Eventually Kevin's despondency spread. Trent and Steve began to lament that their practices had fallen to a point where they had to think seriously of leaving Bartlet. CMV had already hired people in their specialties.

"A lot of my former patients have told me they'd like to come back to me," Steve said, "but they can't. Their employers have negotiated with CMV for health coverage. If these patients see me they have to pay out of their pockets. It's a bad scene."

"Maybe you're better off getting the hell out while you can," Kevin said, speaking up for the first time without having been specifically spoken to.

"Now that's a sufficiently cryptic comment to beg an explanation," Trent said. "Does Dr. Doom and Gloom have some privileged information that we mortals are unaware of?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Kevin said while staring into the fire. The glow of the embers reflected off the surface of his thick glasses, giving him an eerie, eyeless appearance.

"Try us," Steve encouraged.

David glanced at Angela to see how she was faring amid this depressing evening. As far as David was concerned he found the experience much more disturbing than the one at the lake in August. He could handle sexual innuendo and crude jokes, but he had a lot of trouble with hostility and despondency, especially when it was openly expressed.

"I've learned a little more about Randy Portland," Kevin said without taking his eyes away from the fire. "But you people wouldn't believe any of it. Not after the way you responded to my suggestion that maybe his death wasn't suicide."

"Come on, Kevin," Trent said. "Stop making such a damn production out of this. Tell us what you heard."

"I had lunch with Michael Caldwell," Kevin said. "He wants me to serve on one of his innumerable committees. He told me that the chairman of the hospital board, Harold Traynor, had had a weird conversation with Portland the day he died. And Traynor related what was said to Charles Kelley."

"Yansen, get to the point," Trent said.

"Portland said there was something wrong with the hospital."

Trent's mouth dropped open in mock horror. "Something is wrong with the hospital? I'm shocked, just shocked." Trent shook his head. "Good gravy, man, there's plenty wrong with the hospital. If that's the payoff to this story, I'm not exactly impressed."

"There was more," Kevin said. "Portland told Traynor that he wouldn't take the blame."

Trent looked at Steve. "Am I missing something here?"

"Was Portland referring to a patient when he was making these claims?" Steve asked.

"Obviously," Kevin said. "But that's too subtle for a surgeon like Trent to pick up. What's clear to me is that Portland thought that something weird was going on with one of his patients. I think he should have kept his mouth shut. If he had, he'd probably still be around today."

"Sounds like Portland was just getting paranoid," Trent said. "He was already depressed. I don't buy it. You're trying to make a conspiracy out of nothing. What did Portland's patient die of, anyway?"

"Pneumonia and endotoxin shock," Steve said. "That's how it was presented in death conference."

"There you go," Trent said. "There's not a lot of mystery about a death when there's a bunch of gram-negative bacteria running around in the corpse's bloodstream. Sorry, Kev, you haven't convinced me."

Kevin stood up suddenly. "Why do I bother?" he said, throwing up his hands. "You're all blind as bats. But you know something? I don't give a rat's ass."

Stepping over Gayle, who'd sprawled on the floor in front of the fire, Kevin stomped up the half flight of stairs to the bedroom he and Nancy were occupying. He slammed the door behind him hard enough to rattle the bric-a-brac on the wooden mantel.

Everyone stared into the fire. No one spoke. Rain could be heard hitting the skylight like so many grains of rice. Finally Nancy stood up and said she'd be turning in.

"Sorry about Kevin," Trent said. "I didn't mean to provoke him."

"It's not your fault," Nancy said. "He's been a bear lately. There's something he didn't tell you. He recently lost a patient himself-which isn't exactly a common occurrence for an ophthalmologist."

The next day they woke to gusty wind, a heavy mist, and a cold, driving rain. When Angela looked out the window, she cried out for David. Fearing some catastrophe, David leaped from the bed. With heavily lidded eyes he looked out. He saw the car. He saw the rain.

"What am I supposed to be seeing?" he asked sleepily.

"The trees," Angela said. "They're bare. There are no leaves. All the foliage has vanished in one night!"

"It must have been the wind," David said. "It rattled the storm windows all night." He dropped onto the bed and burrowed back under the comforter.

Angela stayed at the window, captivated by the skeletal remains of the trees. "They all look dead," she said. "I can't believe what a difference it makes. It's hard not to see it as an omen. It adds to that feeling I've had that something bad is going to happen."

"It's melancholia left over from last night's conversational requiem," David said. "Don't get morbidly dramatic on me. It's too early. Come on back to bed for a few minutes."

The next shock was the temperature. Even by nine in the morning it was still in the thirties. Winter was on its way.

The gloomy weather did not improve the general moodiness of the adults, who'd awakened with the same sullenness they'd taken to bed. The children were initially happy, although even they started to be affected by their parents' ill humor. David and Angela were relieved to get away. As they drove down the mountain David asked Angela to remind him never to play tennis with Kevin again.

"You men can be such children with your sports," Angela said.

"Hey!" David snapped. "I wasn't the problem. He was the problem. He's so competitive. I didn't even want to play."

"Don't get so riled up," Angela said.

"I resent you implying I was at fault," David said.

"I wasn't implying anything of the kind," Angela said. "I was merely making a comment about men and their sports."

"All right, I'm sorry," David said. "I suppose I'm a bit out of sorts. It drives me crazy to be around morose people. This wasn't the most fun weekend."

"It's a strange group of people," Angela said. "They seem normal on the surface, yet underneath I'm not so sure. But at least they didn't get into any sexual discussions or start acting out like at the lake. On the other hand they did manage to dredge up the Portland tragedy again. It's like an obsession with Kevin."

"Kevin's weird," David said. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. I hate to be reminded of Portland's suicide. It makes going into my office an ordeal. Whenever he brings it up, I can't help but picture what the wall must have looked like behind my desk, splattered with blood and brains."

"David," Angela said sharply. "Please! If you don't have any concern for my sensibilities, think about Nikki's."

David glanced into the rearview mirror at Nikki. She was staring ahead without moving.

"You all right, Nikki?" David asked.

"My throat hurts," Nikki said. "I don't feel good."

"Oh, no!" Angela said. She turned around and looked at her daughter. She reached out and put the back of her hand to Nikki's forehead.

"And you insisted on going on this stupid trip," Angela muttered.

David started to defend himself, but changed his mind. He didn't want to get into an argument. He already felt irritable enough.