LeVon had gone to his new job, and John had recovered enough that he could handle the stairs. We moved him back into his bedroom, and the dining room furniture was returned. A home health aide named Kit came to keep him company and make his meals, but she was sullen and didn’t talk much, and was no replacement for LeVon. Sadie also came over every day, always optimistic, always talking up John’s mental progress (which I sure couldn’t see, though having him go up the stairs was great, don’t get me wrong). The speech therapist continued to come three times a week, and while John did seem to be trying to say words from time to time, the only clear thing he’d said was you the first day Janet came over.

Janet still visited once or twice a week, and I was grateful, if a bit mystified at her motives. If I was home when she visited, we’d have coffee and talk; if I was at work, she’d leave me a nice little note and, once, a pot of pansies. She worked at a nursery. I took to making sure there was some baked good in the house, cake or cookies, and always texted her to help herself.

Juliet was working like crazy these days. Caro, too. Sadie would move back to the city eventually; those paintings she did were fine as a side job, but I knew she wasn’t exactly fulfilled (as I had predicted all those years ago, but who listened?). She seemed to like teaching in New York, and sooner or later, she’d get restless and leave again.

So this was what the rest of my life would be like. Alone, but a caregiver. Married, but to a man I’d wanted to leave, a man who’d found someone else and had been stepping out on me for God knew how long.

On a soft, gentle evening in April, I herded John onto the slate patio. Sloane and Brianna and I had planted pansies in the window boxes out here, and the birds were singing, and it was real nice. I settled John in a chaise longue, covered him with a blanket and got myself a glass of wine, then came back out and sat down next to him. Gosh, I was tired. I had a dozen things to do, but technically, I didn’t have to work sixteen-hour days.

Everything could wait. My back twinged as I leaned back, and I wished I had a pillow, or someone who would bring a pillow to me. It was fine. The twinge stopped after a minute, and John was silent and still.