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it around him, strokes the hair from his face gently. Martin caves. He loves the softer side of John.
    “I need some things from the clinic. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” And John gets up from the bed, hesitates only a moment for Kate to step aside then exits the guestroom.
    Martin turns to Kate now standing in the hallway. “Come in. Come in. Sit down. You must be exhausted. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Good. I’m Martin Risner.” He extends his hand to her from where he stands near the bed so she’ll have to come into the room to shake it.
    She does, hesitates before crossing the threshold and planting herself next to the Deco dresser before shaking Martin’s hand. “Kate McConnell.” Her eyes fill again and she looks back down at James as her tears fall. “I’m real sorry about your friend.”
    “Thank you for helping him, bringing him here.”
    Her hand covers her mouth. She inhales sharply, her entire body trembles as she pulls her hair back then wipes her eyes and nose on her sleeve. “I did this. It’s my fault. I didn’t see his car. The accident was my fault. There’s no way he could have stopped.” She takes a quivering breath. “I’m really so very sorry.” She never takes her eyes off James.
    “Hang on a minute, girl. Kate, right?”
    She nods.
    “Hey. That’s why they call it an accident ,” Martin assures her. “And accidents happen all the time.”
    She finally looks at him with glassy green eyes.
    “I was high, Mr. Risner. I was coming from an office party and I was totally buzzed.”
    Rage, compassion and regret consume him almost simultaneously, and Martin can’t think of what to say. The only sound in the room is James’ labored breathing. Martin flashes back to the memory of the cyclist flying over the hood of his BMW on his way home from yet another drunken Halloween in the Castro, and shame encases him.
    “It was an accident,” he assures her again. “And, please, call me Martin. I may be old enough to be your father, but Mr. Risner is my dad, and the inference is rather... disturbing .” He’s trying to lighten things up but it isn’t working. Kate stares down at James.
    “He is extraordinary looking, isn’t he?” Martin knows it’s catty, especially given the circumstance, but he sees the way she looks at James, like everyone looks at James.
    Kate glances at Martin. Her face flushes.
    “He’s going to be fine, Kate. John will take good care of him.”
    She nods.
    “You didn’t have to bring him here. You could have dropped him at a motel and driven away. But you didn’t. You’ve done all you can to help him. Your conscience should be clear.”
    “Right.” She shakes her head . “He’d be in Tiburon, safe and sound, with his very expensive sports car by now if it weren’t for me.”
    “Maybe.” Martin flashes the faintest smile. “But a mile down the road he may have hit a jackknifed truck and died.”
    Kate looks at him then, gives him a faint smile. “Are you always this philosophical, or are you just trying to make me feel better?”
    “Bit of both.” Martin studies her. “How do you know he was going to Tiburon?”
    “He told me on the way here. He said he was coming from Boston on his way to Tiburon and that he didn’t live anywhere. But I really doubt he’s homeless.”
    “No, James isn’t homeless. At least he didn’t use to be. He has a gorgeous home overlooking Zuma Beach, near L.A. At least, he did. What else did he say to you?”
    “Not much. He was pretty out of it.” She looks back at James. “His car was totaled. Instantly. Then it blew up. God… .”
    “Blew up? With him in it?”
    “No. He’d gotten out by then.”
    “What kind of car was he driving?”
    “A little sports car, a Porsche Spyder I think, like the kind James Dean got killed in. Why?”
    Martin leans back against the dresser, three feet from where Kate stands. “James had a hybrid of some sort. He never owned a Porsche,