“There are several fat-free varieties of cheese.”

“Is there any decent beer on your list?”

“There are several selections of low-calorie beer, too. Should I read the menu?”

“No,” he said. “Never mind. Thanks.” He hung up the receiver and turned to Brent. “It would appear I’ve been put on a diet,” he said.

“And me, too, it seems. This stuff is like dishwater.” Brent poured the contents of the beer can down the sink. “There’s some ham in there. I’ll make us a sandwich. But I’m afraid the bulky rolls are gone. And there’s no mayonnaise, either.”

“Whatever,” Jeremiah said. “I’ll get Pike over here. I’ll straighten this out.”

They returned to the living room, set the food on the table in front of them and sat down just as the monitor switched on. Jeremiah was alarmed to see the clone entering his mother’s room at the assisted living home. He hadn’t expected that. He visited her every Tuesday after work, but never on a Friday.

“Hi, Mom,” the clone said. Jeremiah felt a little sting on hearing that word come out of the clone’s mouth.

His mother was sitting on the little stool in front of her mirror, brushing her hair in careful, smooth strokes. Her face was powdered and she was wearing a green dress with a silver brooch at the collar, in the shape of a star. She turned when she heard the clone come in and looked at him strangely for a long moment. So strangely, in fact, that for just an instant Jeremiah entertained the thought that she knew she was looking at an imposter. There was such a sense of confusion in her eyes and she scrutinized him silently.

“You’re late,” she said at last, and turned back to her own reflection. Jeremiah breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want his mother dragged into any of this. “I can’t seem to fasten this damn thing. If you’ll just help me, I’ll be ready to go in two shakes.”

The clone walked over to her and took an ornately carved wooden barrette from her shaky hand. He said nothing as he gathered her auburn hair into a long ponytail, smoothing the sides of her head to catch the loose strands, and fastened it behind her neck.

“Thank you,” she said, looking up at him without expression. “Now if I could just find my bag. I can never seem to find that thing.” She shifted her gaze toward the doorway and then back at the clone. “You know,” she said in a whisper, “I think they hide it on me. I really do. I think they’re playing tricks on me.”

“Who’s hiding it? No one is hiding anything on you,” the clone said.

She stood up and walked to her closet, shifting the rows of blouses and dresses in a flurry until she got thoroughly flustered.

“And someone has stolen my rabbit fur coat,” she said.

“Rabbit fur?” the clone asked, confused. “Mom, you got rid of that coat thirty years ago. Don’t you remember?”