Ben motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit down,” he said.

“Is something wrong, Dr. Ransome?” the girl asked as she took a seat in the chair.

“No,” Ben reassured her. “I just want to ask you something.” He hesitated while he thought about how to frame his question. “What do girls want?” he said finally.

“Sorry?” asked Angela, looking taken aback.

Ben, replaying in his mind what he thought was a clearly posed question, realized his mistake. “No,” he said. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that my daughter—”

“You have a daughter?” interrupted Angela.

Ben paused, seeing the look of surprise on the young woman’s face. How long had he known her? A year now? Well, yes, he supposed the news that he had a child might come as a surprise. “Yes,” he said. “She’s staying with me for the summer.”

Angela nodded, although astonishment remained in her eyes.

“She’s sixteen,” Ben continued. “And I don’t understand her.”

He stopped speaking. Angela continued to stare at him. When he didn’t say anything further, she said, “Is that all?”

“Yes,” said Ben. “I think so.”

Angela laughed. “If she’s sixteen, that pretty much explains it,” she said. “No one understands you when you’re sixteen. Did your parents understand you at that age?”

Ben thought back. At sixteen, he had been a shy, awkward boy, given to spending long hours alone in his room. His parents had seldom asked him anything about himself, and it had never occurred to him that they might want to know anything. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Well, I bet they didn’t,” said Angela. “I know mine didn’t. At sixteen I was going through this phase where I wanted to be a militant animal rights activist. I put a big MEAT IS MURDER sign on the refrigerator. I told my mother that her eyeliner was responsible for the painful deaths of millions of innocent bunnies, and I wouldn’t wear anything that was made out of leather. In short, I was a pain in the ass.”

“How long did it last?” Ben asked hopefully.

Angela shrugged. “About six months,” she said. “Then I fell in love with a guy who wore a motorcycle jacket and lived on hamburgers, and I reevaluated my stance.”

Ben didn’t know whether he was supposed to find that funny or not, so he just said, “Thank you.”

Angela stood to go. “I know I didn’t really answer your question,” she said. “You know, about what girls want. If it helps any, she probably doesn’t know what she wants either.”

With Angela gone, Ben began to worry the question of Caddie again, like a determined dog struggling with a rope. Despite Angela’s reassurance, he still believed there must be some way to understand his daughter. After all, weren’t they composed of the same DNA? Weren’t the genetic codes that programmed her responses at least partially the same as his?

He decided to go out. The air in the office was too close. He couldn’t breathe. He’d never liked being inside; now he found it completely unbearable.