She had lined up eight interviews for a two hour period. Since she never completed a job interview in less than 20 minutes, she had as usual doomed herself to fall behind. She wasn’t able that morning to pay attention to the interviews anyway; by the time she got to the office her swollen knee was starting to throb, and even with her foot elevated on an open bottom drawer, the pain was too distracting to let her to listen to the pale responses.

An hour after Connie’s office morning started, Cafeen walked in her door as applicant number three. Cathleen Lewis, actually, but her baby brother crowed “Cafeen” at her with shiny teeth on his infant lip and the nickname stuck. Especially when she grew up to have a major coffee addiction. She drank a 10-cup pot of fresh ground before leaving the house each morning, and continued with mugs of coffee all day. Cafeen even drank espresso as a bedtime beverage: nightcap in a demi tasse. She loved to talk fast and move quickly. She adored a buzz.

She liked to turn an interview around, so she attempted to convert Connie’s first question into her own inquiry about the nature of the job. She had spent the better part of the commute rehearsing how to ask natural-sounding questions that would get the interviewer talking. But as soon as she really looked at Connie she noticed pain graying her face. Cafeen became interested, and Connie almost collapsed into her care.

It was a management assistant job for which Connie sought an employee, but Connie confused any people ability for management skill; it was inevitable that she would hire a counselor for the job. And Cafeen was a counselor. That day she gave Connie candy (“for the pain. Sugar for pain. Really. Natural anesthetic”) and coffee (“you need a pick-me-up, honey. This is harmless stuff. Try it. Come on…”). Within weeks she gave Connie a diagnosis (“You have ADD. Attention Deficit Disorder. It’s probably rife in Mormons, with that closed gene pool. I don’t care how many wives which man had; there just weren’t that many of you, and you had to marry in the church. Made for inbreeding. And ADD’s inherited. There’s even a test for it. You watch for how much glucose the brain takes up, and if the patient has ADD their brain doesn’t use as much glucose. Tired brain. Needs a little stimulant. That’s why Ritalin works on the kids. That’s why the anti-caffeine prohibition for Mormons is stupid and ironic. The original taboo was against booze. Some zealot just mindlessly expanded it to include all ‘spirits and stimulants.’ Thereby depriving his people of the natural medication most of their brains need. Leaving them only with sugar. Which is why so many Mormons make, manufacture, and gorge on good old sucrose candy. Which is why you, Boss, are going to keep drinking real coffee.”) And so on. That’s how Cafeen rapped.

She wasn’t a good manager, because she hated to confront anyone but a stranger with criticism (Cafeen could never have stopped speaking to folks with whom she lived). But she was a pretty good counselor, and she became Connie’s friend. While Connie recuperated they got her more awake, more what they called “upright.” Before Cafeen Connie was always leaning just a bit too far forward; it was as if she were compelled to keep moving her feet, fast and almost stumbling, lest she tumble headfirst and top-heavy to the ground. There was a frantic tempo about her. In speeding her up Cafeen slowed her down. Connie became a bit graceful.

She stayed with Bill. Even with improvement Connie was concerned that if she left him she might never have sex again. But she found herself a little less ordinary. She liked her life a little more.

She worried about Megan though. Maybe it was like Cafeen argued – all the hormones in the meat and milk, all the chemicals in the air – but Megan at 12 was physically as mature as Connie and Cafeen had been at 16. It seemed to Connie that Megan chattered too much or spoke not at all, and she was impulsive. Like she wanted an existence more exotic. Attention more eccentric. Bill said Megan needed discipline. Cafeen said Megan needed fun. Connie didn’t know what to think. She made a cup of ordinary coffee, and brought it with two sugar cubes and a small spoon to the door of her daughter’s room.