The dog leapt onto the bed, wiggling and whimpering, amazing Annie with both his acute hearing and his astute instinct to obey John’s soft command.

“He loves you,” Annie said. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “So do I.”

John rolled onto his side, pulled her down, and kissed her. Then Restless jumped between them, his little tongue joining in the kisses while he panted his sweet puppy breath.

“No,” John said, laughing. “Lie down. Sit. Go somewhere else.”

“Are you talking to the dog or to me?”

“Get in your crate!” he continued with halfhearted authority, laughing again.

“I don’t have a crate,” Annie replied, just as Restless jumped off the bed, scuttled through the little door of the dog crate in the corner of the room, and plunked down on the blue plaid doggie cushion that John had bought online from L.L.Bean. “He’s very good, isn’t he?”

“He’s getting spoiled. Like me.” John kissed her again and ran his hands through her hair. “Speaking of which, to what do I owe the pleasure of being awakened from a dead sleep?”

She wished he hadn’t said the word dead. It made her think of cancer and of Murphy and of the prognosis that Donna had just dodged. Annie sighed and sat up. “Lucy went to the library. She had the impression I wanted to be alone with you.”

John propped himself up on one elbow. “Suddenly, I have a feeling this isn’t a bootie call.”

Smoothing the navy-striped comforter, she remembered when she’d gone over to the Cape with him to pick out all new bedding: the comforter, sheets, blankets, pillows, the works. It had been early in their relationship, that stage when everything was magical. “You don’t have to try to impress me,” she’d said. “I’ll slide under your covers no matter how old they are.” They’d been on the boat, loaded down with Bed, Bath & Beyond coupons, whispering like newlyweds, though no commitment had been involved. He’d shaken his head. “I will not have you burrowing under the same blankets that I’ve taken camping for over thirty years. Nor will I have you sniffing the questionable sanitation of my bachelorhood.” That, of course, was before his daughter had moved back home and he’d cleaned up his act. Now, his bedding carried an aroma of his woodsy deodorant, fabric softener, and a bit of dog.

“I have a problem,” Annie said.

He frowned. His brow furrowed, his eyebrows crinkled. He reached up and snapped on the lamp. “What’s wrong?”

“Donna.”

“You picked her up?” He fell silent then, waiting for Annie to go on.

“I did. She told me she had cancer.”

He pulled himself up and put his arm around her. “Had, not has?”

She shrugged. “Had. But it feels strange that I didn’t know.”

“How does Kevin feel about it?”