In the kitchen, I put away the milk that’s out on the counter. Note the list for groceries on the refrigerator that both of them have contributed to, though Ethel’s blue ink has crossed out Murray’s black “salami.” I put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. Dole out pills for a week. In Murray’s bedroom, Ethel packs his bag. I believe she feels her love for him like a second skin, and that although her hands pack clothes, her mind is back in the hospital room with him, straightening his bedcovers, adjusting the blinds, holding a spoonful of trembling Jell-O up to him, saying, Here, Murray, take it, open up, darling. Stay.

• • •

Chip is stoned out of his mind. I lead him down the hall, tell him to wait at the door, and then go back to stand before DeWitt, who’s lying back in his recliner. Probably because he cannot get out of his recliner.

“What did he take?” I ask.

“Mary wanna.”

“I can’t believe you did this, DeWitt.”

He looks up at me, red-eyed. “Did what? Made him feel a little better? Let him have some fun?”

“You—”

“I didn’t do nothing wrong. And that’s the truth. You go home and think about it, little girl. World is way different than you think. You ask my friend, there; you ask Chip. He got a load lifted, that’s what happened to him. His head stop hurting and he didn’t throw up. That’s some kind of tragedy. You uptight, woman, and you need to get unwound. Maybe you need to get laid, I don’t know what your deal is. But for now you get out my house, I ain’t gonna stand for some bitch yelling at me ’bout nothing.”

I stand there for a moment. Then I say, “I won’t be back here, DeWitt. I’ll arrange for another nurse to come and see you.”

“Aw, now, you—”

“That’s all I have to say.”

I start down the hall, and he calls after me, “Get on back here, now. Just relax, all right?”

I take Chip’s arm, open the door.

“Myra!” DeWitt calls.

I slam the door shut.

Chapter 13

Late Monday afternoon, I am on my way to my last visit. Chip is with Diann; they were going to go into Boston to visit the Museum of Fine Arts. I warned Diann that Chip might get tired; she should pace things. She said she knew that, Chip had already told her. She’d planned on them walking around for a bit, then having lunch at the café. I pictured them sitting there, a plate of cheese and fruit before them. I’ve been to the museum many times, but never with a date. It must be fun.