These thoughts presented a knot I had trouble untangling, and over the course of the morning it had settled in my stomach, slowly tying itself into more impossible convolutions. The ringing telephone seemed like an auditory extension of my anxiety. Upon hearing it I ran out and down the first flight of stairs, toward 101, where the door was open on account of it being a beautiful day, blue and green and warm, one of the first days of spring, but by the time I got to the second-floor landing I could tell I was too late.

Too late. The ringing stopped and Rita’s voice replaced it. “Hello,” she said.

By the time I clattered into the doorway, startling her, I caught the tail end of the conversation. “—let her know you called. Goodbye,” I heard her say. She hung up and turned to me. I was panting, doubled over. “Why,” I said. “Why did you pick it up.”

She tilted her head, observing the state I was in. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but it seemed like the natural thing to do. She said she was your lawyer and was going over the files, the old lawyer had died—” I stood there staring at her. “What is wrong with you?” She looked concerned and reached for me.

I waved her hand away. “What did you tell that person?”

Rita shrugged. “I didn’t tell her anything. I thought it was weird. I told her I would tell you she called.”

I didn’t hear any more. I stumbled into the living room and sank into the couch. “We’re done. We’re done.”

She tittered. She thought it was a joke. “What? Oh, now really, Stanley.” I didn’t respond. “Really, Stanley,” she repeated, sounding more serious now. “What do you mean, ‘We’re done’?”

The flop sweat that predicted a fainting spell was coming on again. I lay down flat. “That wasn’t the lawyer, Rita! I know it wasn’t!” I put my feet straight up in the air.

She shook her head and walked over to the couch. All pretense of her being Helen was dropped. The knot tightened. “Calm down,” she said. “I didn’t tell her anything. And why would you say that? Who would it be?” When I didn’t answer, her voice took on a more soothing tone. “I mean, she sounded official. I think you should calm down. The lawyer was old, right?”

I thought about Mr. Larwin. Rita knew about him, and she had witnessed the rare occasions I had spoken with him on the phone. He was old but not at death’s door. He still had a decade left before total breakdown, maybe, and another decade of life after that. He was rich, the type of guy who could afford doctors.

I just shook my head, and in a hoarse voice said, “What kind of survivalist are you? Giving things away?”

It was maybe the meanest thing I had said to her in the entire time we’d known each other. Her face hardened and she left, slamming the door so hard it banged itself open again. I might have been crying. I covered my face with my arm. For the rest of the day, I didn’t move. I dozed.