CARRIE HAD KNOWN Howie for three years, four months, two weeks, and six days. They'd met because Carrie's dentist, who had seen her through adolescence and early adulthood, had retired. Thoughtful Dr. Lightman had given all of his patients a list of possible replacements—although, in his opinion, none of these new young guys could hold a candle to an old-school pro like himself—so when it came time for Carrie's semi-annual teeth cleaning, she found herself ringing the buzzer for the office of Dr. Howard C. Bendel.

“The names on Dr. Lightman's list were alphabetized, and you were the second one because you begin with 5,” she explained somewhat disjointedly once she'd settled into Howie's dentist's chair. “The dentist ahead of you was Ahearn, and her office is in Queens, which is too far because I live in Manhattan. And your receptionist said on the phone that you have a hygienist who does the cleaning for you and I thought maybe I'd like that, because Dr. Lightman always did it himself—the cleaning, that is—which wasn't always such a good thing, because in the last few years his hands could get a little shaky, and a couple of times he got my gums with that sharp little thing you use to scrape off the tartar. The last time it happened he said it was my fault, but it was really a cramp in his fingers and there was blood all over …” She looked over at her new dentist. Dr. Bendel was wearing his white coat but he hadn't put on his goggles or his mask yet. He was leaning against the wall, watching her. He wasn't tall, maybe around five foot ten, but he was slim with curly brown hair and very blue eyes and a mouth that looked like it was made for laughing. One of his legs was crossed over the other, and his arms were crossed too, but he looked casual, not closed off. He was smiling.

“I'm very afraid of the dentist,” Carrie told him.

“I never would have guessed,” Dr. Bendel said.

“Well, I'm the stoic type. I believe in hiding these things.”

“And you do it brilliantly.”