The appointment at Diane Morey's took up the entire morning. It was rather uneventful, and Diane had coffee and cupcakes with chocolate frosting laid out for them when they arrived. Connor devoured three cupcakes before getting to work on the ramp over the front steps, and between helping and supervising, Zephyr and Diane had an unexpectedly nice chat about things other than high school. In general, she was increasingly mellow and pleasant with each visit. Zephyr got the odd feeling that she somehow looked forward to their appointments. She took an interest in Connor, too, and asked him questions about school and future plans while he hammered away at the ramp.

Lonely clients were nothing new. But it blew his mind that Diane, of all people, experienced the same desperate loneliness that was so familiar to him. In his mind, there were two worlds, and Diane still belonged in the active, happy, unlimited potential world. Not anymore; she had now crossed into the shadowy world of people who were seldom seen and painful to look at. It was wrong on so many levels; people shouldn't be able to switch worlds so abruptly.

There wasn't much he could do, but he did what he could: he looked her in the eye and treated her as if she'd never been paralyzed and had never tormented him. The latter was easy as long as she didn't bring it up herself; he had difficulty associating present-day Diane with that popular blonde girl who had intimidated him so many years ago.

After an emotional wrench like that, the last thing he felt like doing was sitting in a car for 45 minutes, so he dragged his feet as much as he could. He and Connor didn't get back to the office until nearly 1:00, just in time to put in their votes for lunch. Mariluz handed Zephyr the menu for a local Chinese restaurant, and as he skimmed it, Connor got his attention.

"Would it be too much trouble if we get something other than Chinese?" Connor asked meekly.

"Like what?" Zephyr said.

"Oh, I dunno. Just... anything but Chinese. No wait, I guess it doesn't matter much. I'll eat Chinese."

"No," Zephyr said. He refolded the menu and put it on Mariluz's counter. "I'm perfectly happy to eat something else. Is Italian okay?"

"Oh, no," Connor implored, taking a step back. "Don't do that on account--"

Mariluz was on the phone, but she reached up and handed Zephyr the menu for a nearby pizza joint. Zephyr opened it, took a pen out of his pocket, and circled the chicken marsala. He marked a number 2 next to it and held it out to Connor. "Order," he ordered.

"Aw, no, you don't have t--"

"Order. Then give it to Mariluz, and when she's done, pass it on."

Connor did as he was told, and after he had dashed off with the menu, Zephyr made his way to the breakroom to make sure there was juice for Reg. On his way out, he saw Connor standing over Marsh while Marsh perused the menu.

Marsh marked an item and then said to Zephyr, "I need a break. Let me call in the order and then you and I can go pick it up."

Zephyr hesitated. He really didn't want to go on several different levels, each reason more compelling than the last. And he had just spent a good chunk of the morning surviving car rides. And he was going to make a few phone calls for the Brandes account, and go downstairs and get Reg, and...

"I'll go," Connor offered.

But Zephyr knew why Marsh had extended him the invitation, and sending Connor in his place would defeat the purpose Marsh had just laid out for him. Now he just had to decide whether to agree to it. He could trust Marsh, but he wasn't sure he could handle facing himself right now. He could trust Marsh. He could refuse to cooperate. But he had to make a decision.

"No, you have work to do, Connor. I... yeah. Come on, Marsh."

He and Marsh exchanged that glance that people give each other when they share some bit of knowledge between them, which Zephyr found exciting. If only that bit of knowledge were something besides a personal shortcoming. But he'd committed himself to it now... so they took Shauna's order and Zephyr followed Marsh outside to Marsh's car.

"So," Marsh said as they got in.

"So," Zephyr repeated. "Did you think of that thing you couldn't tell me on Friday?"

"Not exactly. But I did a little thinking. May I speak freely?"

"I guess you'll have to," Zephyr said while staring intently at the brickface of the building in front of them. "Otherwise this whole thing is a waste of time."

"Yeah." Marsh paused. "Well, one way to treat phobias is to expose the person to positive experiences with the thing their afraid of."

"You mean like rides that don't result in horrific accidents? I have at least two of those every day; more often four or so. For many years."

"Do you think you've mellowed during that time?"

Zephyr squirmed. "No," he replied slowly. "If anything, it's gotten worse. I don't know why."

"Well," said Marsh, "we've already determined that focusing on the origin of the problem isn't an option. If it's not caused by anything in particular, and it's not eased by frequent exposure to positive experiences, then you may have to will it away."

Zephyr tried to think of a response to that.

Marsh continued. "You might have to make a conscious decision to change. This fear has been a part of you for a long time, but you can decide that it won't be anymore."

"Aw, geez, I don't know." That sounded unreasonably idealistic, Zephyr thought.

"It can be done," Marsh told him. "People rewrite themselves every day."

"Yeah, but this isn't exactly on the same level as shaving off a mustache, or... eating salads for lunch!" Zephyr looked down at the menu in his hands, which he had inadvertently wrung into a wad. Why couldn't he get his fingers to do that sort of thing when he really needed them to? He unfolded it and found the item marked with Connor's handwriting. "A garden salad... what was he thinking? He had three cupcakes this morning."

"No, it's not the same," Marsh agreed. "Dropping fifty or so pounds is insanely difficult. Poor kid."

"Yeah, but if he succeeds, he'll be better off for it," Zephyr pointed out.

"And so will you, if you beat this. Which you can. In fact, it's a lot like eating a salad for lunch. Once you eat the salad, you have to spend the rest of the day resisting the temptation to eat something else. Same with this. Once you decide to be at peace for each ride, you have to resist the temptation to indulge in fear."

"It's not an indulgence! You seem to think I do it on purpose! I don't do it--"

"Not so loud," Marsh interrupted.

Zephyr forced a slow breath. "Sorry, man. I'm just... on edge, I guess. It's hard enough having this conversation without knowing that any minute, I'm going to be facing it all over again."

"I haven't started the car yet," Marsh pointed out. "You can get out at any time."

Marsh was right, Zephyr realized. He could just open the door and get out, or he could stay voluntarily and accompany Marsh to pick up lunch. It was his choice. Go or stay. Go or stay. His choice.

"No, we'd better get going before the food gets cold."

"Ready?" Marsh asked.

"Yah."

Marsh started the ignition. Zephyr glanced at him and accidentally caught his eye. As the car idled, they looked at each other.

"Did I do all right?" Marsh asked him.

The question took him by surprise. He nodded and went back to staring straight ahead. The restaurant was five blocks away, but Zephyr was so busy pondering the implications of that last question...