I wanted to laugh, and tell her she didn’t know the first thing about how tough this had been. I was not sure why I should be surprised; it was just like Cass to make all of this about her and her feelings somehow. I was just about to ask her to leave when she touched my shoulder and told me that she wanted me to know that she was there for me. She tried to make meaningful eye contact, but I wasn’t ready to accept it, so I looked up at the ceiling. She then apologized for not doing more before now.

To be honest I just didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how I could be useful.

She said she knew that she had failed me, and it had been eating away at her. I looked down and met her gaze. I really am sorry, Claire.

We began to talk a little about The Hum, mostly in generalities as I didn’t get the sense she was able or willing to handle specifics. As we spoke, I prepared some tea and pulled out some digestives from the back of the cupboard. I told her about my struggles with isolation and depression after being fired, and I could tell it pained her to hear it. With the comfort of old friendship, and years of knowing my kitchen, she set out the teacups and saucers, and prepared the milk and sugar without asking. Once the tea was ready, we relocated to the sofa in the living room. As I spoke, I felt Cass really listening, which was something of a rarity for her, the natural-born talker. But she was listening, and I began to relax and open up more, as we inched our way back to our former intimacy. She then related to me her own struggles with loneliness and despair when she was going through chemo. I don’t think I had appreciated, at the time, the extent of her feelings of alienation from Aldo, and her friends, and our colleagues at school. I was just about to tell her about my new-found lightness when, like a hawk swooping down on its prey, she asked—Have you considered inviting God into your life?