Sometime around 6:00 a.m. Natalie Young knocked once and then came in through the door in his living room. She was dressed in a neat red dress with matching heels, her white lab coat unbuttoned over this, and her hair pulled back in its usual tight knot. She looked every bit as though the world was still exactly as it ought to be. She took a seat across from him, pulling up the chair and sitting on its edge, so that her knees were almost touching his. She waited a few minutes in silence, looking at him with pursed lips and a cool, somewhat studious expression.

“Oh, Jeremiah,” she said at last, and left it at that.

“I don’t want to talk right now.”

“I think we need to.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

He stood up then, tightened the belt around his bathrobe again and walked into the kitchen without looking at her. He switched on the light and busied himself with the coffeemaker, measuring French roast with slow, purposeful movements, and filling the carafe with water from the refrigerator dispenser. He laid the preparations on the counter, and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, putting his hands before him to steady himself. After a moment, she followed him, and stared at his back until he finally turned around.

“Talk to me, Jeremiah. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He was silent. She didn’t want to know what he was thinking.

“I need to make sure you’re coping with all of this. I need to make sure you’re all right.”

“No.”

“We could take the Meld. I can see it that way, if that would be easier for you than talking right now.”

“I’m not taking the Meld. I’ve taken too much of that stuff already. And the last time it was twice in one day. I don’t like letting you peer into me like that.” He hesitated just a moment and looked her hard in the eye. “I don’t think you understand what you’re seeing,” he told her. “I think you made mistakes.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. Jeremiah thought he detected a hint of apprehension in her voice.

“I think you should go, Natalie,” he said, turning back to his coffee. “Please. Just go.”

“Mr. Higgins will be here soon,” she told him. “Talk to him. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jeremiah, for our scheduled session. Please try to get some rest today. If you need me, let me know.”

He said nothing and watched her walk out the door. Without conscious thought, in sure, robotic motion, he got himself showered and dressed. When he came back out to the living room, Brent handed him coffee and motioned him to the couch without a word.

“I told you. I tried to tell you,” Jeremiah said.

“I know.”

“You didn’t listen.”

“I know.”

“She was my wife. What am I supposed to do now? This isn’t even my own life I’ll be going back to anymore. Everything’s just so fucked up now.”