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white boxes of Chinese takeout and watched a couple of reruns of
Friends
. As we waited at the curb outside her building for my ride home, she asked me how much sleep I was getting.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Jane, honey, you look exhausted.”
    I shrugged a wordless reply.
    Molly’s voice took on a near-maternal tone. “It’s been over two months. Don’t you think maybe it’s time to go see somebody? You can’t continue to operate on three or four hours of sleep a night.”
    I stiffened a bit. “I don’t want to take sleeping pills.”
    “I didn’t say start taking pills, I said go see somebody. Somebody who can help you sort this out so you can sleep at night.”
    Sort this out. Sort
me
out.
    “You mean a psychiatrist.”
    “No, I mean a counselor. You’re not crazy, Jane. You’re hurting. You’re afraid. You’re lonely. You’re frustrated. You’re unsure.”
    “Thanks a lot.”
    She ignored my relaxed sarcasm. “That’s a lot for one person to deal with. It’s no wonder you’re not sleeping well. You need to talk this over with somebody. A professional.”
    My unspoken wish floated in between her words and my silence. I just wanted to wait it out, not sort it out. Some people hate waiting. I wasn’t one of those people.
    Molly filled the sound void. “There’s a guy here in my building who’s a psychologist. A counselor.”
    I turned from her words. They smarted.
    “Not a psychiatrist, Jane. A
counselor
. I ride the elevator with him all the time. He seems really wise and balanced. He’s got a good sense of humor. And he does this for a living, Janie.”
    She pulled a business card out of her front pants pocket and handed it to me. Jonah Kirtland, PhD. Licensed Counselor. She was prepared.
    “You always walk around with his business card in your pocket?”
    “You’re my best friend. I asked for it in the elevator this morning. I told him I was going to give it to you.”
    I touched the letters of his name. “Jonah. Like the whale.”
    “No. Jonah, like the guy who got swallowed by a whale. And then got out of it.”
    The wide stripe of easy cornflower blue above Jonah Kirtland’s name was soothing. The font below it was soothing too. Capitals that didn’t shout; not an easy artistic element to pull off.
    “You told him my name?”
    Molly exhaled quietly. “Yes.”
    “Did you tell him anything else?”
    “I told him you’re going through a really tough time. That you’re not sleeping at night.”
    I rubbed my finger across the slick corner of the card. “And I suppose you told him why.”
    Another exhale. This one a little louder. “Yes, I did. I told him your husband moved out and you hadn’t seen it coming. I am sorry if you rather I hadn’t done that. But I did. He told me he’d be happy to work you into his schedule.”
    I slipped the card into my pocket, my cheeks warm from the reminder of my naiveté; that I hadn’t seen it coming.
    “You mad at me?” Molly asked.
    “No.”
    “Will you call him?” she asked.
    I nodded.
    “Promise?”
    I nodded a second time.
    Molly smiled and the relief on her face was obvious. “Good.” A tiny crease formed above her eyes. “Just one thing. He’s …,” but she didn’t finish.
    “He’s what?”
    A yellow cab pulled up to the curb.
    She shook her head and the crease disappeared. “Never mind. I think you’re doing the right thing. The smart thing.”
    “I suppose. Thanks for dinner.” I hugged her good-bye and got into the cab.
    “Call me and let me know what happens, all right?” she called out as I closed the car door. I waved good-bye.

     
    I’d forgotten to leave a light on, so the apartment was dark and cheerless when I unlocked the door. I made a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table. I slid into Brad’s chair without even thinking about it and placed Jonah Kirtland’s card against a vase of straw flowers at the center of the table. I had never been to a psychologist before. Contemplating making an