As the silence stretches, she drapes the cool towel around his neck, and turns to the table. Popping the tab on a cold can of ginger ale, she pours a healthy measure into Louisa's ridiculous Coney Island pint glass.

As the ginger ale fizzes down, she opens a bottle of ibuprofen, and shakes four into her palm in quick succession.

Her attention returns to Mike when he speaks.

"That's the job," she says, her mouth twisting — not quite a smile, not quite a frown. "I see a lot of people on their worst days."