“Ma’am, does your husband know you’re here today?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“He believes I am at the grocery store in town.”

Doctor Aris turned back toward his desk, his face noticeably pale under the fluorescent ceiling lights.

“Please sit down in the armchair by the window, Mrs.

Vance.”

“I prefer to stand,” I said, keeping my hands in the deep pockets of my wool coat.

He set the clipboard on his green blotter and tapped his pen against a three-page stack of printed computer paper.