The time could be used to sort one’s estate, to finalize last wishes.

To share passwords. To reveal secrets.

Not every case would qualify, but still—even reanimating the healthiest person seemed implausible.

But this—what the Center’s offered—is so far beyond.

And I can’t help but wonder what Ms. B and I aren’t seeing.

What are we missing?

Why did the Center choose Quincy?

What do they stand to gain?

78

Two black men in black polos and slacks slide the black bag into the black van in the black night.

The setup for an awful joke that no one should finish.

One secures the rear door, the other slides into the driver’s seat. They pull away, carrying my friend—can I call him that again?—to the Center.

“The Center for what?” I ask Mr. Oklahoma.

He frowns as if the answer’s obvious. “It’s just the Center.”

“You guys wanted to give your marketing team a lot to work with, I see.”

But no one laughs. A thing I don’t like about myself—when I’m uncomfortable I make crappy jokes.

“Our car arrives in four minutes,” he says, tapping his phone screen. “We have a bit of a journey ahead. I suggest taking advantage of the hospital facilities prior to departure. I will wait here.”

Ms. B steers me down a corridor. “Closest bathroom’s a one-seater. I’ll go after you.”

“You first,” I insist, and just before she slips inside, I call her name.

My throat tightens. “I think . . . I feel like maybe it’s best if I . . . if I leave you to this . . . uh . . . it feels rather . . . personal. Like a family-only thing. And I just think that maybe you’d like some privacy to . . . uh . . . reanimate your son?” I intended a statement but presented a question.

She blinks, her hazel eyes watering again. “As you know, it’s just the two of us, Quincy and me, here in Elytown. It’s just us . . . anywhere, really. I’d like you to come with me, Jamal. Unless you, or Whit, object. Have you called her?”

I shake my head, and she looks as if she might scold me, but she manages a half smile. “We should call her from the car. That is, if you’re coming. If it’s not too much.” She rubs the back of her head. “What am I saying? Of course it’s too much. You should go home. Right? You should go home to your sister. To the baby. But I’d appreciate it if . . . tell you what, I’ll use the restroom. If you’re not here when I come back out, no hard feelings?”

I nod.

“Okay,” she says, holding my eyes a second past comfortable. The piston exhales as the door closes behind her.

“Okay,” I say to no one.

Except it’s not okay. I can’t do this.

I should go.

I have to go.