“Matthew,” Robin said. There had to be something else. He had to know for sure. “Matthew.”

“If you don’t...” The voice was cutting in and out.

Robin got up. The old woman was saying something. “I’ve been plucking up the courage to come and talk to you,” she was saying, but Robin couldn’t focus on her.

Robin mouthed a sorry to the woman, who was still talking, and he pushed past her. “Matthew, are you there?”

“Please,” the old woman said, behind him, “your book changed my life. It made me find peace when my daughter... Please, can you just sign it?”

“Please just search... Standedge.” And then the line went dead.

“Matthew,” Robin said, but knew it was no use. He looked at the phone to see the call had disconnected. He looked around, lost.

“Are you all right?” the old woman said.

Robin put his phone back in his pocket, sniffling himself. “I’m sorry. That was rude. Of course I’ll sign your book.” Sam would’ve approved. And he talked with the old woman for almost half an hour about her missing daughter and how to cope, and when she was gone, he wrote Standedge down on his copy, and underlined it twice.

Chapter Two

Robin found his way to the sushi parlor in somewhat of a fog. Emma was already waiting for him. When he sat down and put the carrier bag on the table, she raised an eyebrow. “Thought you didn’t read anymore.”

Robin pulled out the copy of Without Her that he had written his notes in. Wren said that he could take it for free, but he bought it, not wanting to get her into trouble.

“Haven’t you got enough of them?” She laughed. She was right—the hallway of his flat was littered with proof copies, hardbacks and foreign versions all stacked up with nowhere to go.

“I wrote in it.”

“Isn’t that the general idea?” Emma said, and smiled. “How’d it go?”

“Fine,” Robin said, trying to keep his mind from what Matthew had said and thinking of nothing else. “The usual, you know. Slow. But I met some nice people. Have you ordered?”

They ate in relative silence. Emma talked a little about her day—complete now, as there were only morning appointments on a Saturday—although she never went into too much detail about her patients. The most she elaborated was about the increase of hypochondriacs having absolutely nothing wrong with them. The rise of WebMD had been the bane of Emma’s existence.

Robin stayed silent, only half listening to her and picking at his food. He managed some salmon but that was about all he could stomach. And then—was Emma talking to him?

“What’s wrong?” she said, staring at him with the intensity of a general practitioner and a sister all in one.

“Nothing,” Robin said, knowing that wouldn’t work, but doomed to try.

“Uh-huh.”