“All right. I’ll load the gun the night before, and I’ll hide it in the linen closet, behind the towels. Right after Chip dies, I’ll go and get it. I’ll lie down beside him, really close to him. I’ll take his hand. With my other hand, I’ll put the barrel of the gun to my temple. Then I’ll pull the trigger.”

He says nothing.

“It doesn’t scare me, DeWitt. Telling you this, I don’t feel anything except a kind of certainty. One way or another, I’m going to do this.”

He looks at me for a long moment, and then he says, “You can pick the drugs up tomorrow. Two o’clock.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

“Don’t you thank me for that. And I don’t want you in my house no more, neither.” He walks out of the kitchen, goes down the hall to his bedroom, and slams the door. I let myself out quietly.

This is how you do it, when you’re standing at the edge of a high place. You just lean a bit more in the right direction. A movement so small. Scarcely measurable. Just a little closer to what once seemed so far away. And then it takes over and moves at its own speed, and you can stop thinking. I’ve always thought that any fall like that must be so quiet. And that the silence is the sound of relief.

Chapter 22

When I come home, I find Chip in the bedroom, sleeping. He is on his side, Frank lying next to him. Frank raises his head and wags his tail, and I whisper, “Stay.” Then I close the door quietly and go downstairs to look in the refrigerator for something for dinner. Cheese. Eggs. Salsa. Omelets?

The phone rings, and I pick it up quickly. It’s Diann. I can tell by the way she says my name that she’s been crying.

“He told you?” I say.

“Yes. And I feel so bad that I didn’t stay, that I didn’t help more.”

“It’s okay. We’re managing.”

“I know. He told me about the two of you. And I think it’s … Well, I think it’s good.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll come and be with you if you want.”

“No, that’s all right,” I say, too quickly.

“But it’s going to be so hard for you.”

“I know. But I think I’ll need some time alone right afterward. Maybe after a few days I’ll come and visit you.”

“I’d love for you to do that. I really would. So … tell me. How is he, really?”

I shrug, lean against the kitchen wall. “I don’t know, I guess I’d say that he’s peacefully resigned. He’s really calm. He seems sure of what he’s doing.”

“Is he hurting?”