“Don’t freak out.”
It’s the first thing Stacy says to me when I walk into the office.
Now, it has not been a good morning. I woke late, which is unheard of for me, and in my irritated state I busted the knob on the bathtub faucet. Ten minutes of digging for a set of pliers later, I was able to shut the faucet off, but not before I’d wasted enough hot water that my relaxing shower deteriorated into me furiously scrubbing off soapsuds under ice spray. Then, grumbling and with a headache that was making my left temple pound, I’d climbed into my car, propped my arm on the seat like I always do, turned my head like I always do, and felt a muscle on the left side of my neck do something it should not do. Finally, to top it all off, my neighbor’s cat ran behind my car, on my driveway, and when
