Recently renovated, but still gratingly institutional. I stared at the mirror, which I suspected was two–way,, and tried to look calm. The door opened. Gregor and Klein walked in. Leaning to the side, I was able to catch a glimpse of Peter and George standing in the hall. Peter, busy arguing with someone out of my range of view, didn’t see me, but George did. He gave me a thumbs up. Reassured that my support team was still there, supporting, I settled back upright into my seat and smoothed my face back to calm. Klein placed the pill bottle on the table so I could read the label. Phyllis’s name was indeed on it, along with a brand name that I recognized from many TV ads that featured a well–rested woman strolling on a beach. Phyllis, it seemed, had insomnia. I sighed. He tapped the lid. “Have you seen this before?” Phyllis and I weren’t in the habit of having sleepovers. “No,” I replied. “But I found it in your car.” I made a face. This wasn’t something he had to tell me.
