Chapter 12: Hours

"You said hour four out loud," I said. "I told you not to count."

"I know." Stewart did not look away.

"I count when I'm afraid. It's the only way I know to stay in a room."

I had nothing to say to that, so I went back to work.

He sat in the waiting room for the rest of the day.

My assistant brought him a cup of water at one.

A nurse from the next hall slipped him half a granola bar at two.

She told him he looked like he needed it.

He ate it with both hands.

The six-year-old came back with her grandmother, and he asked the grandmother if he could see the dog again.

He was bad at it, and he kept trying.

I watched through the glass panel of the exam room door between patients.

He did not touch a phone, a watch, or a pen.

He sat with his back straight and his eyes on the fish tank.

Once I saw his lips move, and I knew he was counting again.

At four, a man with a cut hand came in and sat next to him.

Stewart said something, and the man laughed.

I did not know what to do with that.

Six years of dinners, and I had never seen him make a stranger laugh.

At five o'clock I signed my last chart and stood at the front desk with my coat on.

Stewart stood up when he saw me.

His suit was creased and his tie hung loose.

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