“Maybe.” Peaches hadn’t even told Greg that Stuart Little was a parent at her school, worried that he would somehow ruin it. It was her own little nugget of fun, at least for now. “I gotta take the dog out.”

While she was out, she wrapped the leash around one hand, took out her phone, and furiously googled “celebrity doctor, house calls, Dr. Feelgood, NYC” with the other. A lot of links came up. Most of it was porn. She remembered Stuart had said his name might be Dr. Mellow, but when she tried that, a series of links to masseuses and hypnotists came up. She scrolled through them. At the very bottom of the list was a website called Cobble Hill General with five-star reviews. “Wonderful,” the first review said. “Makes house calls.” “Brings you whatever you need,” said another. “Discreet.” No names were supplied, just a phone number.

Peaches pressed call and leaned against an anemic, tilting tree on Union Street, allowing the dog to sniff the dusty mulch around her sneakers. The phone rang and rang until finally a recorded message picked up.

“I’m out on call,” a cordial, deeply resonant male voice answered. “Please leave a brief message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Promise.”

A tone sounded. Peaches hesitated. “Um, hello. My name is, um. I’ll just leave my number for now, I guess. I can explain more when you call. Thanks. Bye.”

The dog was pooping anyway. She shoved her phone in her back pocket and looked away, down Union, toward the Gowanus Canal, to give the dog some privacy. When he was finished and had energetically kicked dirt over the poop, she pulled a bag out of her pocket and picked it up. Her phone vibrated and sang. It was the same number. It was the doctor.

“Hi there.” His voice was warm and muscular. “Someone called from this number. How can I help?”

What if he was a male prostitute? Peaches wondered, panicking. What if “bring you anything you need” was a euphemism for orgasms?

“Hi,” she responded, trying to collect her thoughts. “I was calling… It isn’t for me, actually. It’s for a friend. His wife has MS and he wants to try giving her some… pot. But he doesn’t know how to get the right kind for her, and since I’m a nurse I thought… He just wants her to try it.”

“No problem. Is there a time and a place that’s convenient for you to meet?”

The drop-off: Peaches hadn’t thought about this. She hadn’t thought about anything, really. And what about paying the guy? It would probably cost a fortune.