“I don’t know, to tell you the truth. Maybe talk to you a little. Have you eaten yet today?”

Tamara’s mouth softened, almost into a smile. “Food. Always food.”

“Not always, but often. I figure it can’t hurt.”

“Probably not.” She sighed. “And, no, I haven’t eaten.”

“All day?”

“Some cereal when I got up.”

He gestured toward the city spread out below them. “Had enough of this view for today?”

“I suppose so.”

Giving her shoulder a small, friendly, brotherly push, he said, “Let’s go.”

“So how much?”

“How much what?”

“How much weight have you lost?”

“I don’t know exactly. Maybe ten pounds.”

“More than that, I think. And you weigh yourself every day, Tam, so you know exactly, or pretty damn close. Don’t scam a scammer. How much?”

“Okay.” She looked across the table at him. “Say eighteen.”

“Eighteen pounds in six months?”

“Maybe twenty.”

“That’s way too much. Especially since you started at basically perfect.”

“Not perfect enough, evidently.” She tried a smile, but it didn’t take. “I just don’t have an appetite anymore, Mick. I try, but nothing tastes like anything.”

“The pot stickers here will knock you out.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see. It’s not like I’m trying not to eat. It’s just I don’t think of it.”

“Well, you need to.” Mickey slurped at his cup of very hot tea. “I don’t like to see you getting this thin, Tam. It reminds me of Mom.”

Tamara’s teacup stopped halfway to her mouth. “I’m not like Mom. Mom was on drugs. She overdosed.”

“Yeah, but before that she didn’t eat well either. And now, seeing you, you look a little like she did. And it brings it back clear as a bell. And that scares me.”

“Mickey, I’m not going to die.”