Thomas closed his eyes, smiled, then surrendered to the inevitable. 'C'mon in, Mia,' he said. 'I'll tell you all about it.' He couldn't resist adding, 'You're as transparent as a negligee, you know that?'

Eyebrows raised, Mia shot him the finger as he stepped inside.

'Mia!' Frankie and Ripley cried as one.

While Thomas exchanged his bathrobe and boxers for jeans, a shirt and a blazer, Mia managed to settle the kids in front of the TV. Thomas brewed some fresh coffee, then joined his Number One Neighbor at the kitchen table. They spent an hour or so discussing the previous two days. Though in many ways Mia had become his best friend since the divorce, Thomas avoided any mention of Nora's affair with Neil—or of his night with Sam. He needed to sort things out for himself first—or so he thought.

Afterward, Mia breathed deep, then said, 'Wow.'

'Pretty intense, isn't it?'

'You think?' He pawed his face as though trying to scrape off the madness. 'Well, you know what Marx says.'

'Do I ever?' Thomas asked. Mia quoted Marx the way others quoted Dr Phil.

'"With man, the root of the matter is always man himself."' He snorted as though at a half-funny thought. 'I don't think he meant grey matter, though.'

'Neil's sick,' Thomas said sourly.

'You don't sound convinced.'

Something about this comment made his scalp prickle. 'How can I be? He's simply walking the talk, isn't he? Shit just happens. Tornados wipe out trailer parks. Bombs go off in coffee shops. Cancers spread. Arteries clog. Every breath, every heartbeat, is a crap shoot. That's just the way the world works; it's only our psychological shortcomings that make it seem otherwise. All Neil's saying is that the same goes with our neurons. That our every thought, every experience is just another synaptic roll of the dice. Statistical, not meaningful.'

'Certainly doesn't feel that way.'

'Why should it? Our brains evolved to process inputs, perceptions and the like, into effective outputs—the things we do. We see oncoming cars and traffic lights, and our foot depresses the brake pedal. What we don't see are all the neurophysiological processes involved. Our brain is essentially blind to itself, far more geared to external events than internal.'

Mia toyed with a lock of hair, contemplative and crosseyed. 'So?'