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Leigh. "Can we bring you more tea, Teke?" Teke managed a weak smile but shook her head.
    J.D. watched Jon and Leigh leave, then slipped his hands into his pockets and looked around. Everything in sight was either stark white or metal, neat as a pin, cold, and sterile. He hated it, which was interesting. Michael's room at home was colorfully loud and forever messy, and J.D. hated that, too. Or so he had always thought. In comparison with this, the image wasn't so bad.
    "Did my parents say anything?" he asked Teke.
    "Hello and good-bye," she said quietly.
    "They don't handle illness well." He scanned the bank of machines at the head of the bed. "Has Gardner been back?" She shook her head.
    "There's a doctor at the Mayo Clinic named Henry Finch. He's the best in the country for head injuries. I'm bringing him in." Teke looked up. "Don't you trust Bill Gardner?"
    "Trust has nothing to do with it. It's common sense. Two heads are better than one. Besides, Gardner isn't brimming with ideas." Sam wandered in. "How's he doing?"
    "The same," J.D. said, then brightened. "I just talked with the office. The media wants you."
    "They'll hold."
    "Too long and they'll cool off. The story's hot now."
    "No matter." Sam looked at Teke. "Are you okay?" She nodded. He wandered back out.
    J.D. was beginning to sense something surreal about the scene. Sam's lack of spirit, Teke's inactivity, Michael's unconsciousness--all were out of character. The accident itself was out of character. The Maxwell children were healthy and well cared for. They weren't hit by trucks and left lying unconscious in the street.
    "This doesn't make sense," he muttered. "Why did he run into the house, then run right back out? Where were you?"
    Teke swallowed. "The living room."
    "Right there when he came in the front door." It didn't make sense.
    "How could he not see you?"
    "He may have," she said, sounding desperate. "I just don't know, J.D. I don't know what he saw."
    You should know, he thought. You're his mother. He took a tempering breath and released it slowly. "It's getting dark. Are you hungry?" She shook her head. Her eyes were on Michael.
    J.D. hadn't eaten lunch. "The kids must be hungry," he said.
    "You take them to dinner. I'll stay here in case there's any change."
    "Maybe I should, too. The kids can go out and bring something back."
    "No. You go with them. They'll feel better if you do." It struck him that he would, too. He was no help to Michael here. He had to do something. "Where should I take them?" She shrugged. "I don't know."
    "Well, neither do I," he barked. Meals were Teke's responsibility, not his. She cooked dinner, or she made reservations at a restaurant. She knew he hated making domestic decisions. "Where's there to eat around here?"
    She gave him a bewildered look. "You would know that more than I. You work here."
    "I work on the other side of town," he snapped. "What do the kids like?"
    "Whatever you want."
    "I'll let Sam and Annie decide. They have to eat, too. We'll be back after dinner."
    "Not for too long. The kids need sleep. Take them home with you. I'm staying here."
    "I'll stay, too."
    "They need you at home. They're upset."
    J.D. wasn't sure he could do anything about that. The girls were apt to talk out their fears with Teke, Annie, or Sam before they did it with him. He wasn't good at discussing feelings. What he was good at was negotiating mergers, executing estates, and writing contracts, not at holding hands, drying tears, and trying to explain things that had no explanation.
    He had a quick, horrible image of dirty laundry,
    unmade beds, and breakfast dishes in the sink--not Teke's style, but he didn't know how much she had done before Michael had been hurt. "Is there much to do at home?"
    "Everything's done," she said. He was feeling momentarily relieved when she made a small, wrenching sound. "All done this morning. So long ago. Oh, God, if only I had--" She broke off.
    "If only you had what?" J.D. asked.
    She shook her