From his place near Lucas, Jeff had been scanning the crowd when he saw a young man near the stage who wasn't gyrating to the music as the others around him were. The man was simply staring at the band onstage. Chertov moved quickly toward the man, arriving at his side just as the man raised the pistol and pulled the trigger. The shot went slightly errant because Jeff managed to push the shooter's arm upward and to the left at the last second. The screaming and crying of the audience and the shouts of the shooter faded in Jeff's ear as he kept the shooter's arm pointed upward and acted quickly to end the threat. Using his Glock in the crowd close to the stage wasn't an option, so he drew his fixed blade and sliced across the wrist of the arm holding the gun. The flexor tendons at his wrist severed, the assailant couldn't hold the pistol, which fell to the ground. Before the man could cry out, Jeff had brought the bleeding arm down rotating it elbow up and destroying the joint. Now the assailant screamed in pain as two deputies reached the struggle and took control of the man and his weapon while rendering first aid. Jeff drew his Glock and immediately tried to locate Lucas in the crowd, finally seeing him on the stage next to Sam's supine form. Sam's uncle, Jonathan, was also at the boy's side in full emergency-physician mode.
Chertov stepped around and over people, telling them to stay down before he leaped onto the stage. By this time, Jonathan was using Marshall's shirt on the bleeding wound while using his right thumb in the supraclavicular fossa to compress the subclavian artery to control the bleeding from Sam's shoulder. Jeff knelt at Sam's left side next to Lucas and felt for a pulse in Sam's left wrist. Jon looked over at him and said, "Axillary artery. You don't have any Prolene handy?"
"No." Jeff looked around and then holstered his Glock. Lucas was obviously shaken and absolutely quiet. Jerry was behind him with arms around his husband's shoulders, his tears dropping on Lucas's back. The visitors were trying to comfort Marshall and JT, restraining them from moving closer to Sam. Jamie held JT, and Jeff was heartened to see Ray comforting Markie while Vince and Mathew held Marshall. When Jeff glanced to the space in front of the stage, he saw the other adults of the clan, with Vee leaning back on Annie.
Jason shouted to his husband. "You need me?"
Jonathan answered, "Take over pressure on the wound." Then to Jeff he said, "I'll need to keep digital pressure on the artery when we move him. Jason will keep direct pressure on the GSW."
The sirens of more sheriff's cruisers and the ambulance were clear now. Jeff forced recrimination from his mind as he saw the pallor in Sam's face and felt the boy's rapid pulse at his left wrist. Jonathan saw the anguish in Jeff's face, and said gently, "He'll make it if we can get him to OHSU or Emanuel quickly. You need to make sure that Life Flight is on the way now."
Sheriff's deputies were herding people from the field to an area where they could be interviewed. In ten minutes, the field was clear, and the volunteer fire department was setting up a landing zone for the helicopter. Paramedics had reached Sam's side, and Jonathan introduced himself, explaining that he was a pediatric emergency physician. "Do you want Ringer's, Doc?"
"No, but get a large-bore IV, preferably a 14 in his left arm. Infuse 300 milliliters of hetastarch if you have it followed by a KVO drip of normal saline, or start a KVO drip with normal saline if you don't have the hetastarch. No more than 300 milliliters; are you clear on the order?"
As they started the IV, the lead medic said, "Yes on the order. Life Flight's ten minutes out; SO requested them right after the shooting." Jonathan appreciated the efficiency of the Sheriff's Office.
Jonathan would work with the flight nurse when they arrived. He would fly with them. Jason was still holding pressure on the wound, and Jim had taken Lucas and Jerry to the side. "We should get on the road to Portland. They'll be at OHSU long before we get there." Jim felt their desire to stay at their son's side. "You can't do anything here. We need to get to the trauma center as soon as we can." Before he spirited the fathers away to the car, Jim saw Lucas bend down to whisper in Sam's ear, "You're all I'm thinking about now." Jeff accompanied Sam's fathers and grandfather.
