“It may be unfair of you to set such a high bar,” said Dr. P. “We would like to avoid a victim complex, fear of failure bringing failure, bringing on an even greater depression. She’s depressed and thinking she’s damaged or that someone was at fault will make her even more tentative.”

“She has changed,” said Ned. “This is not about grubbing money from insurance. This is about helping her to understand and be realistic and continue enjoying life.”

Polly was locking into we and she and succumbing to agitation. Ned obviously wanted to hit Dr. P, but Dr. P needed to be Polly’s victim.

“If you’re hoping for medication beyond an antidepressant, there’s no magic bullet. Nothing can make Mrs. Berrigan more innately intelligent. We are what we are. But I do recommend antidepressants, and counseling.” The doctor pulled a prescription pad out, signed his name with a curlicue, and handed it to Ned, rather than Polly.

They all allowed a moment of silence. Polly imagined one of the hardest things to learn, as a psychiatrist, was how not to patronize your patients. “I don’t want medication.”

“Are you sure you don’t already use something?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve told me you enjoy wine.”

“You’re a righteous little prick,” said Polly. “Go fuck yourself.”

You could take the girl out of New York, said Ned on the way home. He didn’t need to point out that she had been drinking too much.

Polly’s secret, which translated to a dozen small secrets a day: She was sure she was losing what was left of her mind. After the cognitive test, she abruptly saw the stakes and understood that admitting weakness was unthinkable. None of them needed another doomed, disintegrating woman. Polly started saying that she was fine, just fucking fine, better every day. She feigned calmness and deliberation, and those who knew her well, after briefly worrying this stance was some new manifestation of damage, went along with the whole thing. There was nothing wrong with pretending, Polly thought. People made it through cancer and jobs and whole marriages that way. And how different was she, really? If you couldn’t remember normal, how were you to tell?