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would ask a man searching for a missing person, especially if he was in the photo with her. “Missing,” I say, and turn away so as not to catch his reaction.
    Outside, the cloud bank has broken up. Giant fingers of light reach down to touch the earth. The rain has transformed the parking lot into a steaming slab of asphalt, a fog and light show. And although I’m on the edge of New Jersey, it feels like somewhere else.

chapter 14
    Back home, Zero is not impressed with my travels. I tell him about Corey the garage clerk and his propensity for talking about honesty, but Zero gazes sadly out the window, his eyes glassed over on the verge of tears. Total drama. Pure melancholy.
    â€œI did not abandon you,” I say, and point at him for emphasis.
    Zero glances over to the refrigerator calendar, then studies his empty bowl.
    â€œThat bowl was overflowing with food when I left. You gorged yourself to make me feel guilty.”
    His tail thumps defiantly.
    I go to the answering machine, which blinks with a bright red number one. I push the button, and a robot lady voice tells me I have a message. It beeps and Natalie’s voice comes out of the box: “Hi Sidney, I got word back from X-Ray. They said they could set up a CAT scan for you tomorrow. Give me a call and we’ll make it happen. Remember, it’s nothing to worry about.”
    Zero sighs heavily. First the abandonment, now this.
    â€œIt’s not that kind of cat,” I tell him.
    I open the fridge and grab some leftover chicken, toss him a chunk as a peace offering. He warily sniffs at it, as if I’ve just thrown him poison. But ultimately he can’t help himself and inhales the meat.
    â€œIt’s really not what you think,” I assure him, and wonder what the hell it is exactly, in my head, that’s so messed up it needs to be scanned.

chapter 15
    They keep telling me it’s almost over.
    I’m lying face-up on an ice-cold gurney, entombed inside a massive humming machine. An electric eye slowly spirals around my head, pausing for contemplation and an occasional blip or whir.
    â€œIt’s almost over,” they say again, muted voices from outside the tomb. “Don’t move your head, just another minute.”
    The truth is, if I could buy tickets to this ride, I would. The only thing missing is the pink foam. I feel strangely calm here, with the electric eye blinking its meditative trance signal. I breathe in and out and the eye blinks in unison, and we come to an understanding, the eye and I. If it weren’t so damn cold, I could lie here all day.
    â€œTwenty seconds,” someone says.
    Good-bye electric eye, I think. It blinks back at me.
    After the test, I sit in my green gown and wait for Dr. Singh’s arrival. I study the black-framed diplomas on his wall: a bachelor’s degree, a master’s, an MD. Others describe specialties and boards, procedures and licensing. They’re all ornately written in unreadable calligraphy, but they look impressive. One is perchedunusually high on the wall but I can’t read it. I’m about to stand on my chair to check it out, but Dr. Singh makes his entrance.
    He sketches mad notes on my chart, short, dark hieroglyphs that are illegible maybe even to him. He doesn’t look up. I sigh and drum my fingers on my knees. He mumbles some words to himself, flips a page back and forth, then looks up at me as if I’d asked him something. “You can get dressed. We’ll have someone call you.”
    â€œAny chance you know when the results will be in?” I ask.
    â€œWe’ll let you know when you get weak, probably right before you die,” he says, and tucks his chart under his arm.
    â€œOkay,” I say, and hop off the ice-cold steel table onto the ice-cold tile floor. He leaves the room and I change back into my civilian attire. A giant calendar hangs on the door, decorated with illustrations of myriad microscopic