A quick visual sweep of the sitting area confirmed that Leona had yet to emerge from the women's side. Craig wasn't surprised. Along with a relative lack of reserve, punctuality was not one of her strong points. He took a seat, perfectly content to watch the parade of attractive people coming and going. Six months ago, in a similar circumstance he would have felt like the odd man out. Now he felt entirely at ease, but no sooner had he gotten comfortable than Leona appeared, coming through the women's locker room door.
Just as he had critically regarded himself a few minutes earlier, Craig gave Leona a quick once-over. The workouts were benefiting her as well, though, due to her comparative youth, she'd been firm, rosy-cheeked, and shapely from the start. As she drew near, he could appreciate that she was an attractive as well as a high-spirited and headstrong young woman. Her main handicap from Craig's perspective was her Revere, Massachusetts, accent and syntax. Particularly grating was her tendency to pronounce every word ending in an "er" as if it ended in a short but harsh "a." Believing he had her interests at heart, Craig had tried to call her attention to her habit with the hope of getting her to change, but she'd reacted angrily, venomously accusing him of being an Ivy League elitist. So Craig had wisely given up. Over time, his ear had acclimated to a degree, and in the heat of the night he really didn't care whether she had an accent.
"How was your workout?" Craig asked, getting to his feet.
"Terrific," Leona responded. "Better than usual."
Craig winced. The accent on terrific was on the first syllable instead of the second, and better came out as "beddah." As they walked to the elevator, he resisted the urge to comment by tuning her out. While she carried on about her workout and why he should try both Pilates and yoga, he contentedly mused about the upcoming evening and what a pleasant day it had been so far. That morning at the office he'd seen twelve patients: not too many and not too few. There had been no rushing frantically from one exam room to another, which was the usual course of events at his old practice.
Over the months he and Marlene, his matronly main secretary and receptionist, had developed a system of scheduling patients according to each patient's need, based on the diagnosis and the individual's personality. The shortest visits were fifteen minutes for rapid, return-visit checkups with compliant and knowledgeable patients, and the longest was one and a half hours. The hour-plus visits were generally for new patients with known and serious medical problems. Healthy new patients were scheduled from forty-five minutes to one hour, depending on age and seriousness of the complaints. If an unexpected problem developed during the course of the day, such as an unscheduled patient needing to be seen or Craig having to go over to the hospital, which hadn't happened that day, Marlene would call the upcoming patients to reschedule if possible and appropriate.
As a consequence, it was rare for people to wait in Craig's office, and equally rare for him to suffer the anxiety of being behind and trying to catch up. It was a civilized way to practice medicine and far better for everyone. Nowadays, Craig actually liked going to the office. It was the kind of medicine he'd imagined when he'd dreamed of becoming a doctor. The only slight bugaboo in what was otherwise a near-perfect situation was that it had not been possible to keep all aspects of his relationship with Leona a secret. Suspicions were rampant and made worse by Leona's youth and willfulness. Consequently Craig had to weather an undercurrent of disapproval from Marlene and his nurse, Darlene, as well as observe their resentful and passive-aggressive behavior toward Leona.
"You're not listening to me!" Leona complained irritably. She leaned forward to glare at Craig. Both had been facing the elevator doors as they descended to the parking garage.
"Of course I am," Craig lied. He smiled, but Leona's mercurial petulance wasn't assuaged.
The elevator doors opened on the valet-parking floor, and Leona stalked out to join a half-dozen people waiting for their vehicles. Craig followed a few steps behind. Relatively wide swings of emotion were a trait of Leona's that Craig was not fond of, but they were generally quick if he just ignored them. Had he slipped a few minutes earlier up in the lobby and called attention to her accent, it would have been a different story. The previous and only time he'd made such a comment had caused a two-day snit.
Craig gave his parking stub to one of the attendants.
"Red Porsche coming right up, Dr. Bowman," the attendant said while touching the peak of his cap with his index finger in a form of salute. He sprinted away.
Craig smiled inwardly. He was proud that he had what he considered the sexiest car in the garage and the antithesis of the Volvo station wagon he'd had in his previous life. Craig imagined that those waiting around him for their cars would be duly impressed. The parking attendants obviously were impressed, as evidenced by their always parking his vehicle close to the valet stand.
"If I seem a little distant," Craig whispered to Leona, "it's because I'm looking forward to our evening: all of it." He winked suggestively.
Leona regarded him with one eyebrow raised, indicating she was only partially placated. The reality was that she demanded full attention a hundred percent of the time.
At the same moment that Craig heard the familiar whine and roar of his car engine starting somewhere nearby, he also heard his name called out from behind him. What caught his attention particularly was that his middle initial, M, had been included. Few people knew his middle initial, and fewer still knew that it stood for Mason, his mother's maiden name. Craig turned, expecting to see a patient or perhaps a colleague or an old schoolmate. Instead, he saw a stranger approach. The man was a handsome African American, quick-moving, intelligent-appearing, and approximately Craig's age. For a moment, Craig thought he was a teammate from that afternoon's three-on-three basketball marathon who wanted to gloat anew over that afternoon's victories.
"Doctor Craig M. Bowman?" the man questioned again as he stepped directly up to Craig.
"Yes?" Craig said with a questioning nod. He was still trying to place the individual. He wasn't one of the basketball players. Nor was he a patient or a schoolmate. Craig tried to associate him with the hospital, but he couldn't.
The man responded by placing a large, sealed envelope in Craig's hand. Craig looked at it. His name along with his middle initial was typed on the front. Before Craig could respond, the man turned on his heel and managed to catch the elevator he'd arrived in before the doors had had a chance to close. The man was gone. The transaction had taken only seconds.
"What'd you get?" Leona asked.
"I haven't the slightest idea," Craig said. He looked back down at the envelope and got his first inkling of trouble. Printed in the upper corner was: Superior Court, Suffolk County, Massachusetts.
"Well?" Leona questioned. "Aren't you going to open it?"
"I'm not sure I want to," Craig said, although he knew he would have to sooner or later. Craig's eyes scanned the people grouped around him, waiting for their cars. A number were curiously looking at him after having witnessed the encounter.
As the valet pulled Craig's Porsche up to the stand and got out, holding the driver's-side door ajar, Craig worked his thumb under the envelope's flap and tore it open. He could feel his pulse quicken as he pulled out the contents. He was holding a dog-eared sheaf of papers stapled together.
"Well?" Leona repeated with concern. She could see Craig's exercise-induced ruddiness perceptively fade.
Craig's eyes lifted and locked onto Leona's. They reflected an intensity Leona had not seen. She couldn't tell if it was from confusion or disbelief, yet it was clearly shock. For a few beats, Craig seemed paralyzed. He didn't even breathe.