Annoyance welled up. If I had a dollar for every person who’d told me my panics were either imaginary or my own fault, I’d have a new car. Well, okay, not a whole new car. But new brakes in the Le Mans — definitely.

I took a slow breath and tried to pack away my irritation. “That sounds like wishful thinking to me. So far, it’s pretty much dictated my life.”

“Yeah, I bet.” He paused and looked around. “Let’s talk about it in the car.”

Curious but guarded, I followed him out. He opened the car door for me, then got behind the wheel and turned to me.

“People like us are in a terrible position before we begin seeing what’s really out there,” he said. “Even before we can see workings, many of us are able to sense them on some level. Fearfulness, anxiety, panic attacks — that kind of stuff is common in the pre-sighted. The mind doesn’t react well to getting contradictory information from the senses, especially about something that could be a threat. Do you see what I mean?”

“So you’re saying that every time I have a panic attack, there’s a Second nearby that I can sort of sense, but can’t see?”

“Maybe. Or it might not be a direct cause-and-effect thing — a Second gets within a hundred feet of you and, bang, you have a panic attack. It is that way for some of us. Others just live in a state of heightened anxiety, and panic attacks are sprinkled in randomly. But in general, the more we’re exposed to things we can’t see — Seconds, workings, even someone like me, if I’m using a halfing-disguise — the worse the effect. It’s very lucky you live in such a small town, where there aren’t many Seconds. If you lived in a more populous area, your mind would’ve been destroyed by now. Late bloomers just don’t survive unless they grow up in the boonies.”

I sat for a long time, mulling it over. Finally I said, “Have you ever been to Madison?”

“I live there. It’s regional headquarters for the Upper Midwest.”

“Are there lots of Seconds there?”

“Tons. They like college towns. A transient population makes it easier to blend in.”

I sat there, totally at a loss. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know how to feel.

My life had had two central constants — my mother and my illness. I’d already lost my mother. Now the other constant was being rewritten, maybe erased. Losing a bad thing should be a good thing, but instead it was profoundly disconcerting. Like I was losing who I was.