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the story of how the wonderful Dr. Dean saved my only son from hideous death?”
    “He probably would have been able to cough it up on his own,” Jared mumbled.
    “Please tell me,” Kara said politely.
    “It’s not that big a deal,” Jared protested.
    Ishiguro ignored him. “There he was, my poor Yoshi, gagging and turning blue and staggering and we pounded on his back and prayed an ambulance would come, when Dr. Dean leaped from his chair, over the table—”
    “I did not .”
    “—and with a squeeze of his mighty arms—”
    “For God’s sake.”
    “—forced the offending fish from my son’s throat. Ah! He breathed, he lived, he is first in his class at Harvard Business, he is married and his lovely wife is pregnant with my first grandchild.” Ishiguro stopped and looked at Jared admiringly. “All because of Dr. Dean. So.”
    Kara looked at Jared. “I’m betting lunch is on the house.”
    Jared nodded unhappily. “Come on, Ish, you’ve given me enough free meals, you’ve probably cost yourself a thousand bucks in food…I was glad to help, but I was only doing my job, you don’t need to keep giving me—”
    Ishiguro held up a hand imperiously. When he spoke, his voice was very mild, but his gaze was arctic.
    “Are you suggesting my son’s life is not worth some raw fish and rice?”
    “Uh. No.”
    “Are you suggesting there is no debt between us?”
    Jared sighed. Kara smiled. “Give it up, Jared. Besides, you’re insulting our host.”
    “The lady is wise,” Ishiguro declared, just as the waitress reappeared, carrying a large tray crowded with enticing dishes.
    Ishiguro placed the food himself, clucking over them like a hen with two chicks, making sure the temperature of the food was exactly right…Kara waited for him to tie a napkin around Jared’s neck and start hand-feeding him, but he didn’t go that far. And then, finally, he left them to their food.
    Kara had to laugh. Poor Jared looked so embarrassed, she almost felt sorry for him. “No wonder you didn’t want to come in here,” she said, digging into her chawanmushi, a delicately flavored custard crammed with seafood and mushrooms.

    “It’s not just the fuss he makes,” Jared confessed in a low voice. “I swear, he loses money every time I come in. Then, I avoid the place for a few months and his feelings are hurt…it’s kind of a mess.”
    “That will teach you to save lives, you bastard,” she said solemnly and they both laughed.
    They had barely begun their meal when Jared’s pager went off. He sighed, swallowed and unclipped his pager for a quick glance. “I’ve got to go back to the hospital,” he said. “Let me call you a cab.”
    “I’m coming with you,” she said, tossing her napkin on the table.
    “No, Kara, stay here and enjoy the food, you—”
    “This isn’t a date, Jared,” she reminded him coolly, though she’d had trouble remembering that fact herself. “I’m sticking close for the next few days. Besides, it’s not hard to get your pager number. For all you know, this is a trick. I’m coming with you.”
    He looked pleased. She had no idea why. “Okay. I’ll call us both a cab.” They stood and, as Ishiguro approached, he waved his pager at the restaurant owner. “Gotta run, Ish. Everything was fabulous. I’m sorry we couldn’t finish.”
    “That’s quite all right, Dr. Dean. I hope you’ll stop back later for dinner.” He shook Jared’s hand, then beamed with surprised delight when Kara bowed. She did it out of a perverse, continual need to prove her late sensei, a man similar to Ishiguro in looks but quite dissimilar in temperament—wrong. He’d told her once, when she was very small, that Americans bowed like cows danced. She’d spent as much time trying to perfect her bow as she had trying to perfect her defensive techniques.
    Ishiguro, smiling, returned her bow and they left.

    * * * * *

    At the hospital, she watched Jared work and was impressed all over again. He