In his office, which was a large gray oval, Dr. Samuelsson lifted a stack of papers on his glass-topped desk and fetched a pen from underneath them. He scrawled some notes onto a yellow pad—possible morning rituals, a list of phone calls to make—and then turned to look out the window, where a yellowthroat had landed on a branch. He watched it a few moments, its gleaming yellow breast shining in the sunlight. But when he reached for his camera, it startled and flew away. “Damn,” he muttered.
Allyn peeked in from the hallway. “Doctor? Rudine is ready for her initial mapping.”
“Thank you, darling. Tell her I’ll be just a minute or two more.” He fussed with the papers, moving them from one stack to another.
“She’s ready now.” Allyn smiled. “A bit fussy. The cap needs refitting, I think.”
“It’s fine.”
“She’s right, actually," she said. "It’s fine for now, but I’ll see if I can resize it this afternoon.”
“That’s why I married you,” he said.
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