power of this incarnation pushed him quickly toward climax. She gazed into his eyes as she rode him, silently urging him on, but at the last moment she planted both feet on the floor and thrust herself up and off him.
“What?” he cried.
“That’s not exactly the ideal position for bringing a new generation into the world,” she said, her eyes teasing him with mock reproach.
“Oh.”
Taking hold of his penis, she pulled him over to the leather sofa, then lay down on her back and motioned for him to mount her. After staring at her long enough to engrave the image in his mind, he did. As Thora whispered lewd encouragements in his ear, the interview with Alex Morse rose inexplicably into his mind. Their conversation had a surreal quality now. Could such a thing be possible? Had someone pretending to be a patient actually lied her way into his office and then accused his wife of murder? And before the fact? It was crazy—
“Now,” Thora told him. “Now, now, now …”
Chris thrust deep and held the contact, letting Thora take herself over the threshold. When she cried out, her nails raking his shoulder blades, he let himself go, and a white glare burned away all ambiguity.
As he came slowly back to the present, Thora strained upward to kiss his lips, then fell back, sweating despite the steady flow of air-conditioning. Chris drew out and lay beside her on the cold leather.
“You can get up if you want to,” she said. “I’m going to stay here a few minutes. Let things take their natural course.”
He laughed. “I’m fine right here.”
“Good answer.”
They lay in silence for a while. Then Thora said, “Is everything all right, Chris?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You seemed distant today. Did something happen at work?”
God, did something happen. “Just the usual.”
“Is