“Okay, sure. And where is Blinda now?” The way she drew out Blinda’s name made it sound as if she thought I had an imaginary therapist, the way children have imaginary friends.

“Africa. She used to be in the Peace Corps.”

“How long has she been in Africa?”

“It seems like a long time, but it’s really been a few weeks.”

“I see.” She smoothed her already sleek bob with her hand. “Billy, I should also mention something-and this is just for you to tuck away in case you need it later-but there are a number of top-of-the-line inpatient facilities in the city for people who just need a break from everyday stress.”

“Inpatient?” I began coughing. “You want to hospitalize me?”

“I’m just naming some options.”

I stood from the couch. “Thank you for your time, but a better option is for me to just get out of here.”

T he next day, I sat at my desk stewing, the door closed. How could Blinda give me the frog and then take off? It was like giving someone a ballistic missile without the owner’s manual.

I clicked on the Internet and spent an entirely useless fifty minutes searching Google for jade green frog and wish fulfillment and Chinese prophecy. I got a whole lot of nada.

Lizbeth buzzed me. “Evan is looking for you.”

I drew in a fast breath. Evan had been looking for me for nearly a week now, and I’d managed to avoid him by getting in early, leaving late and keeping my door closed. Yet I could feel him; I remembered those kisses. The memories made me hate myself.

“Tell him I’ll call him,” I said.

I hit the off button and sat back in my butter-yellow chair. (At least I loved my chair.) How odd that I should be putting off the great Evan, the Everlasting Crush. Yet the thought brought me no triumph, only a reverie that led me back to Blinda and the frog.

Suddenly, I struck on a thought. I sat up in my chair, my feet pushed to the ground, as if I might leap and run.

If indeed the damned frog had given me what I wished for-and it certainly seemed that way-then couldn’t I just get rid of the frog and get rid of everything that had happened? I’m not sure where I got this idea, but it seemed intuitively correct-lose the frog and lose the wish fulfillment, too. Then I could start over, wherever that start-over point was, and make it all okay.

I needed to go back to that place where I didn’t get what I wanted simply because I’d wished it to a therapist and a frog. I needed free will in my life again. I needed everyone else to have free will, too. I didn’t want Chris to love me (or Evan to lust after me) only because I’d wished it so. I didn’t want the promotion because I’d pined for it; I wanted to deserve it. And my mom? Well, I did like my mother having her own life, but again, wasn’t that simply because I’d hoped it into existence, the way I’d hoped for the dispelling of my father from my mind? The frog had brought what I’d wanted, at least as I’d thought I’d wanted it, but without the ability of others to choose for themselves.

And of course, the things I’d wanted weren’t faultless. They each brought their own problems that were, in many ways, much trickier than the problems I’d had before. If I could just rewind and do it all the old-fashioned way-take action, make choices, let everyone else do the same-I would look more closely to see what I really wanted. And I’d handle achievement better when it came my way.

The conclusion was clear. I stood now, fighting back the urge to raise a determined fist in the empty confines of my office.

I had to destroy the frog. I had to kill it. Period.

I went straight home and marched to my bedroom. I moved aside the alarm clock and the novels on my nightstand and stood staring at the frog as if it were a four-hundred-pound gorilla, rather than a scrap of faux jade.

“Time for you to go,” I said out loud. I was inexplicably nervous.

I reached out hesitantly, as if it might bite me. I snatched the thing in one quick movement, closing my fist around it. I held it tight and carried it to the kitchen, where I dropped it in our kitchen garbage can. That hardly seemed final enough, so I fastened the bag with a twist-tie and took it outside.

The Dumpster behind the condo was large, gray and battered. I lifted the heavy metal top and dropped the bag inside. When I let the top go, it slammed closed like a prison door. A perfect resting place. I almost felt as if I should bow my head, maybe mumble a few words as if at a burial, but right then one of the other condo members, a man in his mid-sixties, came by with his own garbage bag.

“Hello!” he said jovially. “Nasty weather, huh?”

I glanced around. I had been so concerned with the frog that I’d hardly noticed the weather. Sure enough, the skies were foggy and ominous, the air a chilly fifty degrees. “Nasty, yeah,” I said.

I went to turn away, but then the man raised his arm to lift the Dumpster lid. I felt an irrational fear as he did so. “Oh, don’t…” I said, moving toward him.

The man froze, the top already a few inches up now. “What’s that?” he said, looking at me strangely. He kept hoisting the lid, and I felt the breath catch in my lungs. What I was afraid of, I didn’t know. Nothing happened. He threw his bag on top of the others and let the lid fall with a satisfying clang.

“I was just saying have a great day,” I said.

“You, too.”

I trotted back to my condo. I looked around trying to feel the shift that must be happening now that I’d gotten rid of the frog.

The next morning, I was awoken by a nudge. When I blinked my eyes open, Chris was standing over me with a tray. “I made you breakfast,” he said. “And you’re going in late today, because I have plans for us.” He gave me a lascivious wink.

I coughed. “Oh, honey. That’s so nice, but I can’t be late, and I’ve told you I really, really don’t like breakfast.”

“Sure you do.” He nudged me some more with his knee. “Scoot.”

I moved over and sat up. I sensed something, as if someone were in the room with us.

With trepidation, I turned my head ever so slowly toward the nightstand. And my eyes came to rest on something little. Something green.

“Chris!” I said, scrambling into a kneeling position. “Did you take that out of the garbage?”

“Whoa!” Chris said, holding tight to the tray to stop the food from sliding. “Don’t be rude. I made these eggs myself.”

“Not the eggs,” I huffed. “That!” I pointed at the nightstand.

“That frog has been there for weeks,” Chris said.

“But I threw it away yesterday.”

“Why?” His face creased in a confused frown.

“It doesn’t matter why. Did you dig it out of the Dumpster?”

“No.” He laughed.

“Well, then how did it get here?”

He shrugged. “Maybe you meant to throw it away, but you forgot.”

“I did not forget. I threw it away after work. How did it get out?”

Chris laughed again. “My wife has gone crazy.”

That day, I left my office early and hurried to the elevator with purpose. The doors opened, and there stood Evan. Instead of exiting, he waved an arm as if inviting me into a party. Another one.

“Aren’t you getting out?” I said.

“Not now.” He grinned.

“Well…” I stood there, unsure, not trusting myself. The doors began to slide shut. Evan stuck his arm out to stop them, then grabbed my hand and pulled me inside.

“How are you?” he said. Normal words, casual words, but his voice was low and deep, and his hand still held mine.

I pulled it away. “Fine, thank you. You?”

“What’s with the formalities?”

I couldn’t think of an answer.

“Are you leaving for the day?” he asked.

I nodded.

“I’ll go with you.”