In the parking lot of Starbucks, waiting for Nathan, I used the rearview to put on lipstick. Red, which I thought might make Daphne a little bit happy. Nathan caught me putting the finishing touches on my lipstick, and it occurred to me that he might think the flourish was for him. That was partially true, but I didn’t want him giving himself all the credit.

“Do you want to drive?” he asked, leaning in through my window.

“Sure,” I said.

“My car’s been acting funny, and I don’t want it to overheat on the way there and mess everything up.”

I looked around my car, not having anticipated a passenger. He slid in and I handed him the directions. I took off, heading to the 5 as he paged through them. He was in my car, and I was suddenly worried that it might smell, like I had become immune to the pile of shoes I kept hidden in the hatchback trunk, and they might still be pungent to newcomers. Once on the freeway, I turned up the A/C.

“How was your week?” Nathan asked.

“It was weird. I didn’t feel impending doom or anything, but everything just slowed down. But now we’re here.”

I wasn’t about to tell him what had happened to Daphne. I didn’t want to get kicked out of the program.

“Does each person affect you differently?” I asked.

“Yeah. But I write down details from each one in here,” he said, pulling out a small notebook. “Because I don’t want to forget.”

“Do you take notes about people who aren’t dying?”

“Like you?”

“Just people who aren’t clients.”

I could feel him staring at the side of my face, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

“It says merge right to head toward Lancaster.”

“Got it.”

“I bet you’re in a lot of people’s notebooks,” he said.

“Please.”

“Isn’t that what you want to hear?”

“Is that what you think?”

“I’m just teasing you.”

“Do I look like a person who wants to be remembered?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said.

“Just mildly narcissistic.”

“Whoa, no.”

I didn’t mean it to sound the way it did, but it came out harsh nonetheless. My wanting him to want me had morphed into a little bit of hate. Facing down Daphne’s death had made me impulsive. I had spent the morning daydreaming about all the out-of-control things I could do to annihilate my ability to feel what was coming. Everything I had thought of so far felt too involved.

17.

Daphne wanted to die at sunset, so we had to move fast. Though I was nervous, I knew enough to grab the Seconal from the trunk. I went to check on Daphne, who was sitting up comfortably in the bed that had been installed in her bedroom.