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stop for fifteen minutes after that. The shouter was escorted out, probably more for his safety. I wontwenty-eight games that year. We didn’t come close to getting into the play-offs, but Chicago is used to losing baseball teams.
    I said to McCutcheon, “I thought I was past all that. The season’s over.”
    “It’s never going to be over as long as you’re alive.”
    I knew that already. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to be reminded of it at that moment. Because you aren’t the one to say something first or you forget the truth in a moment of high emotion doesn’t mean you haven’t thought of it or don’t realize it.
    As he pulled into the circle drive of my building, I said, “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with the rest of my life.”
    “Wallowing in self-pity is probably not a good option. I’d stick with round-the-clock security at least until this is cleared up. It’s more likely to be helpful than pity.”
    “I’m not sure I need a lecture on my response to this whole situation. You’re a guard, not my keeper.”
    “What do you want me to say?”
    I didn’t want to sit and brood. I wanted to hurt someone. Which is how all this mess probably started. Someone wanting to lash out and hurt. Tom would say it’s more complicated than that. He’s always looking for deep psychological motivations and hidden meanings.
    Finally I said, “I want you to tell me that you have a magic formula to make this all go away.”
    “Maybe you should try that self-pity thing for a little longer.”
    I managed a brief smile. “How would the twenty-four-hour-a-day security work?”
    “It’s pricey.”
    “Cost is not the problem.” Before this, security had been easily planned. We’d go over my schedule of public appearances, and people from his firm would be assigned. The number of guards would depend on the venue and how large a crowd was expected.
    He explained, “For today, call whenever you’re ready to go out, I’ll respond immediately. I can have someone ready in half an hour, probably less. If you know the night before, it is easier to assign somebody, but we’re just starting and this is a special case. You have the firm’s number, my private office number, my home number, and my pager number. No matter what time, just call me.”
    “I could get used to hating living like this.” I shook my head. “I’m going to get some sleep.” I got out of the car.
    Just before I entered the private elevator to the penthouse, I looked back at the entrance. McCutcheon was watching me from his Hummer, waiting until I was safely inside.

7
     
    Each time, just before I felt myself finally drifting off to sleep, I’d get flashes of the terror I had witnessed hours before. I don’t remember falling asleep. I woke after maybe three hours in the middle of a nightmare of torn and bleeding people reaching out charred hands for help. The nightmare images still swirling in my mind boded ill for the healing power of sleep. The waking memory of the reality I had seen was equally as frightening.
    I tossed and turned for another hour, vainly trying to nod off again. In addition to the restlessness from the chaos and the fear of the last few hours, I missed Tom’s sleeping next to me. I know I’m on the road half the spring and summer without him, but even then I miss him. When he’s supposed to be there and he’s not, I don’t feel right.
    I called the hospital. There was no change in Tom’s condition. I turned on the noon news on MCT. They had extensive coverage of the bombing. The number of dead was up to thirty-four: fourteen in the clinic, five in the deli, four in aresidential hotel, four in a twenty-four-hour print shop, three in the health club, three passersby, and one person working late in his upscale office on a Saturday night. Hundreds more were injured. They showed extensive pictures of the children injured in the ice cream shop next to the Fattatuchis’ deli. I felt especially sorry for