Unfortunately, we’d been seated in the center of the main dining room and were surrounded by people. Asking about it here would probably break the rules.

The main course passed pleasantly enough. I could tell Graham was trying to distract me from my worries. He asked about my family and my experiences growing up in Dorf. He touched on a sore spot when he asked about my father, and I had to admit I’d never known him. But he recovered artfully and quickly steered the conversation onto safer ground. He really was quite charming. I sure didn’t have the social graces he did. I mean, I could eat a meal without dropping food on myself, but that was about it.

I asked Graham about himself and found out he’d been born in North Carolina and had grown up on the Outer Banks. It seemed like an exciting place to be a kid. When I said as much, he got to talking about shipwrecks and hurricanes. And also beach parties, where “all the girls ran around in bikinis.” I could’ve sworn he glanced at my chest during that story.

Dessert arrived — a piece of cherry pie each. After a few bites, Graham sat back and eyed me. Then he asked if I minded a personal question.

“I guess not,” I said. “I mean, you can always ask it, but I might not answer it, if it’s too personal. But I probably will. Answer it, I mean.”

I felt myself blush. I really could find the most awkward way to handle anything.

He just nodded. Then he said, quietly, “Have you been diagnosed with panic disorder?”

I leaned back, surprised. True, I’d had that near-attack at the cemetery, but most people had never heard of panic disorder.

In answer to my unspoken question, he pointed at the rubber band on my wrist. I fingered it self-consciously. It had been the suggestion of one of the shrinks my mother took me to when I was a kid. When an attack started coming on, the pain of snapping the band was supposed to disrupt whatever physiological chain reaction was causing it. It only worked for me sometimes, but sometimes was better than never.

“Yeah. I was diagnosed when I was six. It’s really kept me from doing … well, anything.”

I looked down, annoyed at myself. I didn’t want to sound whiney, but the disappointment was so close to the surface. Sometimes it was hard to keep it in. I loved Dorf, but I also hated it. It was safe and easy, and it kept my attacks at a manageable level. Sort of. But being stuck there was hard. I’d accepted the situation, but acceptance and happiness are different things.

When I looked back up at Graham, he was smiling at me kindly. “I think you’ll find you don’t have panic disorder, after all.”