“What were we talking about?” Dr. Peterson says.
“When?"
“The last time.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Cadence.”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Honestly.”
“I think we were talking about your husband,” he says, looking through a file on his lap. “At least according to my notes.”
“We might have been,” she says. “I don’t really know.”
The room they’re sitting in is a large, high-ceilinged office with glass walls overlooking the skyline of downtown Houston. The room is aggressively air-conditioned and very white.
