“I know. That's why I never came home.” He understood now. It still made him sad, but at least he understood it.

“Do you want me to file?” It was the first time he had ever asked her directly, and for the first time it didn't break his heart to say the words. Maybe he was finally ready.

“When you have time. I'm in no hurry.”

“I'm sorry, sweetheart …” He felt tears sting his eyes.

“Don't be.” And then she said good night, and he was left alone with his memories and his regrets, and his fantasies about Jean-Pierre … the lucky bastard …

Sam crept back into his father's bed that night, for the first time since he'd come to New York, and Oliver didn't mind. It was comforting to have him near him.

And that weekend they went to Purchase, but they didn't see Benjamin. The children were busy with their friends, and Sarah's garden was in full bloom, so Aggie had her hands full clipping things she wanted to take back to the city, and on Saturday morning, as Oliver lay in bed, quietly dreaming, the phone rang.

It was George, and as Oliver listened, he sat bolt upright in bed. His father wasn't making much sense, all he could understand was that his mother had been hit by a bus and was in a coma. She was back in the hospital again, and his father was crying, his voice jagged and broken.

“I'll be right there, Dad. When did it happen?” It had happened at eight o'clock that morning.

He was at the hospital in under an hour, his hair barely combed, in khaki pants and the shirt he'd worn the night before, and he found his father crying softly in the hall, and when he saw Oliver, he held out his arms like a lost child.

“God, Dad, what happened?”

“It's all my fault. She was better for a few days, and I insisted on bringing her home for the weekend.” But he missed her so much, he longed for her next to him in the bed they'd shared for almost half a century, and when she had seemed better to him, he had deluded himself that it would do her good to go home for a few days. The doctors had tried to discourage him, but he had insisted he could care for her as well as they could. “She must have gotten up before I woke up. When I did, I saw her there fully dressed. She looked a little confused, she said she was going to make breakfast. I thought it was good for her to do something familiar like that, so I let her. I got up and showered and shaved, and when I went into the kitchen she wasn't there. The front door was open, and I couldn't find her. I looked for her everywhere, in the garden, in the shed. I drove all over the neighborhood, and then …”He started to sob again, “I saw the ambulance … the bus driver said she had walked right into him. He hit the brakes as hard as he could and he couldn't stop in time. She was barely alive when they brought her in, and they just don't know … Oh, Ollie, it's as though I killed her. I wanted so badly to turn back the clock, to pretend to myself that she was all right again, and of course she wasn't, and now …” She was in intensive care, and when Ollie saw her, he was badly shaken. She had sustained tremendous head injuries, and broken most of her bones. But mercifully, they said she had been unconscious from the moment she'd been hit, if that was any comfort.

The two men waited in the hall, and at noon, Oliver insisted on taking his father to the cafeteria for lunch. They saw her every hour for a moment or two, but there was no change, and by midnight it was clear to both of them that their vigil was fruitless. The doctors held out no hope, and just before dawn she had a massive stroke. His father had gone home by then, while Oliver still waited. He had called home several times and reported to Aggie on the situation. He didn't want her to tell the children yet. She had told them he'd gone back to the city for an emergency at work. He didn't want to upset them for the moment.

The doctor came to speak to him at six o'clock as he dozed in the hall. He had seen his mother for the last time two hours before. In the intensive care unit there was neither night nor day, there were only bright lights and the humming of machines, the pumping of respirators and the occasional whine of a computer, and a few sad, lonely groans. But his mother hadn't even stirred when he saw her.

The doctor touched his arm and he woke instantly. “Yes?”

“Mr. Watson … your mother has had a massive cerebral hemorrhage.”

“Is she? … has she? …” It was terrifying to say the words even now. At forty-four, he still wanted his mother. Alive. Forever.

“Her heart is still pumping, and we have her on the respirator. But there are no brain waves. I'm afraid the fight is over.” She was legally dead, but technically, with their help, she was still breathing. “We can keep her on the machines as long as you like, but there's really no point. It's up to you now.” He wondered if his father would want him to make the decision for him, and then suddenly he knew he wouldn't. “What would you like us to do? We can wait, if you'd like to consult your father.” Oliver nodded, feeling a sharp pain of loneliness knife through him. His wife had left him five months before, and now he was about to lose his mother. But he couldn't think of it selfishly now. He had to think of George and what it would mean to him to lose his wife of forty-seven years. It was going to be brutal. But in truth she had left him months before, when she began fading. Often, she even forgot who he was. And she would have grown rapidly worse over the next year. Maybe, in a terrible way, this was better.