#
Sam was looking up into an almost clear sky, and despite the bright sun, he felt cold. He was lying in waist-high grass and could vaguely hear a helicopter in the distance coming closer. He had no idea where he was. The pain in his right shoulder and arm was worse than any he had previously experienced. Trying to lift his arm was impossible; he felt as if a claw was holding his right shoulder, and he couldn't sit up. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard OD say, "You're all I'm thinking about now." He felt tears come, and then the noise of the helicopter overtook his attention. As he turned his head, he saw one of the military helicopters he had seen in movies about fighting in Viet Nam. The bird came in a tightening spiral then hovered momentarily slightly above the tops of the grass before settling on the ground, whipping the grass about. He looked up again and saw a second helicopter circling overhead with a machine gun sticking out of the open side door. Sam heard a shout and looked at the helicopter on the ground; he saw soldiers dropping into the grass and spreading out to form a circle around the copter and him. The last man out was a strikingly handsome, slender soldier who came to his side. The man had captain's bars on his collar and blood soaking through his shirt. Sam was about to ask what was happening when he recognized the man. "Mr. Marshall?"
"Quiet, young man. Your grandfather asked me to get you."
Thinking of the concert, Sam said, "Grampa's here with us."
"No, the other one."
"Oh." Sam suddenly thought that he must be dead. Reaching to touch his namesake's shirt he whispered, "You're hurt."
"We're all hurt in some way, but we have responsibilities."
Then Sam's shoulder screamed as he was placed in the helicopter, which lifted off as soon as it recovered the soldiers. The last thing he saw before the scene faded to blackness was Sam Marshall on a stretcher beside him. He was old now, as he was in the photographs young Sam had seen in his grandfather's study. The old man looked at Sam and said, "Sometimes they … we … bring the fight to children. You'll survive."
#
Jonathan thought the fact that Sam winced slightly when he was lifted to the stretcher before being loaded in the chopper was a good sign as were the tears he saw draining from the boy's eyes. He had briefly explained the nature of the injury and how he was controlling the bleeding to the flight nurse. He wasn't about to relinquish his hold on his nephew's shoulder. The flight took only 35 minutes, and the boy's vital signs deteriorated only slowly during the journey. Sam was clearly suffering severe blood loss, but his uncle's efforts had slowed the bleeding. As they moved from the helipad into the ED, a resident trauma surgeon and an anesthesiologist met them. The resident recognized Jonathan from a seminar he had attended during his training at UW.
Jonathan began the report, "This is an almost-fourteen-year-old boy with a single, large caliber GSW to the right shoulder from a handgun. No exit wound. I believe the bullet tore the proximal axillary artery. I'm compressing the subclavian and think I've controlled but not stopped the bleeding. His pulse is 150, resps are 30, capillary refill is two and a half seconds, I didn't bother with a BP. He doesn't answer questions but reacts to pain. Pupils are equal, round, and react to light. My husband couldn't find a radial pulse on the side of the injury. No meds, no allergies, no significant medical history. Blood type A-positive. He's had 300 milliliters of hetastarch. That was my call, not the medics'. His grandfather is Jim Underhill."
The surgeon decided to take the boy directly to the operating theater. A senior trauma surgeon and his team had already scrubbed and were ready. Jonathan was careful not to contaminate any of the sterile fields set up around the table as the team moved Sam. He told the surgeon, "When I let go, you'd better be ready for a fountain."
The surgery and blood replacement took almost two hours. When he had completed them, the senior trauma surgeon let Jonathan review his surgical notes. Sam's Uncle read past the patient description and anesthesia notes to the Findings section.
The .45 caliber jacketed hollow-point bullet had torn proximal r. axillary a., passed through the apex of the r. lung, and lodged against the anterior r. scapula producing a non-displaced linear fracture. Exploration of the wound channel revealed contusion and edema of the neurovascular bundle supplying the r. extremity. Some tearing of the r. pectoralis major was noted.
In the Procedure Details section the vascular and trauma surgeons detailed bleeding control, the debridement of the wound, and the repairs to the blood vessel and the muscle. Sam was in the recovery room with a gram of the antibiotic Cefazolin dripping into a vein.
