I live far enough off the beaten path that most people can’t get a signal out here. Within my house, I have a MicroCell tower and Wi-Fi. But in anticipation of Paige’s visit, I shut them both off. While she is here, I want her full attention. I would never pay more attention to my phone than to a patient, and I don’t enjoy competing for Paige’s attention.

I take a step back to allow Paige to enter the house. She’s only been here once before, and she sucks in a breath at the sheer size of it all. The living area is impressive. Paige lives in Manhattan, probably in a tiny shoebox of an apartment that costs a small fortune.

“This is an amazing house,” she breathes. She is so astounded that she lowers her phone entirely so that it hangs at her side. “So much space.”

“Thank you.”

Her eyes dart around, from the sectional leather sofa to the antique bookcases to the spiraling staircase up to the second level. She could just leave the compliment as it is, but that’s not Paige’s style. Instead, she feels compelled to add, “It’s just you in this big place?”

She knows I’m not married. No children. My parents are long gone. “Yes. Just me.”

“Geez…” She scratches her cheek. “I’d be scared to live here. I mean, you are out in the middle of nowhere. You don’t even have good cell service. Anyone could come in here and…”

It’s not as if Paige is the first person to suggest such a thing. If I had any close family members or close friends, I’m sure they would worry about me. But I’m not worried.

“Do you have a security system?” she asks.

I lift a shoulder. “I have locks on the doors.”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. But I feel safe here. Isolation is not necessarily dangerous. The turn to get onto the small dirt road to my house is so narrow that many people drive by it without even noticing. And I need the extra space because this house also serves as my office. I do my writing here and I have a room where I see patients.

I’m disappointed in Paige for her judgment, even though I’m not surprised. I’m sure many people could judge her for her own choices. If she hadn’t taken the time to push out two rugrats, she might be further in her career. She might not have to suck up to someone like me.

And also, she wears far too much makeup. I don’t trust women who cake on layers of foundation like a mask that adheres directly to their skin.