“I'll call him.” But as he walked to the phone, he thought better of it, and he walked outside to find his car in the balmy spring morning. It was beautiful outside, the air was sweet, the sun was warm, and the birds were already singing. It was hard to believe that for all intents and purposes she had already died, and now he had to go and tell his father.

He let himself into the house with a key he kept for emergencies, and walked quietly into his parents' bedroom. It was as it always had been, except that his father lay alone in the old four-poster they had had since their wedding day.

“Dad?” he whispered, and his father stirred, and then he reached out gently and touched him. “Dad …” He was afraid to scare him. At seventy-two, he had a weak heart, his lungs were frail, but he still had dignity and strength and his son's respect. He woke up with a start, and looked at Ollie.

“Is it? … Is she …” He looked suddenly terrified as he sat up.

“She's still there, but we need to talk.”

“Why? What is it?”

“Why don't you wake up for a minute.” He still had the startled look of someone roused from a sound sleep.

“I'm awake. Has something happened?”

“Mom had a stroke.” Ollie sighed as he sat down carefully on the bed and held his father's hand. “They're keeping her going on the machined. But, Dad … that's all that's left …”He hated to say the words, but they were the simple truth. “She's brain dead.”

“What do they want us to do?”

“They can take her off the machines, that's up to you.”

“And then she'll die?” Ollie nodded, and the tears coursed slowly down the old man's cheeks as he sank slowly back against his pillows. “She was so beautiful, Oliver … so sweet when she was young … so lovely when I married her. How can they ask me to kill her? It's not fair. How can I do that to her?” There was a sad sob and Oliver had to fight back his own tears as he watched him.

“Do you want me to take care of it? I just thought you'd want to know … I'm sorry, Dad.” They were both crying, but the truth was that the woman they loved had died a while ago. There was really nothing left now.

George sat slowly up again and wiped his eyes. “I want to be there when they do it.”

“No,” his son objected instantly. “I don't want you to do that.”

“That's not your decision to make, it's mine. I owe it to her. I've been there for her for almost fifty years, and I'm not going to let her down now.” The tears began again. “Oliver, I love her.”

“I know you do, Dad. And she knew that too. She loved you too. You don't have to put yourself through this.”

“It's all my fault this happened.”

Oliver took the old man's hands hard in his own. “I want you to listen to me. There was nothing left of Mom, nothing that we knew and loved. She was gone, she had been for a long time, and what happened yesterday wasn't your fault. Maybe in a way it's better like this. If she had lived, she would have shriveled up and died, she wouldn't have known who anyone was, she wouldn't have remembered any of the things she cared about or loved … you … her grandchildren … me … her friends … her house … her garden. She would have been a vegetable in a nursing home, and she would have hated that if she'd known. Now she's been spared that. Accept that as the hand of fate, as God's will, if you want to call it that, and stop blaming yourself. None of it is in your control. Whatever you do now, whatever happened, it was meant to be this way. And when we let her go, she'll be free.”

The old man nodded, grateful for his son's words. Maybe he was right. And in any case, none of it could be changed now.

George Watson dressed carefully in a dark pinstriped suit, with a starched white shirt, and a navy blue tie Phyllis had bought for him ten years before. He looked distinguished and in control as they left the house and he looked around for a last time, as though expecting to see her, and then he looked at his son and shook his head.

“It's so odd to think that she was here just yesterday morning.”

But Ollie only shook his head in answer. “No, she wasn't, Dad. She hasn't been here in a long, long time. You know that.”

George nodded, and they drove to the hospital in silence. It was a beautiful morning … a beautiful morning to die, Oliver kept thinking. And then they walked up the steps and took the elevator to the fourth floor, and asked to see the doctor on duty. It was the same man who had spoken to Oliver only two hours before, and there had been no change in Mrs. Watson's condition, except that she had had several seizures, which was expected after the hemorrhage. Nothing of any import had changed. She was brain dead, and she would remain that way forever, and only their machine was keeping her alive for the moment.