“I wrote a story in college about a man who was so charismatic that he could convince people at a glance to do his bidding. Of course, no one is that charismatic. Charismatic is derived from an ancient Greek word, ‘kharisma,’ meaning gift. Hmm …”

“What?”

“Some words and phrases raise my ookiness level. You should ask me about that when I’m under.” I crossed my hands over my chest and said, “Okay, mesmerize away.”

“Why don’t you come sit here?” She indicated the chairs.

“This is more dramatic.”

She didn’t look convinced, but said, “If you’re more relaxed there, you can stay.”

“Totally relaxed. Yet focused. Keenly focused.”

“Good.” Lily dimmed the lights and moved a chair next to the sofa. She had a small penlight that she clicked on and held it in front of my face. “I want you to focus on the light and imagine yourself in a wonderful safe place. Where are you?”

“I’m lying on the ratty old sofa in my friend’s nightclub. A wonderful band is practicing a new song.”

“Good,” Lily said somewhat skeptically.

“It’s a great club. What music do you like?”

“Hmm? Classical and soft jazz. Relax and start counting backward from one hundred.”

“One hundred, ninety-nine.…,” I began, and when I was in the eighties, I got bored so I switched over to Spanish. By the time I got to quince, I went to French, because I could count up to quatorze in French.

“Now, Milagro, are you comfortable?”

“Very.”

“You’re safe here and warm. Let’s go back to the night you were supposed to meet Wilcox. You were excited and happy to see him again.”

“I’m always happy to see cute guys. He’s cute, right?”

“So I was told. You go to the restaurant to meet him. You’re wearing a pretty dress.”

“Which one?”

“Whatever you want to imagine. You walk into the restaurant—”

“Hold on. If he’s a surfer, maybe I would have gone with jeans.”

“You wore a dress.”

“Are you sure?”

Lily clicked the light off. “I don’t think you’re in a relaxed, focused state.”

“Quelle bummer. I thought things had changed.” I told her how I used to earn money at F.U. by being a psychology test subject. “I didn’t score well for hypnotic susceptibility.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that first?” she asked, and I heard a note of irritation in her voice.

I sat up and looked at her. “Because I wanted it to be like a Hitchcock movie, where the beautiful and brilliant psychiatrist uses hypnosis to draw out the memories from the fascinating amnesiac.”

Lily blinked for a few seconds and twirled one curl around her finger, so I said, “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“This is supposed to be healing, not fun.”