All in all, Sam came through the surgery well, discounting the myriad post-surgical complications that might develop after major surgery — among them infection, clotting disorders, and reactions to anesthesia. The one thing the surgeons couldn't explain was the boy's prolonged loss of consciousness, although hemorrhagic shock could shut down a brain.
#
"Sit down, Sam."
The voice came from a man Sam immediately knew. "Grampa Tom?"
"Bet you never thought you and I would get to talk again. So, how are things going with Markie?"
"You know about Markie?"
"Think about what Frank told you." The boy was confused. "In the car … about dreams."
"Oh yeah. All the characters in my dreams are parts of me. Is this a dream?"
"Can't help you there."
Sam and his grandfather were in Tom's office at Grampa's house. The boy took a seat at the side of the old desk. "I saw Sam Marshall. He told me you sent him."
"I don't remember doing that. Sam's dead, you know."
"Maybe I am, too."
His grandfather reached out and ruffled his hair. "I don't think dead people dream."
"What was it like when you died?"
"No idea."
"Aren't you supposed to tell me important stuff?"
"What do you need to know?"
"Is OD going to die?"
"Yes. But we all die."
"I mean soon."
"Don't know. Do you know what the most important part of Lucas's life is?"
"Math."
"Oh my, no. You are — and Jerry."
"I don't think so."
"I'm telling you, and in some way you do know, and you're right. The man uses his career to satisfy an obligation to Sam Marshall and his responsibility to his talents. You and your father are the nourishment in his life. I wish you could have known him when he was your age."
"Me, too."
"Obviously."
"I don't think I'll find my way if OD dies soon."
"Finding your way is like taking the next breath; it doesn't require a decision. Lucas found his way after Sam Marshall died, and you'll find yours. Now what's going on with Markie?"
"Love sucks."
"Tell me about it." His grandfather gave him a warm smile. "You worry too much. Go ahead and tell her. She knows you're not a stalker, and she has the same fears you do. Neither of you wants to lose yourself in the other. Talk to your aunt about that."
"Did you really write my book?"
"Sure did. Here," he said reaching on his shelf for a large volume with The Book of Samuel emblazoned in gold lettering on its front cover. "Sit on my lap and we'll read through it."
Sam moved over to sit in his grandfather's lap. They read about the older generations of his family and then about his encounters with the five elements and about his cousins. The story produced in him the best result of reading or hearing a story: the characters became real in his mind as if he were watching a performance. Sam wanted to get to the end of the story, but before he could ask for the turn to the next page, Sam felt drops of water on his face. He couldn't move his right arm and reached with his left hand to wipe the moisture away. The book faded along with the room, and he opened his eyes to find OD leaning over the rails of a hospital bed, tears dropping from his father's face onto his.
#
Outside the recovery room, the trauma surgeon and the resident had spoken to Jonathan. "Dr. Sumner, I've never seen a more skillful non-surgical attempt at hemostasis. Your nephew would have exsanguinated if you hadn't done what you did. He is one lucky kid."
Thirty minutes later in the recovery room, Sam had opened his eyes for the first time since the shooting. Lucas sniffled and said, "Welcome back. You're in the recovery room; you've had surgery. You'll be moving to a surgical ICU bed in a couple of hours. I love you." Jerry was on the other side of the bed and the Js and his grandfather were behind Jerry. His father broke down, sobbing into Jim's shoulder.
Sam's throat was very sore and he had a bit of trouble swallowing. The next sensation was the need to pee. "Bathroom," he croaked.
Jonathan asked, "Pee or poop?"
"Pee."
"You may feel like you have to go, but you have a catheter in your bladder, and the pee will just come out."
Sam started to reach for his penis. Jim laughed and said, "You'll have to wait a while to check that out."
Sam laughed, and his shoulder barked at him. "Fuck, that hurts." Then he was a little embarrassed at his language. OD touched the side of his face and told him, "Anyone who's been shot gets to use that language without penalty."
Sam closed his eyes for a few minutes. When he opened them again, he motioned for his fathers to draw closer. They leaned over his slight body. "I saw Grampa Tom and Sam Marshall. Sam Marshall flew with me in a helicopter. When Grampa read my book to me, Marshall and Vee and JT and you all were there, just like in a movie." Then he had a terrible thought. "Are the others okay?"
