Duma Key

"If it didn't I'd be worried." He let go. "Look at the eye-chart again, all right?"

I did as he asked, and decided that all-important seventh line was AGOCSEO. Which made more sense because it made no sense.

"How many fingers am I touching you with, Edgar?"

"Don't know." It didn't feel like he was touching me at all.

"Now?"

"Don't know."

"And now."

"Three." He was almost up to my collarbone. And I had an idea - crazy but very strong - that I would have been able to feel his fingers everywhere on the stump if I'd been in one of my painting frenzies. In fact, I would have been able to feel his fingers in the air below the stump. And I think he would have been able to feel me... which would no doubt have caused the good doctor to run screaming from the room.

He went on - first to my leg, then my head. He listened to my heart, looked into my eyes, and did a bunch of other doctorly things. When he'd exhausted most of the possibilities, he told me to get dressed and meet him at the end of the hall.

This turned out to be a pleasantly littered little office. Hadlock sat behind the desk and leaned back in his chair. There were pictures on one wall. Some, I assumed, were of the doctor's family, but there were also shots of him shaking hands with George Bush the First and Maury Povich (intellectual equals, in my book), and one of him with an amazingly vigorous and pretty Elizabeth Eastlake. They were holding tennis rackets, and I recognized the court. It was the one at El Palacio.

"I imagine you'd like to get back to Duma and get off that hip, wouldn't you?" Hadlock asked. "Must hurt by this time of the day, and I bet it's all three witches from Macbeth when the weather's damp. If you want a prescription for Percocet or Vicodin-"

"No, I'm fine with the aspirin," I said. I'd labored to get off the hard stuff and wasn't going back on it at this point, pain or no pain.

"Your recovery is remarkable," Hadlock said. "I don't think you need me to tell you how lucky you are not to be in a wheelchair for the rest of your life, very likely steering yourself around by blowing into a straw."

"I'm lucky to be alive at all," I said. "Can I can assume you didn't find anything dire?"

"Pending blood and urine, I'd say you're good to go. I'm happy to order X-rays on your rightside injuries and your head, if you've got symptoms that concern you, but-"

"I don't." I had symptoms, and they concerned me, but I didn't think X-rays would pinpoint the cause. Or causes.

He nodded. "The reason I went over your stump so carefully was because you don't wear a prosthesis. I thought you might be experiencing tenderness. Or there might be signs of infection. But all seems well."

"I guess I'm just not ready."

"That's fine. More than fine. Considering the work you're doing, I'd have to say 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it' applies here. Your paintings... remarkable. I can't wait to see them on display at the Scoto. I'm bringing my wife. She's very excited."

"That's great," I said. "Thank you." This sounded limp, at least to my own ears, but I still hadn't figured out how to respond to such compliments.

"Having you turn up as an actual paying tenant at Salmon Point is sad and ironic," Hadlock said. "For years - you might know this - Elizabeth reserved that house as an artist's retreat. Then she became ill and allowed it to be listed as just another rental property, although she did insist that whoever took it would have to lease it for three months or longer. She didn't want any Spring Breakers partying in there. Not where Salvador Dal and James Bama once laid down their storied heads."

"I can't say that I blame her. It's a special place."

"Yes, but few of the famous artists who stayed there did anything special. Then the second 'regular' tenant comes along - a building contractor from Minneapolis recovering from an accident, and... well. Elizabeth must be very gratified."

"In the building biz, we called that laying it on with a trowel, Dr. Hadlock."

"Gene," he said. "And the people who were at your lecture didn't think so. You were marvelous. I only wish Elizabeth could have been there. How she would have preened."

"Maybe she'll make the opening."

Very slowly, Gene Hadlock shook his head. "I doubt that. She's fought the Alzheimer's tooth and nail, but there comes a time when the disease simply wins. Not because the patient is weak but because it's a physical condition, like MS. Or cancer. Once the symptoms begin to manifest, usually as a loss of short-term memory, a clock begins to run. I think Elizabeth's time may be up, and I'm very sorry. It's clear to me, I think it was clear to everyone at the lecture, that all this fuss makes you uncomfortable-"

"You can say that again."

" - but if she'd been there, she would have enjoyed it for you. I've known her most of my life, and I can tell you she would have supervised everything, including the hanging of each and every picture in the gallery."

"I wish I'd known her then," I said.