“I’m sorry, kiddo. It’s just Osetra. Not Beluga. But you’ll just have to deal.”

She watched as the cat leapt at the tin. If New Year’s Eve dinner was not going to be deliberately low-key tomorrow, then Gilda might as well celebrate tonight with a bang. “Don’t gulp it down in one lick, kiddo.” Frankie patted the cat on her head and went into her bedroom.

She turned off the lights and was prepared to cry for her foolishness and disappointment. But instead she quietly watched the reflection of car lights on her ceiling until 4 a.m. when she inadvertently fell asleep.

Frankie had arranged to take the morning off for a New Year’s visit with Abraham. She got up at eight and clicked on the television. A reporter was standing in a red coat underneath the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center.

“Paula,” the reporter said as the wind swept through her hair, “this is usually the scene of holiday crowds, but because the terror alert was once again raised to orange this morning, the skating rink at Rockefeller Center is virtually empty.”

Frankie turned off the television and dressed hurriedly. If every Starbucks in New York was about to blow up or someone wanted to convince her that they were about to blow up, she wanted to be out walking in the city. Only walking the city streets made her feel that nothing had changed.

On her way up to her father’s apartment, Frankie bought Abraham all the morning newspapers. She knew there was no possibility of his actually reading them, but sometimes he still liked to hold the paper as if it was a distant memory, like playing with blocks. In the past month, Abraham’s disease had rapidly accelerated. Not only had he forgotten how to speak or when to pee, he had also forgotten how to eat. Now he stared at food as if he didn’t know if it was a yo-yo or a turtle.

As recently as October, Abraham took all the pictures from Helen’s wall and smashed them on the living room floor. Later that month he tried to eat the plants in the apartment lobby. Exasperated, Helen took Abraham for an interview at the Carnegie Hill Home for the Aged. But they rejected him.

“I’ve heard of people being rejected from Harvard or a Park Avenue co-op,” she commented to Frankie, “but who the hell gets rejected from an old-age home!”

Recently Abraham had become eerily easy to manage. When he stopped eating, he also stopped breaking plates and standing naked on his porch. He spent his days sitting in his room, unless the nurse Helen recently hired took him in a wheelchair to Central Park. On the morning of New Year’s Eve, Frankie found him silently staring at a dark television.

“Mr. Abraham. Mr. Abraham, look who’s here, darling.” The Filipino nurse touched his cheek.