he reached into his pocket and produced a stack of napkins. Cafeteria napkins from the hospital—the pattern was plainly familiar. Did he swipe a handful of napkins on the way out? “Sorry.” He wiped a tiny drop of himself off the leather armrest. “I’m kind of a clean freak.” I laughed, but something about that bothered me. A tiny, niggling little thought soon lost in the wake of all that was Dr. Nathan Klein: If he’d never done anything like this before, couldn’t possibly have expected it to happen—like he’d said moments ago—why bring napkins? Why come prepared?
