EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, our front doorbell rang. When I answered, I found Roger standing on our stoop in a light jacket, khaki trousers, and hiking shoes. Sara had gone for a run with Melody Seward. I’d just gotten a pot of coffee going. Roger had one hand in his jacket pocket, a steel thermal mug in the other. “Morning,” he said. “Roger.” “Doc, I believe I owe you an apology.” After coming home the night before, I’d ranted to Sara for half an hour. She’d listened patiently, nodded along, and finally suggested that perhaps I was overreacting. Maybe she’d been right. Either way, I didn’t have the energy for a snit with a neighbor. “Listen, forget it.” I waved my hand. “I guess I’m a little touchy lately. Sara would tell you the same. No hard feelings.” “Well, I didn’t like the way we left things. Wanted to come by and tell you that before the sun got too high.” “Come on in.” “Actually, I was just heading out for a walk,” he said. “Thought I’d see if you’d mind keeping me company.”
