"I take it you didn't," I said.

"No. Daddy, would you ever hurt Mom? I mean, now? On purpose?"

I shook my head, but that wasn't good enough for her. I could tell by the way she just stood there, looking me in the eye. "No," I said. "Never. I'd-"

"You'd what, Daddy?"

"I was going to say I'd cut my own arm off first, but all at once that seemed like a really bad idea. I'd never do it, Illy. Leave it at that."

"Then why is she still afraid of you?"

"I think... because I'm maimed."

She hurled herself into my arms so hard she almost knocked us both onto the sofa. "Oh, Daddy, I'm so sorry. All of this is just so sucky."

I stroked her hair a little. "I know, but remember this - it's as bad as it's going to get." That wasn't the truth, but if I was careful, Ilse would never know it had been an outright lie.

A horn honked from the driveway.

"Go on," I said, and kissed her wet cheek. "Your sister's impatient."

She wrinkled her nose. "So what else is new? You're not overdoing the pain meds, are you?"

"No."

"Call if you need me, Daddy. I'll catch the very next plane."

She would, too. Which was why I wouldn't.

"You bet." I put a kiss on her other cheek. "Give that to your sister."

She nodded and went out. I sat down on the couch and closed my eyes. Behind them, the clocks were striking and striking and striking.

v

My next visitor was Dr. Kamen, the psychologist who gave me Reba. I didn't invite him. I had Kathi, my rehabilitation dominatrix, to thank for that.

Although surely no more than forty, Kamen walked like a much older man and wheezed even when he sat, peering at the world through enormous horn-rimmed spectacles and over an enormous pear of a belly. He was a very tall, very black black man, with features carved so large they seemed unreal. His great staring eyeballs, ship's figurehead of a nose, and totemic lips were awe-inspiring. Xander Kamen looked like a minor god in a suit from Men's Warehouse. He also looked like a prime candidate for a fatal heart attack or stroke before his fiftieth birthday.