Dr. Hall’s office was small but comfortable—books, artwork on the wall, a window looking out onto leaves, a desk off to one side, and two worn leather chairs facing each other with a small glass table between. The table held only a pitcher of ice water, two clean glasses, and a box of Kleenex. Dale had needed the Kleenex only on his third visit, when he’d had a spring cold.

During their last session in mid-October, the leaves had been red outside the windows and Dr. Hall had been concerned about Dale’s decision to spend the winter in Illinois. Eventually, however, the subject changed from emergency phone numbers and the necessity of Dale’s getting in contact with another doctor to provide the necessary antidepressants and sleeping pills.

“You understand that I strongly advise against your plan to spend the winter alone in Illinois,” said Dr. Hall.

“Noted,” said Dale.

“Does my advice make any difference?”

“I’m spending a hundred and twenty-five dollars an hour for it,” said Dale.

“You’re spending a hundred and twenty-five dollars an hour for therapy,” said Hall. “To talk. Or in your case, Dale, not so much to talk, but to get the prescriptions you need. But you’re still going to spend the next ten months or so alone in Illinois.”

“Yes,” said Dale. “But only nine months. The usual gestation period.”

“You realize that this is a classic pattern.”

Dale waited and listened.

“A spouse dies and the survivor moves away—especially men, Dale—and tries to ‘start a new life,’ not realizing that what’s needed at such a time is continuity, contact with friends, a support system. . .”