“Honey?” she backed a foot away from me, as if afraid I would assault her. “I’m going down with it. It’s everything happening at once, the show, on top of the others, on top of Robert. You actually feel it in you, very Alien. My little ‘tote’ is for such pills as one cute German doctor found me on short notice. Extremely in the throat. I thought it would make me feel closer to him but he is dead. I am not yet dead, one hears. I lied that day. You had so much on you already. We all did. You’ve guessed. I just didn’t want to go into it. Remember your offer? Well, since you’re the last one standing, and seeing as how my mom considers sickness unladylike and won’t let me cross the Georgia line, looks like you might just be stuck with me. But I warn you, even when I’m healthy, many intelligent people consider me the most dreadful bitch.”

She stepped forward to hold me up a minute. She’d known she would probably have to. Her veil kept blowing in my mouth. I finally said to air above her shoulder, “You’re not making this up. You’re not playing around, are you?”

I felt her shake her head sideways just once. “Oh no.”

I stumbled over then and flopped onto a trunk. I sat, as on some toilet, knees against elbows, hands loose, gaping down. I studied tar. I saw her bare stocking foot. It looked comic, pitiful. This was Iowa in winter. “It’s just lucky for me,” I stood, “that you’re beautiful, a genius, and good. Here’s what we’re going to do together. You’ll move to North Carolina, room with me. You’ll rent a tobacco warehouse, northern exposure, then paint your absolute ass off. I can just see you and Mother, in her new white Miata convertible, you girls wearing white kerchiefs and your biggest sunglasses, youall slipping off to estate-jewelry auctions statewide. —It’ll mainly be all right. Know one reason? We got his bed.”

“Which helps,” she blinked. “Funny how some Robbie hospitality still helps. So you did ask them. And they coughed it right over. —Hartley? you know? you’ve gotten braver.”

“I’m happy to learn that. —So, Angie. How’d your paintings look, up?”

“Never better. Your Alabama is just three inches more immortal. Lot of fuckin’ good it does me. But you’ve got the burden now. I honestly pity you. You are a hell of a nurse, though. Remember the fat RN at St. Vincent’s coming in to ask you about the contact-lens fluid you used to clean his catheter? And now Cinderella finally gets the benefit of all your princely training-on-the-job. I’m afraid I’ll be quite a number, patient-wise. Do my best, though. —We played so hard so well together. What happened to us?”

“Not a clue.”