“Now that you bring it up, you are kind of a loser.”

She snorted. “Ah, well. What was on that card from Mean Debi? ‘It’s not about counting the days; it’s about making each day count.’”

“I just threw up in my mouth.”

“I hear you. Let’s stop talking about death. It’s a beautiful day. I’m sorry I’m so maudlin today. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You have a grave lung condition,” he intoned.

“Right, right, I forgot.”

He turned to look at her, and his eyes were full of tears. “I love you with all my heart, Lauren Park.”

“I love you with all my pancreas.”

“I love you with both kidneys,” he said, smiling just a little.

“I love you with all my liver. And the liver is very important, as you know.”

“Go to sleep, wife. I have plans for you later involving a certain magical car that can somehow induce orgasm.”

“Oh, my God.” She fell asleep, still smiling.

She slept. And when she woke up, they went inside to the big bed and got naked and turned on the porno. A UPS man appeared on the screen, knocking on the door of a woman wearing a red thong and sparkly pasties, holding a broom.

“What?” Lauren exclaimed. “That’s what I wear when doing housework, too!”

“What is it about UPS?” Josh asked. “Do they know what their drivers are doing all day? And where is the magical car? I was promised a magical car.”

They lasted four more minutes into the film before their laughter made watching it impossible. It served its purpose, though . . . they made love afterward, and it was gentle and filled with laughter and smiles.

On their second-to-last night there, they sat on the patio sofa, her back against his chest, his arms around her, and they watched the sun sink into the cream-and-orange clouds. When the sun slid behind the ocean, the water turned cobalt, and the clouds faded to purples and pinks, then gray. Herons, sandpipers and pelicans gabbled as the waves shushed against the shore, and the stars came out, one by one, growing brighter as the sky turned indigo.

If she could choose where to die, she’d pick here. Just one gentle last breath, then nothing.

Unfortunately, the odds were against her in that respect. She’d Googled the videos. She’d seen the documentaries. Dying of oxygen deprivation was not pretty.

She sat up and wrapped the blanket more snugly around her shoulders. “Josh, we need to talk about something.”

His face locked. “What?” he asked, but she knew he knew.

“Stuff.” She stifled a cough and swallowed. “End-of-life stuff.”

Josh bent his head. “It’s too early to think like that.”