NATHAN AND I DROVE AWAY from her house in silence, and I didn’t hear from him again until two days later, when he called to ask how I was doing and if I wanted to carpool again when the time came for Daphne’s appointment. I said fine to both. It seemed like he wanted to ask me something else, but he didn’t, and I didn’t push.

I took Daphne’s package to the post office and focused on fulfilling other mundane errands. I didn’t tell Bobby about the carpool situation or about the dog or even what was about to happen to Daphne. It felt slightly transgressive, perhaps because I wanted it to be.

Bobby had taken to meditating for long hours at a time. Meditating on being present, he told me. You could say we were growing apart. Instead of “working on our marriage,” as our therapist had told us to do—by spending more time together, getting out of the script of our lives, and doing spontaneous things—I devoted most of my free time to continuing to study Bethanny’s training materials, so I could feel absolutely prepared for what was about to happen. So far it was not going very well. I also wanted to call Daphne and ask her how she’d kept it going for sixty-four years.

Tell me anything that can help me do this, I wanted to beg her, how to live this life. I made a pact with myself to ask her just before she passed, even though this definitely fell under “making the death about yourself.”

Daphne called me the next day about Pierre.

“My friend is going to keep him,” she said.

“I understand.”

“You’re disappointed. I can hear it in your voice. But there are shelters full of dogs who need a good home.”

“I know, I know.”

“You had your heart set on Pierre.”

“I didn’t, really.”

“I’ll give your name and number as a backup in case something happens.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“You can be an emergency contact. It’s what Pierre would want.”

“Daphne, I don’t need to be.”

“You can handle it. I wanted to tell you in case his new owner calls you with an emergency.”

“Is there something you want to do before your final appointment?” I asked her.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Go to a restaurant you like or something.”

“Last meal.”

“Not that grim.”

“There’s a place I used to go in the Valley when I was young that I wouldn’t mind visiting again.”

“I’ll take you there.”

“Is that allowed?”

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

“I love secrets,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

The next few days felt excruciatingly long.