OD told him, "You were the only one hurt. I think Jeff saved you, and I know that your uncles saved you."
"I want to go home."
"Soon, Sam," OD said. "You get some rest. Your father and I will stay with you while you sleep. I won't leave you. I promise."
A promise from OD was platinum.
#
After the shooting, the condo high over the Pearl District in Portland had been transformed into a hostel for Sam's cousins, Markie, and the visitors. The adults in the family had been surprised when their guests had asked if they could stay until Sam was out of the hospital.
On his second day post-surgery, Sam had been moved to a private room on the VIP floor as he healed and tried to fit together what had happened at the performance. As Sam's recovery became more certain, the spirits of the kids became lighter. Even Vee, who had subsided into a stony silence, seemed happier.
With Sam out of the ICU, visits were easier, and groups of uncles and aunts, cousins, and the Goldendale visitors all made short visits; Markie sat in his room almost constantly. Sam had finally insisted that OD and Jerry confine their time at the hospital to visiting hours and that they take some time for themselves.
Late on the night before Sam's discharge, Jeff Chertov used his credentials to steal into the room after visiting hours. Sam was awake and smiled at the sight of the young agent.
"First OD and now me. You've been saving us all."
Jeff moved to the bedside and took Sam's left hand. "I came to apologize." Sam's face immediately betrayed confusion. "I wasn't quite fast enough. I didn't think we'd have any problems."
"I don't understand. You stopped him."
"Just not quite soon enough. It never occurred to me that someone would try to hurt children. I was watching out for your father."
"Who was the guy? Was he connected to the other guy you stopped?"
"No. He was a lone wolf, a fundamentalist Christian zealot and not that much older than you. He came from Idaho, and we believe he's the friend of a brother of the guy who tried to shoot your father. He believes he was doing God's work, and he wasn't on our radar screens at all."
"So, he shot a straight kid to hurt my parents and aunt and uncles?"
"He shot a kid saying or singing things he didn't agree with. I hope you won't let this change the way you all live your lives. That's what these idiots want: for you to be frightened about speaking up for what you believe. I have to say that the time I've been with you has been among the best I've spent anywhere. I really think this guy's attack was an aberration — unfortunately not from his convictions — but the fact that you were the target."
Sam smiled and said, "He was an outlier."
Jeff frowned; this kind of outlier was a problem he had a hard time dealing with. "I'll bet you're ready to be out of here."
"Oh, yeah. The catheter's been gone for three days, and everything works, although I will have to learn to switch hands." Jeff laughed at Sam's admission as Sam's face colored.
Jeff nodded his head with a grin and said as he left, "You rest now. I'll see you for the trip back to Goldendale."
Before he dropped into a fitful sleep, Sam tried to figure out whether or not he was scared that someone else would come for him or his family. He decided not to be concerned; OD had taught him not to fret about what he couldn't control.
#
At the end of the week, Sam was wheeled out of OHSU before he climbed out of the wheelchair to board the Tribeca bound for Goldendale. His right arm was in a sling with an elastic swath to keep it close to his chest. On the brief journey through the hospital corridors he thought of Sam Marshall and marveled that he had lived a long life confined to a chair like the one he was briefly occupying. He wondered how much of the character he had encountered in the dream (or whatever it was) after he had been shot was a version of himself and how much might have been his namesake's shade.
In the corridor, nurses, rehab specialists, and his trauma surgeon wished him well. At the entrance to the hospital, reporters had gathered; his family formed a phalanx with Jeff in front to get him into the car with a minimum of fuss. From his seat in the middle row of the car, Sam saw his Uncle North talking to reporters, sort of drawing fire away from OD and his father, who jumped in on either side of him. Behind the driver and passenger seats, the back row held Markie, Marshall and JT, and the front row held Vee, Annie and Vi. Although Sam didn't know it then, the Js and the visitors were waiting at the end of the journey to welcome him.
