CHAPTER 5: WE MEET
DOC’S MANUSCRIPT
Rockburg, Northern Wisconsin, December 2, 1987
I nudged the refrigerator door closed with my knee. Oops, too hard. The door shut
with a thunk, and the clatter of bottles on the door reverberated around the kitchen.
I winced, waited a moment, and tiptoed across the living room to our bedroom. Ear
to the door, I listened to Mary’s slow and regular breathing; her sleep was undisturbed.
The rumble and rattle of wind buffeting the house had covered me. Chuckling, quietly,
and with a plate of Stilton, king of cheese, and a bottle of port, I headed to my
recliner in a corner of the living room where a bowl of walnuts and a book awaited
me.
Mary and my cardiologist banned this snack a year ago. I whispered Mary’s “Stilton
and Port” lecture as I tipto
