Strong Medicine

PROLOGUE 1985

In the 747, up forward in first class and half an hour out from London, Dr. Andrew Jordan reached for his wife's hand and held it. "Stop worrying," he urged her.”Nothing may happen.”

"Something will happen," she said.”Dennis Donahue will see to that.” Andrew grimaced at the mention of New England's populist U.S. senator.”I was looking forward to lunch," he objected.”Did you need to spoil it by making me nauseous?" "Be serious, Andrew. Remember there have been deaths. Drug related.” "You were a long way removed from them.”

"Just the same, if there are criminal proceedings, I'll be included. I could go to prison.”

He tried to buoy their sagging spirits.”It hasn't happened yet, but if you do I promise to visit every day and bring cakes with hacksaw blades inside.”

"Oh, Andrew!" She turned toward him, her smile a mixture of love and sadness.

After twenty-eight years of marriage, he thought, how good it was to see your wife, with admiration, as beautiful, intelligent and strong. And, he told himself, he wasn't being sentimental either. He had seen all those qualities, and more, exhibited a thousand times. "That's nice," a female voice beside them interjected. Andrew looked up. It was a bright, young, cheerful stewardess, observing them holding hands. He told her, deadpan, "Love can happen to the elderly, too.”

"Really?" The stewardess matched his mocking tone.”That never occurred to me. More champagne?" "Yes, please.”

He caught the girl inspecting him and knew, without being vain, that he still looked good, even to someone young enough to be his daughter. How had that London newspaper columnist described him last week'? "The white-haired, handsome and distinguished physician husband of... etcetera, et cetera.”

Though Andrew hadn't said so, at the time he'd rather liked it. The champagne poured, Andrew sat back. He enjoyed the perquisites which went with first-class travel, even if today they seemed less significant than usual. It was his wife's money which provided those embellishments, of course. While his own income as a busy internist was more than comfortable, he doubted if he would splurge on first-class fare between London and New York, and certainly could never afford the private jet in which his wife, and sometimes Andrew, traveled around North America. Correction, he reminded himself: had traveled until now. What changes lay immediately ahead were far from certain. Money, though, had never been any kind of issue in their marriage. They had never had the slightest argument about it, and right from the beginning his wife had insisted that what they had, they had together. Their bank accounts were always joint, and though Andrew's contribution nowadays was by far the smaller, neither bothered with comparative arithmetic. His thoughts drifted and they continued to hold hands as the 747 thrummed westward above the Atlantic far below. "Andrew," his wife said, "you're such a comfort. Always there. And always so strong.”

"That's funny," he replied.”Strong is what I was thinking about YOU.”

"There are different kinds of strength. And I need yours.”

The usual airline bustle was beginning, preparatory to service of their meal. Stowaway tables were being released, white linen and silverware appearing on them. After a while his wife said, "Whatever happens, I'm going to fight.”

"Haven't you always?" She was thinking carefully, as usual.”Within the next few days I'll choose a lawyer. It must be someone solid but not flamboyant. Too much showmanship would be a mistake.”

He squeezed her hand.”That's my girl.”

She smiled back at him.”Will you sit beside me in court?" "Every day. Patients can fend for themselves until it's done.”

"You'd never let that happen, but I would like you with me.”

"There are other doctors. Arrangements will be made.”

"Maybe," his wife said, "maybe, with the right lawyer, we can pull off a miracle.”

Andrew dipped a knife into a helping of caviar that had just been placed before him. However acute their troubles, there was no point in passing up that. "It could happen," he said, spreading the caviar on toast.”We started with a miracle, you and I. And there've been others since, which you've made happen. Why not one more? This time just for YOU.”

"It would be a miracle.”

"Will be," he corrected gently. Andrew closed his eyes. The champagne and the altitude had made him sleepy. But in his sleepiness he remembered the first miracle. Long ago.