“Yeah, it was toward the end of our senior year. I’d decided to go ahead and do it, even thought I always thought it was tacky to do it in high school. But my rationalizaton was that this was close enough to graduation. And I was so in love with him, even then. I really thought we’d stay together forever, get married, have the two kids, the four bedrooms … Anyway, Chip’s parents were out of town, they’d gone to New Orleans. And we made love in his bedroom, on these very tasteful boy sheets, I remember they had a thin, navy blue stripe. His mother had decorated his room like something right out of a magazine, but there wasn’t much Chip there.

“There was some blood, of course. We washed the sheets, and I remember being so impressed that Chip knew how to use a washing machine—I didn’t until after my first year of college. But we washed the sheets, bleached them, even, and I was sure no one would ever be able to tell a thing. Then I ran into her and her husband a few days after that and I swear she knew everything. Her husband was very friendly, as usual, but she didn’t crack a smile, didn’t say a word. She just stared at me, like, I know exactly what happened between you and my son, you whore.”

“Huh. I wonder if Chip told her or something.”

“Oh, God, no. He would never have done that. He’s had a hard time with his mother all his life; he’s never confided in her about anything. You can’t get close to someone like that. She’s interested in one perspective: her own. And I’m not sure she would ever have approved of anyone for Chip.”

“Well, it’ll be an interesting meeting.”

Diane picks up a seashell I keep on the windowsill and looks at it, turning it over and over. “I’m sure she’s beside herself that I’m around again.”

“She hasn’t really mentioned you. Her big issue is that she wants Chip to pursue much more aggressive treatment. She feels he’s not taking his illness seriously.”

“Oh, he’s taking it seriously. But his way of doing that is to—”

“I know.” I’m the one who told you.

She puts the shell down, stands. “Well. I guess you’re busy.”

“I do have to get some work done.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting.”

“It’s all right.”

“Would you mind if I watched televison? I’ll keep the volume low.”

“Go right ahead.” I open Grace’s chart, pull my chair up closer to my desk.