Mr. Hersch removed the lip balm from his pocket and looked at it. There was some writing on the bottom. Squinting in the glow of a streetlight, he could now make out that the cosmetic had been purchased at a large chain drug store, open seven days a week. What a foolish old man he was! He remembered his worry and concern when he’d found the little pot in the bathroom. He hadn’t been as lucid then as now. The periods of vagueness appeared to come and go. The result was that Saul Hersch questioned his every thought, whenever he had the clarity to do so. Certain times he questioned more than others, he thought wryly. Ah, well. He would arrive at Helena’s doorstep in his pajamas and bathrobe, bearing lip balm on this midnight errand of mercy, and his daughter would open the door and look upon him with pity in her eyes. She would thank him for the lip balm, of course, and act as though everything were fine. He, too, would act as though everything were fine. She would find him there, and he would say, “Hi. It’s me,” and she would reply, “Hi, Me,” just as they had for over thirty years, and they would pretend that nothing was awry. And then he would silently cry himself to sleep in the spare bedroom of Grant Spitznaugel and Helena Hersch-Spitznaugel’s home.