Cynthia's fingers tighten on my arm. She's read the answer on my face. I toss the test down on the table and grab my mug again. The coffee has finally cooled enough to drink, and I need something bracing.

Cynthia waits for me to speak first. It's funny - when I asked to come over and do this here, I never expected her to be so restrained. In fact, I'd hoped she'd be her usual, talkative self - it would help get me out of my head. But her supportive silence is doing its job, ...