By now the conference room had emptied out, and hotel employees were packing up the chairs and wheeling out the sound equipment. Maura stuffed her notes into her tote bag and stood up. As she and Doug moved down parallel rows toward the exit, she asked him: “Will I see you at the cocktail party tonight?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll be there. But dinner’s on our own, right?”

“That’s what the schedule says.”

They walked out of the room together, into a hotel lobby crowded with other doctors wearing the same white name tags, carrying the same conference tote bags. Together they waited at the elevators, both of them struggling to keep the conversation flowing.

“So, are you here with your husband?” he asked.

“I’m not married.”

“Didn’t I see your wedding announcement in the alumni magazine?”

She looked at him in surprise. “You actually keep track of things like that?”

“I’m curious about where my classmates end up.”

“In my case, divorced. Four years ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “I’m not.”

They rode the elevator to the third floor, where they both stepped off.

“See you at the cocktail party,” she said with a goodbye wave, and pulled out her hotel keycard.

“Are you meeting anyone for dinner? Because I just happen to be free. If you want to join me, I’ll hunt down a good restaurant. Just give me a call.”

She turned to answer him, but he was already moving down the hallway, the tote bag slung over his shoulder. As she watched him walk away, another memory of Douglas Comley suddenly flashed into her head. An image of him in blue jeans, hobbling on crutches across the campus quadrangle.

“Didn’t you break your leg that year?” she called out. “I think it was right before finals.”

Laughing, he turned to her. “That’s what you remember about me?”

“It’s all starting to come back to me now. You had a skiing accident or something.”