Her voice was becoming faint, as though she were speaking through water. “I’ve looked for so many things in my life,” she said. “So many things.” She stopped and she moved her head very slightly to one side. “And all the time Paradise has been in this room with the three of you.” She closed her eyes for a minute. I thought they might not open again, but they did. She looked straight at Freddy. “Thanks for the back rub, Freddy,” she said. “Thanks for taking care of Dad.” And then she closed her eyes again, for the last time. For a while we all sat there on the bed with her, waiting, wondering whether she was going to say anything more. After about ten minutes, my father stood up and crossed the room and sat back in his red chair. “Oh, my sweet wife,” he sobbed. I looked at my watch. It was ten-thirty. At exactly that time, a week earlier, my mother had quietly left the party.

Freddy and I stayed on the bed for a few more minutes, looking at each other. Then he stood up and crossed the room, and went to sit on my father’s lap. My eyes and my mouth were dry. I looked at my mother, lying there and breathing steadily. It seemed incredible to me that none of us was waking her up, that we weren’t doing anything about the fact that she was dying, that we weren’t trying to stop it. I wanted to reach out and shake her by her shoulders; she would probably have looked up at me and perhaps then she would have said something. I wanted to call an ambulance and take her to the hospital and get her stomach pumped. I thought she was wrong, that even if she had only two months of agony left they would be better than this.

But I didn’t do anything. I just sat there and held her hand. Occasionally I said something. I didn’t know whether she could hear me or not. It didn’t matter. There wasn’t anything left to say.

• • •

At the end of an hour, I finally stood up and crossed the room to where my father and Freddy were, and threw in my lot with the living. “How long does this take?” I asked my father, who I thought should be making sure that things proceeded in an orderly fashion. He handed me the booklet, as though he no longer had any responsibility for it. The booklet, however, did not say how long it took for the pills to work. We had somehow, all of us, assumed that it took an hour or so, but here we were an hour later, and my mother was still breathing peacefully and regularly.

“We can’t just sit here watching,” said Freddy.