Alan Costa said when Houston walked into the emergency room. Costa was seated at a table with a stack of clipboards in front of him, filling out E.R. charts. “We weren’t expecting to see you again for awhile.” “No?” “Say, about three months.” Costa regarded him with open curiosity. “Actually, it’s gotten to where we set our calendar by you—” Houston smiled; it was what Costa always said when they met. Small town humor, he supposed. “—but usually you’re here once and then only for a few hours. We know when you’re coming and we’re on our best behavior, but now you’ve gone and changed your routine, and caught us off guard.” “Things look about normal to me,” Houston said, glancing around. Three of the gurneys were empty; on the fourth, an elderly woman in a lime-colored pantsuit was having her blood pressure taken. “You should have been here earlier; the place was jumping.”
