That’s how we were supposed to express our emotions, with “When you … I feel” statements. Molly nodded, seemingly entranced. “Well, what I’ve learned,” she said, “is that when someone bothers you in some way, like really gets under your skin, it’s usually because they remind you of someone else in your life.” She nodded vigorously as if convincing herself of her own theory, pleased to be in the counselor role. She looked to me for approval. I found myself wanting her to cite her sources—where had she learned this? From whom? It seemed somewhat ridiculous, almost too convenient. “So, me, for example, do I remind you of someone?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“A person who crowds me and makes me feel irritated.”

She laughed and pressed her palm against my shoulder. “Seriously! Like your mom, or maybe your dad?”

I shrugged and sat down on the couch. I tried to think of who in my life Molly reminded me of—my parents? my brother? Anna?—but my mind inevitably snapped back to Charlotte, like an excited puppy on a leash.

“What’s wrong?” Molly prodded.

I looked around and then lowered my voice. “I like someone here.”

“Is it Greg?” We both looked over at him; he was standing at the foosball table, dramatically twirling the rods. Earlier Molly had spotted us walking back from the woods, leaves stuck to our clothing and bits of dirt marring our bare legs. “Were you two doing what I think you were doing?” she’d asked.

“No!” we’d responded in unison. In fact, I had just given him a blow job, hoping that it would distract us both from the things we really wanted. Giving head was the easiest way to manufacture a sense of control, one that I’d been craving ever since I’d gotten to the Ledge. It didn’t last long—we’d gone weeks without physical contact—and when he came, I realized I hadn’t thought of Charlotte the entire time.

“Come on, you guys,” Molly had whined while I’d removed pine needles from my shorts. “You’re not supposed to be doing that!”

I looked over at Greg as he sent the players into a mad spin, the ball bouncing off the table and against the wall. “Someone else,” I said.

“Well, why don’t you say something to whoever it is?”

“It’s not like that, with this person.”

“Have you ever actually told anyone you’ve fallen for how you felt about them?”

Had I? I realized then that I had never confessed my feelings to any of the women. Not even to Kate. For a moment I considered saying something to Charlotte. But I was stuck there and would have to see her every day afterward. And yet, even if I never had to see her again, I wasn’t sure that I’d want her to know. Because then what?

“I haven’t, actually,” I said.