He knocked tentatively and walked in, looking sheepish and uncomfortable. She sat him down next to her desk and inspected his stitches, dabbing at them with an alcohol swab. He winced, and her expression was not one of empathy.

“You’ll live,” she said, and sat down facing him.

“I’m sorry, so sorry. Don’t know what got into me.” His speech was slightly slurred.

“That’s what we have to talk about.” She took a deep breath. “What happened yesterday started twenty-nine years ago. Do you know the acronym SPMD?”

He shook his head. “No. When I was eleven?”

“Yes. It’s Selective Precision Memory Dampening. Not done very often anymore; it’s controversial.”

“When I was in the hospital so long, with pneumonia?”

“Yes. But it was a lot more than pneumonia.”

For several minutes he didn’t speak, while she recounted in unsparing detail what his father had done and what happened afterward. When she was through, he just stared into space for a long moment.

“They could have told me,” he said in a flat, hurt voice. “Mother should have told me.” He hit the desk with his fist, hard enough to hurt.

“She should’ve,” Elza said. “I would have, at least when you were an adult.”

“What did you say,” he said slowly, “when we were in bed?”

“I asked you about your father.”

He leaned forward and spoke through clenched teeth. “You asked me whether I loved him.” I rose from the chair, ready to go next door.

“Let me see your hand.” She took it in one hand and, with the other hand, pressed the inside of his wrist.

He sat back slowly and looked at his wrist, and touched the small flesh-colored circle there. “What’s that?”

“It’s a relaxant.” She must have had it palmed. “It’ll wear off quickly.”

“I . . .” He looked at the wall. “I was upset because I couldn’t, I couldn’t come.”

“You did all right.”

“No—I mean it happens all the time. I thought with you, with a new sexy woman . . .”

“It’s all in the head,” she said gently. “It’s always all in the head. You were nervous.”

“When you said . . . that about my father, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. I mean I tried, and it was like someone, someone was choking me. I must have lashed out. I don’t remember.”

“You got in a lucky shot.”

He smiled for the first time. “Thank you for not killing me. I’ve seen you throw Daniel and Namir around on the mat.”

“It took some restraint. How is the elbow?”

“Still hurts a bit.”

She stood. “Hmm. Take off your shirt and get up on the examination table.” He did, and she moved his arm around and palpated his elbow. “That doesn’t hurt?”

“Not really, no.”

She pressed behind his shoulder. “This does, though?”

“A little.”