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why the police would want to question him. But I’d learned a long time ago that every patient has some sad or exciting story to tell, and it was always better to leave those kinds of messy details to the social workers. Sometimes that was hard to do, but whatever had happened before my patient hit that boat dock was no business of mine. I knew better than to get tangled up in it.
    A moment passed, and I continued closing the wound until Tyler let out another big sigh.
    “Do you have brothers and sisters?” he asked. His voice sounded wistful, and I felt my policy of avoidance weakening.
    “No.”
    Actually, I had a couple of stepsisters somewhere, but I didn’t really count them since most of my father’s marriages had been so brief I’d barely had time to sign the guest book before the wives and their dependents were gone. It was better not to get involved in the details of their messy lives either. It kept my life much simpler.
    Tyler crossed his arms over his torso. The gown slipped off his shoulder a little farther, revealing more of that tattoo, but not enough so I could make it out. It was ridiculously tantalizing. This must be how men feel when they see cleavage.
    “Well, I have a couple of each,” he said. “And it’s a lot of work keeping them out of trouble.”
    My hand paused, my mind processed. I shouldn’t ask, but I did. “Why is it your job to keep them out of trouble?”
    His chuckle sounded full of resignation rather than good humor. “It just finds us. And that guy in the bathrobe is our stepdad. You think he’s going to keep an eye on them?”
    I wanted to hear more. I did. I wanted to know how my patient ended up being drunk on a Jet Ski on a Tuesday afternoon, and running into a boat dock, and what his brother Scotty had to do with it, and why his siblings were his responsibility, but I looked up at the clock on the wall, and it read 6:40 p.m. I was going to be incredibly late meeting my parents, and if left alone, they’d probably take to puncturing each other with steak knives.
    This conversation with Tyler Connelly wouldn’t help me get his laceration sewn up, and that was my primary responsibility. Technically, it was my only responsibility. And besides, hearing more would only draw me in further, an emotional complication better left unexplored. I remained silent and continued suturing.
    After a moment, he closed his eyes and sighed again. “How long have you been at this?”
    I gave the stitch a little tug. “About forty minutes, but I’m almost finished.”
    Now his chuckle was amused. “I meant how long have you been a doctor?”
    “Oh.” I smiled, though he couldn’t see me. “A while.”
    “It can’t be much of a while. You look awfully young. Which birthday is this today?”
    I had no intention of answering that. But it was nice to hear I at least looked young. “Mr. Connelly, I need you to stop talking and keep your jaw still, please. I’m nearly finished.”
    A voice penetrated through the general din of the department, deep and authoritative. A few seconds passed, the curtain slid aside, and an imposing mass of navy blue appeared in my field of vision. I looked up to see a behemoth of a police officer standing on the other side of the stretcher. Next to him stood a second burly cop, with thick forearms and mirrored sunglasses.
    “Tyler Connelly?” The bigger policeman stared down at my symmetrically gifted patient.
    Tyler opened his eyes again.
    “Is there a problem, Officers?” I said. I had the most spontaneous compulsion to tell them Tyler Connelly had just run out the back door. But since he was lying on the stretcher between us, I didn’t think they’d be fooled. Besides, if the police wanted to talk to my patient, they probably had just cause, while I had no explicable reason to feel protective.
    “I’m Tyler Connelly,” he answered without a hint of hesitation.
    “Tyler Connelly, you’re under arrest for grand larceny of a stolen Jet Ski and