Sam found it difficult to concentrate on the conversations in the car as it sped east on I-84 through Gresham and Troutdale toward The Dalles. He found himself absorbed by the Washington side of the Columbia when it was in view as the green of the Willamette Valley turned to the brownish hues of the east side of the Cascade Mountains.
He hadn't had time to talk with OD and Jerry alone much at the hospital, and he sensed that something in OD had changed. He should have been happy at the thought, but he wasn't. He also wanted to talk to Frank about the dreams he had while he was unconscious. He was pretty certain that the people he had encountered in the dreams, Sam Marshall and his Grampa Tom, were masks speaking his own hidden knowledge to him. He felt guilt at having thought that OD cared more about his work than him, and he was worried about the effect that the shooting would have on OD.
As the Tribeca approached the driveway leading to the compound, Sam was roused from reflection by JT's comment, "Holy shit! It's worse than Portland."
Goldendale neighbors and residents had erected a display of flowers and messages at the entrance to their drive. Among the bouquets and messages of hope for Sam's recovery were a few rainbow flags and one large banner proclaiming, "Hate is not our value." A few people, mostly teenagers around Sam's age were waiting to welcome him home. As the car passed them, Sam waved in stunned appreciation. Vee turned to Sam and remarked, "I can see you're going to need a media campaign to remind the good citizens of Goldendale that you're straight … " Vee looked at Markie in the back row, "and taken." Sam was about to tell his cousin to be quiet, but stopped when he saw that Markie was smiling at the comment.
The Tribeca stopped beside Turing House, and the little band decamped. As Sam entered his second home, he felt as though he were awakening from a larger dream.
#
Passing the familiar portrait of Alan Turing, Sam's eyes were drawn to the line forming the curve of the jaw, a string of symbols in rainbow colors: q1S0S1Rq2;q2S0S0Rq3;q3S0S2Rq4;q4S0S0Rq1; . He was familiar with this string because he had worked out its meaning two years ago after OD had given him a copy of Turing's original paper published in 1937 in Proceedings of the London Mathematical Society, "On computable numbers, with an application to the Entscheidungsproblem." Sam had spent two months poring over the paper, discovering Turing's method of defining the concept of the algorithm as it related to computing machines. His desire to understand OD had driven him to keep searching the paper, although the search frustrated him deeply. When he reached an impasse, he would ask OD a question, and his father would ask one in return, pushing the boy to try another approach. At the time, OD was refining the algorithm for mining the CERN data, and Sam had asked OD to show him the table of behavior for that algorithm. The table could be shown on only three pages, and Sam came to understand its genius. OD had acted as if his algorithm was so obvious that anyone could have developed it, but only one mind had done so.
Sam went up to his room followed by Markie. He intended to change his clothes and rest for a bit, but Markie's presence in his room made changing his clothing awkward. He sat on the side of his bed; Markie remained standing. She looked as if she would break down crying. "Markie?"
She walked over to him and then bent over to kiss him — and not at all in a sisterly way or in a way that a simply good friend might. Sam was entirely nonplussed and stared at her as she stood back up. She saw the question on his face.
Smiling, she told him, "I think maybe I do need a boyfriend to complicate my life, and I think I can learn from you what I need to know about boys."
The smile in Sam's heart displaced his physical pain, and he stood to repeat the kiss. Then he said, "I need to change."
She helped him remove the swath and the sling while he kept his arm in the correct position. She unbuttoned his shirt and helped him carefully remove it, revealing the dressing over his right upper chest. A tube ran from under the dressing leading to a small squeeze bulb. She seemed confused by the tubing. "It's a surgical drain. Pretty gross, huh?"
"No. I've just never seen anything like it." Then she did begin to cry. Between shuddering sobs, she said, "I was so worried, and I thought I'd never see you again."
Sam moved over to hold her with his left arm while being careful not to change the position of his right. The pain he felt as he lightly hugged her was forgotten in the compensating joy. "I'm sorry I frightened you."
She pulled away, and Sam saw anger in her eyes. "You didn't frighten me. The asshole who shot you frightened me. I wish Jeff had killed him."
