She claps her hands together. “Good! And you have a wonderful time and I hope you’ll take advantage of everything that’s offered you. Please do that, it would mean so much to me.”

“I will.”

“I really mean it, Myra.”

“I really do, too.” We stand smiling at each other, finishing our conversation in this most primitive and advanced of ways, and then I head for the eyedrops.

• • •

At home, Chip tells me he has packed for both of us and brought Frank over to Theresa’s.

“Good,” I say. “So we’re ready.”

“I just need to get the suitcase—it’s on the bed.”

“I’m going up anyway,” I say. “I’ll get it.”

Inside the suitcase, I see a pair of pants for Chip, pajamas for both of us. My bathrobe. And that is all. I gather his pills, add our toothbrushes and his razor, changes of clothes. Next, I quietly call Theresa to make sure Frank really is all set. I sit on the edge of the bed for a while, thinking. And then I go downstairs.

* * *

At Chip’s request, we drive around Boston for a while, up and down the streets of Back Bay, then through the different sections of downtown. We go to the North End for dinner, to a restaurant where there are only five tables, and eat zuppe di mare. Afterward, we eat cannoli at Mike’s bakery. We sit at the window so that we can watch the summer traffic along Hanover Street, the slow-moving cars, the smiling couples and noisy families who walk along the sidewalk. People point to the salamis and cheeses, the fine leather shoes, the hand-painted plates. Just as it is growing dark, we head over to the Four Seasons.

“Ah, Ms. Lipinski,” the clerk says, when I check in. “So nice to see you, welcome to the Four Seasons. We have something here for you.” He turns and reaches behind him for a small but exquisite bouquet. “From Mrs. Peters, who hopes you will very much enjoy your stay here.” Attached to the flowers is an envelope holding tickets to the symphony Sunday night. I look up at the clerk, embarrassed, but he has busied himself punching computer keys. “And I see that we have a lovely upgrade available for you, one of our junior executive suites?”

“Oh, I can’t take that,” I say. “I—”

“We’ll take it,” Chip says.

“Certainly, Mr. Lipiniski.”

I look at Chip and he smiles, then puts his arm around me. “Okay?” he asks, and I say yes.