I smile, sit up next to him.

“I’ve been awake a long time. And I’m ready, Myra.”

Now?

“I think I’m supposed to eat something. Just a little. Maybe some toast?”

“Okay.” My God, now?“So … should we go downstairs?”

“I would rather just stay here, okay?”

“All right. I’ll be right back.”

I go downstairs and let Frank out into the yard, then fill his dishes with food and water and bring them out, too. I pet him, but I can’t look at him. “You’re a good dog,” I say.

I go back inside and put water on to boil, then go get my pills out of my purse. Back in the kitchen, I put bread in the toaster, then take out a small baggie into which I dump all the pills. There are five red ones, maybe twenty-five of the yellow. I squint at one of the yellow pills, looking for the name of a drug company. There’s nothing on them.

“Myra?” Chip calls down, and I jump, shove the pills in my robe pocket.

“Yes?”

“Don’t butter the toast, okay?”

“Okay.” I put two mugs on a tray, add tea bags, pour in the hot water. I put the two slices of toast on a plate. My heart feels huge; it knocks in my chest. I start upstairs, then detour to my office, where I read once more the note I wrote last night:

I am doing this of my own volition. I wish to be cremated, and my remains can be disposed of at the discretion of the state. My dog should be given to my neighbor, Theresa Bartone, of 36 Russell Road. Proceeds from the sale of my house and car should be given to Marvelous Brooks, of 4945 Cedar Street, Number 2, Dorchester.

I look around at my study, think about the rest of my things upstairs. My clothes, some sheets and towels. Cough drops in my nightstand, cold cream in my bathroom drawer. Not so much for a whole life lived. I sit in my desk chair, neaten the pens and pencils in my holder.

One night, I took Frank for a walk around the block, and I was looking in all the living room windows I passed. In one, I saw a child running around a living room in her nightgown, apparently dancing for her parents, and I thought, I remember that. I passed a couple reading companionably in their living room and felt the usual longing. Then I passed an old woman sitting out on her porch, and her loneliness was so apparent. She stared out at nothing, her hands folded in her lap. I said hello, but she said nothing back. I thought, I’ll end up like that.