Marah turned around, looked down the hall, then back to Kate. “Could you come into the living room?”

Kate’s desire to say no swelled, almost overtook her, but she said “Of course,” and put on her robe, mittens, and knitted cap. Fighting nausea and exhaustion, she got slowly out of bed.

Marah took her by the arm and steadied her, becoming for a moment the mother; she led her into the living room, where, despite the heat of the day, a fire burned in the fireplace. Lucas and William, still in their jammies, sat together on the couch.

“Hi, Mommy,” they said at once, flashing their gap-toothed grins.

Marah positioned Kate next to the boys, tucked her robe around her legs, and then sat down on the other side of her.

Kate smiled. “This is like those plays you used to stage when you were little.”

Marah nodded and snuggled in close to her. When she looked at Kate, though, she wasn’t smiling. “A long time ago,” she said in an unsteady voice, “you gave me a special book.”

“I gave you lots of books.”

“You told me that someday I’d be sad and confused and I’d need it.”

Kate wanted to pull away suddenly, distance herself, but she was held in place by her children. “Yes,” was all she could say.

“For the last few weeks, I’ve tried to read it a bunch of times and I couldn’t.”

“It’s okay—”

“And I figured out why. We all need it.” She reached over to the end table and picked up the paperback copy of The Hobbit Kate had given her. It felt like a lifetime ago now, the day she’d given this favorite novel to her daughter, passed it on. A lifetime ago, and an instant.

“Yippee!” William said. “Marah’s gonna read to us.”

Lucas elbowed his brother. “Shut up.”

Kate put an arm around her boys and stared at her daughter’s earnest, beautiful face. “Okay.”

Marah leaned back, settled in close to Kate, and opened the book. Her voice was only a little wobbly at the start, but as the story took hold, she found her strength again. “In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit . . .”

August ended too quickly and melted into a lazy September. Kate tried to experience every moment of every day, but even with a positive outlook, there was no way to avoid the ugly truth: she was fading.

She clung to Johnny’s arm and concentrated on her walking. One slippered foot in front of the other; keep breathing. She was so tired of being wheeled around in her chair, or carried like a child, but walking was more and more difficult. She had headaches, too; blistering ones that sometimes left her winded and unable to remember the people and things around her.

“Do you need your oxygen?” Johnny asked, bending close to her ear so the kids wouldn’t hear.