She takes pleasure in saying Mary’s full name, her true name, not the one given to her here. The nurse frowns before turning away, leaving Wendy alone in the entryway, and Wendy smiles to herself. She makes herself look up, at the railing running along the second floor where the private rooms are. She and Mary snuck up there so many times. She could almost close her eyes, trace her steps through this place and not get lost. She keeps her eyes open, forces her hands down at her side.

“If you’ll follow me, please.” The nurse returns and gestures, and Wendy obeys.

Her gait feels oddly stiff, as though all at once she’s forgotten what walking means. Even though she knows he isn’t here, she just can’t stop herself expecting Jamieson to loom out of one of the doorways and catch her in a meaty hand. Ned had offered to come with her, for support, but she insisted on coming alone.

“If I don’t face this now,” she’d told him, “I never will. It’s important.”

He’d looked concerned, but let her go, hiring a car to take her. Wendy had almost told the driver to turn around several times, and again at the gates she’d almost panicked and fled. Now, as she follows the nurse, Wendy’s fear shifts to something else. There’s a sense of dislocation, as if she’s floating. She isn’t afraid; she feels almost giddy, and that seems wrong.

She glances at the faces of the patients they pass. Most keep their heads lowered, not even looking up as she goes by. She remembers doing the same, ignoring the outside world as a matter of survival. If they did look up, would any of them recognize her? And would it make their lives better or worse? Would her being here give them hope they might leave one day, too, or would they simply resent her for having freedom they do not?

Lucky, she tries to remind herself how lucky she is, how little separates her from the patients around her. After everything, John didn’t give up on her. How many of these patients have brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, still hoping for their cure?

The nurse opens the door to one of the small sitting rooms, and Wendy’s heart takes a moment to forget how to beat. The room is empty save for Mary sitting in one of two chairs by the window, silhouetted against the bright winter sky. How should Wendy act? What will she say? All the ease between them has fled from her mind, as though they’re meeting again for the first time. Will Mary resent her? What will they talk about, now that they no longer know every single detail of each other’s lives day to day?