two, three minutes after that.'
'In the kitchen, you say?'
'Yes. I thought it was somebody trying to get at her, but maybe it was her trying to signal for help with the fit.'
Eisenberg sighed. 'Probably not. Not consciously, I mean. Was there any water near her?'
'Water?'
'Yes.'
'Doc, she was writhing on the floor like she'd been gutshot. The only water was the faucet running in the sink.'
'And which window was broken?'
'The one over the sink. Why'?'
'Have you seen her much the last few weeks?'
'Yes. Well, no, just a couple of times.'
'How did she seem to you?'
'Pretty tired. Haggard, even.'
'Irritable?'
'Yes. Much more than before she went out to San Diego.'
'Sensitive to breezes or drafts?'
I stared at him. 'Yes.'
'Has she been in any wilderness in the last six months?'
'Wilderness? Not that I know of.'
'Camping? Or maybe on a farm?'
'No.'
'Out of the continental U.S. at all?'
'No. Wait, yes, down to Sint Maarten.'
'Caribbean?'
'Right.'
'When?'
'December into January.'
Eisenberg jotted something on the chart. 'Incubation period is within the brackets. That's a possible, but not likely.'
'What's a possible'?'
'Sorry. A possible source of the infection.'
'What infection?'
'You have to understand, we don't see this anymore, not in cities. I saw it only twice in Brazil, and I don't think there have been six deaths in the whole U.S. over the last – '
'Dr. Eisenberg, what the hell is wrong with her?'
He told me.
'Sweet Jesus of God.'
I lay awake until after midnight Monday, when the effects of the marathon finally overcame everything else. Tuesday morning I got on the phone. First, I called in a favor from a friend at an airline. He patched his computer into four other carriers before finding what I needed to know and making reservations for me too. By Tuesday afternoon my legs were recovered enough to drive south to Providence. I hand-carried Steven O'Brien from counting beans at work to leafing through old clippings at home. Just to be certain.
When I got back to Boston, I dialed Mass General. Paul Eisenberg's voice told me Maisy Andrus had died two hours earlier. That left only one stop more.
'Oh. John.'
Del Wonsley's voice and face both showed surprise in seeing me.
'I was afraid you might not have gotten my message.'
A polite way to ask what the hell had taken me so long.
'Can I come in?'
'Oh, sure. Sorry.'
I stepped over the threshold into a first-level entry, the walls lined with tapestries.
Wonsley said, 'Please, come up.'
We climbed the stairs of the Bay Village town house to a second, living room floor. Two men I'd never seen were there, chatting quietly over cheese and crackers and fruit. The men looked surprised, too, as if they had been expecting Wonsley to bring up someone they knew.
Wonsley introduced us, then said, 'Would you like to see Alec?'
'If I can.'
'I think he'd like that.'
Wonsley led me up another flight to a door off the corridor, then whispered so no one below us or behind the door could hear him.
'Try not to stay too long.'
'How strong is he?'
Wonsley's tongue darted out and back. 'As strong as he'll ever be. Why?'
'I should ask him some things and tell him some things.'
'John, it… it won't matter soon.'
'Tomorrow?'
'I think so. He's asked me to be ready then.'
Wonsley went downstairs, and I opened the door.
The bedroom was dark, just some muted track lighting near the four-poster. Alec's head was framed by the pillows under and behind it. The covers were pulled up close to his chin, the left arm out but with no tubes in it. There was a lot of medicinal stuff on the night table beside him. Small bottles of pills and tablets, the leather case holding some ampules of insulin, a couple of syringes in cellophane blister packs arrayed around it. From two corners I could hear solo piano, a stereo secreted somewhere.
I got close enough to Alec for him to become aware of me.
'John? John, good to see you.'
Much of the hair was gone. Deep pouches under the eyes shaded his cheekbones like a charcoal sketch.
'Alec.'
His hand came up from the comforter a few inches. I took it, felt him squeeze. I squeezed back with a little less pressure.
'Del called you?'
'Yes.'
The wry smile. 'I'm afraid the time for makeup has passed. Something about Maisy?'
He hadn't heard. I thought about what I'd gone there to tell him, thought about how I'd want to spend the time if I were Bacall. Thought about Beth.
I said, 'No, Alec. I came to have that talk.'
His eyes asked the question.
'About life,' I said.
After a short while he drifted off in mid-sentence, breathing pretty steadily. I squeezed his hand one more time and said good-bye.
33
