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your symptoms begin?”
    “I don’t know. During lunch my face felt a little numb. I had some trouble with the fork.”
    “So lunch was about an hour ago?”
    “Yes.”
    “Relax,” Anna said. “You should be fine.”
    There was a short window of time to begin fibrinolytic therapy, Anna knew. If Sibley’s symptoms had really started only an hour or so ago, he was still in that window. But what if his symptoms had started earlier?
    Max paced back and forth as far as his phone cord would stretch. He checked his watch. Only five minutes had passed. Several employees began casually loitering outside of Mr. Blackman’s office, peering at the scene through the open blinds. Matthew, too curious to restrain himself, knocked on the door and stepped inside.
    “Goddamn it, where is the ambulance?” Blackman shouted.
    “Max, you need to chill out,” Anna said, “or we’ll be sending two people to the hospital.”
    “Is everything all right?” Matthew asked.
    “Matthew, go outside and wait for the ambulance. I don’t want the paramedics to get lost on the way up,” Blackman said. Nothing about Blackman’s tone invited further questions.
    The EMTs arrived in the office, checked Harold Sibley’s vitals, and put him on a gurney. Max and Anna followed them out, Anna reporting the onset and duration of symptoms and her findings on physical exam. When they reached the ambulance, Max said to Anna, “Go with them. Make sure he gets the best doctor and the best course of treatment. I’ll take my car and meet you there.”
    Through his office window, Matthew watched Anna climb into the ambulance.
     
    A few hours later, Anna and Mr. Blackman returned to the office. The steady soundtrack of gossip and conjecture quieted upon their arrival, but questions remained, nonetheless. Matthew had more than anyone. Did Anna know Mr. Sibley? Why did she call Blackman by his first name, and where did that familiarity come from?
    “Harold is going to be fine,” Mr. Blackman said to the throng of employees who had congregated in the hall. “Back to work.”
    Anna headed over to her desk, but Mr. Blackman called to her from the doorway of his office. Matthew carefully observed them through his open door.
    Max Blackman placed his index and middle fingers on his carotid artery. Anna walked over to him, pulled his hand away from his neck, and took his wrist in her hand. She checked her watch, taking his pulse. One hundred beats per minute, a little fast, but she could feel it slowing down.
    “You might consider going for a walk now and again. Or cutting back on red meat.”
    “Heard it all before,” he said.
    “I’m sure you have,” she said.
    “Thank you.” Max smiled warmly at Anna and drew her into a close embrace. “You’re doing great. You know that, right?”
    “Right.”
    Anna noticed eyes peering through the slats in his blinds. She pulled away.
    “People will talk,” she said.
    “Let them talk. I don’t care.”
    “I do,” Anna said.
    “So, how are things going with the new guy?” he said, nodding in the general direction of Matthew’s office.
    “Better than with the old guy,” Anna said.
    Max chuckled. “It was fun while it lasted,” he said.
    “I always wondered about that,” Anna said. “Who were you trying to rattle, me or Jeff?”
    “Both, I think,” Blackman said as he strode over to his desk and removed an envelope from the center drawer. He folded it and tucked it into the pocket of Anna’s blazer. “Happy birthday.”
    “I can’t accept this.”
    “You will or I’ll fire you.”
    “I never should have taken this job.”
    “But you did,” Blackman said. “Now get back to work.”

2002
    Boston, Massachusetts
     
    “What are you doing here?” the patient asked.
    “I work here,” Anna said. “Do you know where you are?”
    “I’m in the hospital,” Mrs. Pearl said as she took in her surroundings.
    “We met last night when you were admitted. Do you remember?”
    “I’m sorry. I