There’s no need to look at Sam to know that Ralph’s words have punctured the sense of childish frivolity that has slowly returned to his demeanor over the past few hours. That’s how it is with pain: it responds to particular words the way a circus animal reacts to commands. Coma is the word that saps our courage and rekindles our dread.

“I’ll drop you at Forbidden Planet,” I whisper as Poppy admonishes Ralph with a punch on the arm and Andrea says, “Okay, I’ll come up with an alternative cover brief for Thousand Doors.”

SAM LETS ME take him to the tube station and no farther. Cracks have appeared in our fragile relationship. We’re standing close to the stairs, and a gust of air comes surging up from the Underground. It’s heavy with the typical smells of diesel and too many people, coupled with the heat generated by the trains. He looks me briefly in the eye as we say goodbye.

“We have a SIG group, organized by Mensa, that meets weekly” he whispers. “We always meet at Forbidden Planet and then go on to Kister Jones’s. My mother picks me up from there. She thinks I’ve been hanging out with Scott all day. She doesn’t want me to see my father, even though I’d never met him before all this happened. Thanks for the tea, and, well . . . bye.”

And with those cryptic comments, he leaves me standing there and runs down the steps.

“Hey!” I call after him. “Bring Scott with you next time!”

He turns round on the stairs and lifts his hand in a Vulcan salute.

I’d have loved to have had a child with Henri. I’d have loved to have had everything with Henri.

IT’S DARK by the time I feel too weary to drink any more Talisker. Its slight tang of amputation anesthetic has numbed my senses. I keep asking myself the same questions, but they are swirling around my head more slowly now.

Do I want this? Can I do this? Can I take care of Henri as Dr. Saul expects? Can I ask Wilder to put up with this? Can I ask myself to leave Henri alone? Will I be able to fetch him back? And what if I turn on him one day, if I feel like taking revenge or letting him die? And why, for hell’s sake, did Sam never see his father?

Dr. Saul advised me to consult other people to see if I wasn’t taking on too much, “biting off more than I could chew.” Sure, but the only person who knew me well enough, intimately, is dead. I still ask him, though. Silently I inquire, What should I do? Will I be able to do it? Should I do it?