“Nathan’s going to help me with that.”

“Is the lipstick for him?”

“For you,” I said. She smiled, finally warming up to me again.

“Love it. Suits you. Do you have the tube?”

“Of course.”

“Will you do me up like that?”

“Sure.”

I went to find my purse and saw Nathan in the kitchen, carefully opening capsules into a glass, and he looked up at me.

“She wants me to put on lipstick for her,” I whispered.

“Right now?”

“That’s what she wants.”

He nodded and continued with what he was doing. The remaining pile of pills still seemed daunting.

“Do you remember what she wanted in her drink?” I asked.

He smiled at me and said, “Lime juice, orange juice, a hint of tequila.”

“I’m not sure it was a hint.”

He leaned in close, and I could feel his breath against my ear as he said, “I can wait while you make her up.”

Nathan smelled like expensive body cream. Small batch, from one of those shops that doubled as meditation studios.

“I need help moving her bed to the window, though,” I whispered.

He wiped his hands against his shirt and left the kitchen. I stared down at the tequila bottle, poured two fingers’ worth into a glass, and downed it as quickly as I could.

I heard Daphne shout, “I want to be done up before you come in here! My hair’s a mess, too.”

I went into the bedroom to put on Daphne’s makeup and brushed up against Nathan as he walked back to wait in the kitchen.

“Do you have any blush in there?” Daphne asked, pointing to the makeup bag I was holding. Daphne liked the idea of looking like one of those women in old movies who woke up with a full face of makeup and perfectly done lips in a Cupid’s bow. It was hard to line her wrinkled mouth, but she was patient with me. The red made her skin look less gray. I took out my blush, pink, and showed it to her. There were moments when she didn’t look sick at all. But even as I leaned in with my blush brush I could hear her soft wheezing.

“I look better with peachy tones,” she said. I fished around in my bag but only found the pink one. She tilted her head to give me her left cheek and I applied it gently.

“Just don’t make me look like one of those open-casket corpses,” she said.

“I’m trying.”

I let out a small, pained gasp and covered my mouth, embarrassed. I was supposed to be a professional.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said.

She held on to my arm as tears welled up in my eyes.

“I lived a good life. I don’t need to make it to ninety-two.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I know I’m not supposed to act like this.”