"He probably would have if he thought he needed to. Jeff told me the guy was a religious nut." He didn't know what else to say and added lamely, "I'm not worried … I feel safe now. I'm going to lie down for a bit."
"You want me to stay?"
"Yeah, but I don't think that would help me rest, so maybe not."
#
Early in the evening, Markie went up to wake Sam from his nap. With Markie's help, he had managed to get his pants off and a pair of shorts on before climbing into bed, and now she helped him into a clean shirt. He grumbled because T-shirts weren't going to work for a while. She held his left hand as they came downstairs, and as they took their seats at the large table, JT and Marshall both gave Sam an approving nod. Everyone, visitors included (along with Jeff), was around the table. Sam's uncles, all of them, had prepared and cooked one of Sam's favorites, a loaf of finely grated sharp cheddar cheese, walnuts, onions, brown rice, rolled oats, and chopped mushrooms, all bound by eggs. Markie especially approved.
Dinner proceeded noisily with lighthearted remembrances of the summer and, other than thanks that Sam was back with them, no mention of the two acts of violence that had intruded. Jason had talked with each of the visitors and as far as he could observe, the teenagers seemed resilient; he couldn't detect signs of PTSD or obvious lingering mental trauma. Their behavior at the table was typical of bright kids, full of harmless jibing at each other's expense. The adults were quieter.
After the main meal was finished and the wild-huckleberry pies that Vi had baked were on the table, Lucas stepped into a silence. "Some of you will be leaving tomorrow, and I want to tell you that we appreciate everything you did under very trying circumstances. Your concern for Sam and your support of Jerry and me means much to us. We're all impressed with your behavior under stress and the way you held things together at the concert."
The visitors seemed somewhat embarrassed by the praise and finally Ray said with a wry smile, "Thanks for having me in your homes. Being here was nothing like what I expected. For one thing, I didn't get laid." Remembering that Marshall's young sister was at the table, he quickly added, "Sorry, Vee."
Vee said, "Don't apologize to me. I have no stake in whether or not you get laid."
Jeff rolled his eyes and slowly shook his head, but Lucas actually laughed. Ray continued, "But, I learned a lot, even in the short time, and I have a lot to think about." Jeff, seated near Lucas and Jerry, now smiled at the boy, thinking: Maybe there's hope for him.
After Ray, the others offered thanks, and Lucas who had heard a lot of pro forma expressions of thanks in his life thought that these expressions were heartfelt, particularly Jamie's. Jerry told the visitors, "Most people think that we invite visitors because we have something special to teach them. That's not it at all — anymore than people learn from everyone they meet. We've learned from all of you, and, as Luke said before, he and I and our whole family want to thank you for supporting us when Sam was hurt. Since there's no such thing as a normal visit with us, I won't say that I wish yours had been more normal. We hope that we'll all be resources for each other as we get through life."
During the dinner, Marshall had noticed the interaction between Jamie and JT, who were sitting next to each other. He thought their eye contact more prolonged then would be usual for acquaintances, and he thought he saw in his cousin's eyes the kind of attraction he had felt for Armin. Then, he wondered what his uncle had meant when he said that some of them would be leaving tomorrow.
#
The family room at Turing House was dark and quiet. Markie was spending the night with Vee, and the visitors were preparing to go back to their families and lives. On their pads and sleeping-bag liners, JT and Marshall were bringing Sam up to speed on their campaign to get JG connected to some kind of social life. JT looked at Sam with a deadpan expression. "You playing target threw a huge wrench into the works, you know."
"Well, very sorry for the inconvenience, Cousin. Please tell me that you didn't let JG stand the guy up."
"No, we didn't. I emailed the guy and told him there had been a family medical emergency and asked him if JG could postpone the meeting for two weeks. I figured you for a fast healer."
Sam had to sort through a timeline that was becoming clearer each day but was still a little hazy. "So we need to get JG to Ayutla this week, right?"
Marshall said, "That's right. Dr. Masters was very understanding considering we didn't tell him that a grandson had been shot."
"So when's the big date?"
"Day after tomorrow."
