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Adam into a deep sleep before removing his rib.
    By that point, Fetterman and Carla already knew that their son was going to give them trouble. What they didn’t know, what they had no way of knowing, was that the rebellion and the acute pain of adolescence would pass, but that the fascination with medicine would endure; that their son would go on to become a doctor, who in the course of his lifetime would help bring thousands ofpeople out of their suffering. On the way to the hospital, Fetterman had turned to his wife. “Is that true, about the anesthesia wearing off?” he said. “It’s extremely rare,” Carla said.
    As they drew close to home, on the narrow stretch of 117, at almost the exact spot where they’d passed the deer before, they came upon a dead deer in the road. Fetterman pulled over and put on his hazards. He got out of the car and grabbed the animal by its legs, but he was weak, and the deer was heavier than he’d expected. “Help me,” he said to Derek. Derek took the front legs and Fetterman took the rear, and together they began to drag the deer to the shoulder. Halfway there, Derek stopped.
    â€œShe’s still alive,” he said.
    â€œThat doesn’t matter!” Fetterman snapped. It was dangerous to be standing in the middle of the road, in the dark, just ahead of a curve. “Help me get her across.”
    From the safety of the side of the road, Fetterman could see that his son was right: The limbs were supple and freighted with life; the eyes still had light in them. But the body was broken. In the distance, he could hear coyotes’ yips and yowls. Derek was waiting for him to speak.
    â€œGet the gun,” Fetterman said, handing him the keys. Derek obeyed, and a moment later, Fetterman was holding the weapon. Derek knelt beside the wounded animal, staring into its face as if he recognized something. Then he stood back. Fetterman had never fired a gun before. He placed the muzzle between the doe’s brown eyes, braced himself, and pulled the trigger.

GOOD IN A CRISIS

    At night, for an hour before going to sleep, Ginny read the personal ads. Not because she was looking for a lover, but because she was mesmerized by the language people chose to describe themselves. She found herself underlining standout lines by women and men, old and young.
Platinum frequent flier, phenomenal legs, does museums in two hours max
wrote a thirty-six-year-old businesswoman.
Generally a barrel of laughs when not contemplating thoughts of an untimely death
quipped a fortysomething filmmaker. Ginny also enjoyed
Capable of holding entire conversations with answering machines
, and
Rides badly, speaks three foreign languages badly, cooks badly, but does all with vigor & enthusiasm
. She sometimes thought of pairing up two ads with each other:
Zero maintenance
having sushi with
Non-needy seeks other non-needy
. Her affection was stirred by the fellow who claimed to
appreciate all manner of candor
—he was seeking a mate with
poise, wit, and joie de vivre. Thereis no such thing as too much information
, another singleton declared. Ginny laughed; she loved that. Her friends found the personals to be categorically depressing, but Ginny had developed a near-obsessive fascination with them, and found in them a source of hope both mundane and profound.
Still trying to chance upon a unified theory of everything, but in the meantime, searching for a soul who is wildly intelligent and in possession of some sadness
. This from an eighty-year-old retired physics professor, who sounded like a winner to Ginny, in spite of the forty-five-year age difference. But by far her favorites were three of the simplest:
Adventuresome, liberal, hair; Got dog?;
and
Good in a crisis
.
    Ginny was in no way looking for a mate herself. She described herself as happily married to the single life, and didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s socks or chicken dinners. If she