Not knowing what to do with her hands—she hadn’t known what to do with her hands since she quit smoking fifteen years ago—she pulled out the Manual and opened it at random to a page titled “Aspects of Questioning.” She ran her finger down the page. Marina always read equally with her hand and her ear, sometimes also with her mouth, voicing the words at a low volume. But this time it was enough to feel the words as she pronounced them in her head. She was aware of the cliché as it came to her, that the words—not this particular arrangement of them, but words in general—felt like friends.

She read through the taxonomy she had created, in conjunction with her own mentor and with subsequent collaborators over the years:

Aspects of Questioning

Open-Ended Questions (“Please tell me more about what happened.”)

Questions to Discover Feelings (“How did you feel when that happened?”)

Questions to Learn More about Underlying Issues

Questions Related to “Offers” Made by the Participants (“You said you would be willing to wash the paint off her locker, is that correct?”)

“What If?” Questions

Some Useful Questions for Building a Future Story (“What do you want to see happen?” “How do you think this could be resolved?” “What would you be willing to do?”)

SIGNS

Pablo’s tobacco supply was low. He reached into the plaid, wax-lined pouch and pulled out a smaller clump than usual, enough to roll the thinnest cigarette that would still be enjoyable to smoke. He’d run out of filters already and was secretly enjoying the excuse not to use one while recognizing that he was under no illusion that the filters offered real protection for his lungs. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag, exhaled and looked back at the tent some thirty feet away from where he now stood, in a gravel patch next to a rusted barbecue grill. He was happy for Marina’s company, but he’d needed suddenly to get outside, to see if he could get his bearings from an exterior view. To remember what bearings felt like.

The sun continued to strengthen and he unbuttoned his jacket, closed his eyes, and faced the bright heat until the scene behind his eyelids was gradually flooded—from the edges inward—with a deep fuchsia, a brighter magenta spot in its hot center, and the muscles around his eyes began to quiver from the effort of squinting.

He opened his eyes, found a stump to sit on, and reached into his bag for a book.