I study his face. “Did Dr. Heller have any other helpful advice?” After an interminable pause, he digs into his pocket and pulls out a little orange bottle of pills. I inhale sharply. “What’s that?” “They’re antidepressants,” he says. “Dr. Heller thought they might help.” “Oh God.” “Rosie…” “I’m not taking those,” I say. “I don’t have depression. My situation is the problem. Anyone would be depressed in my situation.”
