He looked surprised.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are we tearing apart ventilation?”
“Because if we find something irrelevant, we cross it off.”
He studied me differently.
Not respect.
Not yet.
Maybe less contempt.
Nathan looked toward his sons.
They sat on the guest-room floor building with blocks.
Tired.
But engaged.
He watched them for a long time.
“Do they always get worse in winter?”
I turned.
“What?”
He frowned.
“They’re worse in winter.”
“Better when traveling?”
His face changed.
“Sometimes.”
Dr. Reeves looked at him.
“You never told me that.”
Nathan’s eyes sharpened.
“I did.”When?”
“Last summer. Lake Como.”
Reeves looked uncertain.
“You said the improvement was mild.”
“It was obvious to me.”
“Symptoms fluctuate.”
“Yes.”
I interrupted.
“How long were they away?”
“Three weeks.”
“Did they improve immediately?”
Nathan thought.
“After maybe four days.”
“And worsen after coming home?”
He went still.
“Yes.”
“How fast?”
