is a successful cardiologist. I used to get his calls—Dr. Wilson? I'm sure you don't remember who I am, but last week, I brought my mother in. I need to tell you a few more things about her condition. . . . Or, Hi Reed! Welcome to Beverly Hills! We have some special offers just for you! Phone pressed against my ear like half of a broken stethoscope, I'd politely provide a referral. Meanwhile, my modest rented living room spilled out around me— crayons, Legos, and Barbies strewn like the aftermath of a cataclysm. Each night, I'd tidy up: this was my job then, among others, saving my patience for what some part of me knew would come. Soon, that marriage would end, my kids would be with me half-time, spaces once overfull would still, and empty. I know he's just another guy like me. We even attended the same university. Even now I'll bet he rocks on the same waves of middle age as I, pours himself a drink, anchors himself on his sofa and reads up on all the latest science, and the art, of encouraging the heart.