Jacob calls me in the afternoons, around three to make sure I am out of bed. On this day, I am groggy, but I still answer. “Let’s go have a margarita at that Mexican place by the gallery tonight,” he says. “Not yet. OK?” “Oh, come now, Jane! They have great fajitas, killer salsa. Besides, margaritas are your fav!” “I’m not up for it. Not today,” “Have you been able to paint?” “No.” “Jane?” “My brain’s not working. There’s...