The boys were sitting close and facing each other. JT touched Sam on his thigh and said, "You know, one benefit of your status as a wounded warrior is that JG will probably be willing to do stuff for you that he might normally not."
"Oh, I see. I'm on the hook for getting him to the restaurant."
"See, your brain's beginning to work again."
Sam yawned; he got tired a lot more easily now than before the shooting. "Let's go to sleep," Marshall suggested.
"Yeah, I'm worn out." Then before he forgot, he asked JT, "So what's with you and Jamie?" Marshall and JT were surprised; they didn't think that Sam had noticed anything unusual about JT and Jamie at the dinner table.
Marshall didn't say anything, waiting for JT to explain. He was as anxious as Sam to find out what was going on. Finally, JT realized that his cousins weren't going to let it go. "Jamie's going to stay for a while longer." His voice was quiet as if he was expecting to take some crap from Marshall and Sam.
Marshall had his answer and Sam just said, "Good."
#
Sam wasn't sleeping well. He woke before his cousins did. The light from the east was dim yet, and he tried not to wake them. In the bathroom, he attended to his aching bladder and, after taking off his sling and swath, looked at his upper body in the mirror. He gingerly lifted the taped edges of his dressing, observing the blood-tinged yellowish fluid in the bulb of the surgical drain. The livid surgical wound, knitted by staples, transected the bullet wound vertically. I hope Markie finds scars attractive. His shoulder ached almost constantly, but he didn't like the way the oxycodone his surgeon had prescribed affected him and had limited himself to Tylenol. The wound didn't look infected; his Uncle Jonathan had told him that part of the healing process was an inflammatory reaction. He covered the wound up and quietly wandered out to lie back down when he saw light coming from OD's study. He changed course and walked over to the little room with the omnipresent whiteboard.
OD was staring at the board on which was written a series of formulae that were well beyond Sam. His father didn't notice him until he made a slight noise. "You're up early. Not sleeping well?"
"Not too well, but all right."
"The guys still asleep?"
"Yeah."
OD moved a set of computer printouts from the only other chair in the room. "Sit."
"I don't want to interrupt."
"You're more important than this." He gestured to the board.
After a few minutes of silence, Sam looked at his father squarely. "Don't do anything squirrelly."
"Have you ever known me to be squirrelly — what do you mean, squirrelly?"
"None of this was your fault OD, none of it."
Lucas thought for a moment, first that his son who had almost died was trying to comfort him and then that he should explain what he was contemplating. "If you hold a hammer at shoulder height and drop it, the damage the hammer does when it hits the ground isn't the hammer's fault, but the hammer's part of a system that results in the damage."
"You're not a hammer."
"And you're not supposed to be a nail, but you were hit."
Now Sam was seriously worried. "OD, what are you thinking of doing?"
Lucas had never temporized, a habit of discourse that his mentor, Sam Marshall, had also detested. "I'm thinking of leaving Caltech and living here full time — maybe just paying attention to the horses and, of course, you."
Sam knew that his father wasn't given to histrionics and that this was simply a logical choice that he had formed. "What? You're fucking kidding, right? I really don't think we're any safer here than we would be in Pasadena."
"Fair point, but that's not why I'm thinking of leaving. Do you understand why Jeff ended up here?"
"Because you're a genius."
"No. Because people are using my applied work for military applications."
"Oh. I didn't think you did applied mathematics."
"Only one algorithm."
"So, go back to pure math."
"Well, that's one possibility, but I'm not getting any younger, and academic math is a young person's game." This statement came with a smile that told Sam that his father wasn't serious, at least about this statement.
Finally, Sam tried to pin his father. "Would you be happy not doing math in a university? Isn't doing this your responsibility? You know you don't have to do anything to convince me that you care about me."
OD stood and took a couple of steps so that he could gently hug Sam. "Don't let anyone tell you that you're not a bright candle. I haven't decided anything yet. Now, what's going on with Markie? You two seem a bit closer."
"My first girlfriend." Sam was smiling and unembarrassed at the revelation, but he knew OD was plainly changing subjects.
"Pay attention. Your father was my first real boyfriend, and look what happened." Then as an afterthought, OD said, "Play safe."