Jim doesn’t try to make small talk, which Gemma appreciates. The further they go—heading west towards a view of the sunset over the Puget Sound—the more she finds herself wanting to talk.

“I was on the debate team in high school,” she begins. “And there was this guy, Glenn. We were kind of rivals. Sort of. I mean I was sort of the upstart usurper. He had been the star before I came along. Anyway.” Gemma looks up at Jim, who returns her gaze with a steady look. “You sort of reminded me of him, I guess, when we shook hands in the restaurant.”

“Is that what’s upset you?” he asks. “That I remind you of him?”

Gemma shakes her head. “No. You don’t really look alike. There was just something about a gesture you made that reminded me of him.” She tells him about the debate team, the weekend retreat, about the blindfold exercise. “And then after that he was gone.”

“What does that mean?” Jim asks.