Back at home, I forced myself to put on my running gear. I hadn’t run since Vivian’s announcement – the first days I’d missed since I’d started back up – and I hoped that the physical exertion would leave me feeling more like myself. On the run I was fine despite adding a couple extra miles, but by the time I’d finished my shower, I found myself thinking about Vivian again. The fury I’d felt earlier had diminished, replaced by an overwhelming sadness.

It was almost too much to bear, and knowing I couldn’t face yet another day like the two I’d just weathered, I had to do something. Anything. My desire to work was zero, but I forced myself to go to my den. As soon as I took a seat at the desk and saw a photo of Vivian, I knew that staying at home wasn’t going to work. There were too many reminders here; too many reasons for the emotional train to start steaming again.

It was time, I thought, to visit my office.

Packing up my computer, I went to the office I’d rented. The shared receptionist was startled to see me, but reported as usual that I had no messages. For the first time, I honestly didn’t care.

I unlocked my office. Nothing had changed since I’d last been here – it had been weeks – and there was a thin sheen of dust on my desk. I set my computer on it anyway and opened my email.

Dozens of messages, most of them receipts for automatic bills or spam. I deleted as much as I could and filed the bills in the appropriate folders, until I was left with the emails containing links to the footage for the commercials. With the presentation for the plastic surgeon already complete, it was Taglieri’s turn. I reviewed the notes I’d taken the weekend before; of the six takes we’d made in front of the courthouse, three were definite no-gos. Of the three that were workable, I eventually whittled that down to two. Of those, I thought he was better in the beginning in the second take, and better at the end in the first take. With a little editing – I had basic software on my computer – I’d be able to put those two sections together. There’s nothing quite like movie magic.

Even better, I liked him in the footage we’d shot, and I was sure that others would as well. He came across exactly the way I hoped – honest, competent, and likable – but more than that, he looked good on camera. Maybe it was the natural lighting, but it was a vast improvement over his previous commercials.

The footage for the second commercial was much more complicated. There were a lot of different scenes shot from varying angles – and a particularly gorgeous scene of a meadow with grazing horses – along with many different people, and that multiplied the way the commercial could eventually play out. Knowing it would take more time and energy than I’d be able to summon, I decided to simply work on the first commercial.

The software I used wasn’t commercial grade, but that was okay; I’d already spoken to the best freelance editor in town, and slowly but surely I got to work. At lunch, I had to force myself to finish a bowl of soup I’d picked up from the deli, then went back to editing until it was time to pick up London from school.

It had not been an easy day. Whenever my concentration waned – even for a second – the emotional turbulence, and questions, would return. I’d get up from my desk and pace; other times, I would stand near the window, feeling as my chest grew tight and hands began to shake in what seemed to be an airless office. I would feel – deeply feel – my own loss in a way that made me believe there was no reason to go on.

But inevitably, because distraction was my only hope of salvation, I would return to the desk and try to lose myself in the service of Taglieri.

“What you’re experiencing is normal,” Liz assured me on the back patio later that night, after I told her what I was going through. She and Marge had shown up at my house yet again after work. Marge had brought Play-Doh and was sitting on the floor with London while they sculpted various items.

“You’ve suffered a profound shock. Anyone would be upset.”

“I’m worse than upset,” I admitted. “I can barely function.”

While Liz and I had talked hundreds of times, it was the first time I ever felt that I needed to talk to her. The day had left me spent. I wanted nothing more than to run away or find a dark, quiet place to hide, but with London, I couldn’t do that. Nor did I think it would help; after all, I would carry my thoughts with me wherever I went.

“But you told me you went to work,” she said. “You got London to and from school and piano. And she’s eaten.”

“I picked up fast food on the way home.”

“That’s okay. You’ve got to learn to be gentle with yourself. You’re handling this about as well as anyone could. Especially the way you’re dealing with the emotions.”

“Did you not hear anything I told you?”

“Of course I did. And I know it feels unbearable, but believe it or not, the fact that you’re letting yourself feel the emotions instead of suppressing them is a good thing. There’s an old saying that goes like this: The only way out is through. Do you understand what that I mean by that?”

“Not really. But then again, my brain doesn’t seem to be working all that well. The next time I look at the commercial I edited together, I’ll be depressed at what a terrible job I did.”

“If it’s that bad, you’ll fix it, right?”

I nodded. I had to fix it. Because Vivian had opened her own bank account, it was up to me to cover all the bills, including, I assumed, the mortgage.