In the back of my mind I didn’t think She would give up that easily, I thought that She had just withdrawn and was watching me, that I was fooling myself into thinking that I had even a modicum of power over Her vast personality. But I refused to dwell on those thoughts. I just wrapped the blanket of my resolve a little tighter and made yet another set of plans for my life.

Eventually the shivering stopped. My internal thermostat seemed to return to normal; I did without the blankets and sweaters. Still, my schedule was nocturnal, but that was fine—one thing at a time, and I knew that eventually this too would change.

I ventured out now and again to the convenience market for supplies, and I tried my hand at baking breads and things in my little oven. The nights stretched long before me, and I bought extra lamps to chase the darkness away from my apartment. I avoided the warping influence of the night as best I could, and each dawn, when exhausted from the effort of it, I would crawl into my box and congratulate myself on another successful night.

After several weeks had gone by and still I hadn’t heard from Her, I began to feel much better about myself; my boldness grew and I began to leave the house in the early evening and spend some time with Cap before the crowd accumulated at the Yacht Club.

He was always genuinely delighted to see me; his enthusiasm I found hard to believe at first, but I grew fond of it over time. He seemed concerned over my appearance, always discussing vitamins and the bene­fits of rare meat, and it was an odd occasion indeed when I escaped the Yacht Club without something to eat in my stomach, or at least in my pocket. My appetite was poor, there was no doubt. I baked and cooked, but one or two bites would sate me. Most of the food went to the cats, or in the case of the baked goods, to the family of rats that had moved into the spare bedroom.

I begged off explanations by telling Cap that I’d been down with the flu, and was having a hard time regaining my weight. He would boom his laughter to the rafters and polish tables and talk about how much he could eat at a real family-­type Thanksgiving din­ner. Cap loved food. His eyes glazed over when he talked about brown roasted turkeys and crunchy nutty cranberry relish, and I helped him sweep the floor and laughed at his preoccupation with that which would most likely prove to be his downfall. Heart trouble was no stranger to Cap, and he knew he was digging his own grave with his fork.