As I take a long inhale of the perfume, I remember. I remember us talking about this place, Six Cedars. We did discuss it. We talked about how beautiful the house looked. How nice it would be to live so close to a big forest. That I’d always wanted to live somewhere near a forest. I’d completely forgotten this until right now. I wanted to live here.

I take another sniff.

I listen to make sure no one is coming down the hall. I dab some on my finger, behind my ear, my wrist. I rub my wrists together. I can’t help myself. I replace the lid, set the perfume back down, and walk out to find Hilbert.

“Did you know that n is the mathematical reference for an uncertain number?” says Hilbert.

“No,” I say.

“Such a small thing, just a letter, but it is necessary.”

“You have such a different way of seeing things from my way,” I say.

“That’s how I feel about you,” he says.

“There are things that you understand that I don’t.”

“And vice versa,” he says. “After we talk, I keep thinking about the things you tell me,” he says.

I feel a warmth spread across my chest.

“How many days have we known each other?”

“I’m not sure. Does the sum matter?”

“I was wondering if we might try something,” I say.

“When?” he asks.

“Today,” I say. “Now.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want to try?”

“I want to keep it a secret. Just between us.”

“Okay, Penny,” he says.

“Come with me,” I say, reaching out and taking hold of his long, heavy hand.

We shuffle along the hallway in our slippers, hand in hand, to my room. Just us. We can be alone in here. It’s quiet. I ask him to sit in the chair while I prepare my paint. He’s fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket.

“You can relax,” I say.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says.

“That’s a good thing.”

As I prep, I glance at Hilbert, how he sits, the slight tremble in his hands, how he’s peering around the room. He’s still curious at this age, still thoughtful.

“Were you married, Hilbert? Before you came here?”

“I was married. I’m a widower.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“We had a long time together,” he says.

He has settled, and I start painting.

“What was she like?”

“She was smart,” he says. “Intensely logical. That was the first thing I loved about her. Were you married?”

“No, but I had a partner for many years. We lived together. He was an artist.”

“Did you study how to do that?” he asks.

“Painting?”

“Yes.”

“No, not formally, just on my own. Reading books, trying things, going to galleries. I don’t like saying ‘self-taught’ because so much has influenced me.”

“That’s probably for the best. I studied for a long time, many years, most of my early adulthood—formal, academic study. I never thought I would enjoy teaching, but I did.”