The phone rang, jolting him. His private line. It was Grace, asking when he was coming home. She was cooking.

He exhaled.

"I don't know if I can eat that stuff, Grace."

"Just come home and we'll see."

"All right."

"Is something wrong?"

Victor looked at the pocket watch. He found himself thinking about his parents, seeing their faces, something he had not done in years. It made him angry. He needed to get back on track.

"I'm stopping the dialysis, Grace."

"What?"

"It's pointless."

"You can't."

There was a long pause.

"If you do that ..."

"I know."

"Why?" her voice was shaky. He could tell she was crying.

"It's no way to live. I'm on a d.a.m.n machine. You heard what the doctors said."

She was breathing hard.

"Grace?"

"Just come home and we can talk about it, OK?"

"My mind is made up."

"We can talk about it."

"OK, but don't fight me on this." He would have preferred to use this sentence regarding his real plan-to freeze his way into another life. But he already knew she'd have no part of that. So he said it now, a true sentence for a false reason.

"I don't want to fight," she whispered. "Just come home."

53.

It was set. Ethan would meet her Christmas night at Dunkin' Donuts, because she knew it would be open. The plan had come together by accident-although Sarah chose to view it as fate.

She'd had no luck reaching him via text. But upon leaving the clock shop, she had walked past another "End of the World" gathering, and as any idea sparked the adjacent idea of calling Ethan, she dialed his number impulsively, even though he almost never answered his phone.

When she heard him say h.e.l.lo, her heart caught in her throat. She quickly blurted out, "You'll never guess what I'm looking at."

"Who's this?"

"Sarah."

Pause. "Hey, Sarah. I thought I dialed ... this phone is screwed up."

"Guess where I'm calling from?"

"I don't know."

"The 'End of the World' table in Washington Square Park."

"That's crazy."

"I know, right? Anyhow, they say the world is going to end next week, and I have something I want to give you, so I better do it fast."

"Wait. What's the end-of-the-world part?"

"I don't know, it's Indian or religious or whatever. One of those freakoid things."

She had read more but didn't want to sound too smart. When had being smart ever gotten her anywhere with boys?

"So when can we get together? I want to give you this thing."

"You don't need to give me anything, Sarah."

"It's no big deal. Christmas, right?"

"Yeah. I don't know ..."

There was an awkward pause, and Sarah felt her stomach tighten.

"It won't take long."

"All right," he said.

"Can't take long if the world is gonna end, right?"

"I hear ya." It didn't sound as if he heard her at all.

They settled on Christmas night at the Dunkin' Donuts-he had a party to go to near there anyhow-and she hung up and was glad to have something on the schedule. She tried to ignore his distracted tone, figuring phones were never a good barometer of anything. Besides, once he saw the watch, he'd be happy. No one else would be giving him a gift that special.

She thought back to him kissing her. He wanted her. Someone wanted her. This time around, she told herself, she would be more relaxed about the whole physical thing. She'd let him do more. He'd be happy about that, too. It was fun thinking about making him happy.

She glanced at the crowd of doomsday gatherers, some with signs, some dressed in religious clothing. On one table, a set of small speakers was playing a song that caught Sarah's ear.

Why does the sun go on shining?

Why does the sea rush to sh.o.r.e?

Don't they know-it's the end of the world 'Cause you don't love me anymore?

Depressing, she thought. And kind of cynical for this event. Still, the female singer's voice was so sad and melancholy that she found herself listening longer.

Why do the birds go on singing?

Why do the stars glow above?

Don't they know-it's the end of the world? ...

She picked up a pamphlet from the table. On the front it read, "The End is coming. What will you do with the time you have left?"

Well, it was only Wednesday. She was going to lose a pound or two.

54.

Grace waited for Victor to come home.

She wiped her eyes. She cut the vegetables.

Lorraine waited for Sarah to come home.

She vacuumed. She smoked a cigarette.

This will happen soon.

Every person on the planet-including Grace, Lorraine, Victor, and Sarah-will instantly stop aging.

And one person will start.

LETTING GO.

55.

Victor had done his homework. He knew what dying would entail.

Once he stopped dialysis, his blood pressure zoomed, he grew puffy, his back hurt, and his appet.i.te disappeared. He'd antic.i.p.ated these symptoms, and he forced himself to ingest bread, soup, and supplements, because he didn't want to weaken too soon.

On Christmas, he was moved from the wheelchair to a bed in the living room. Grace stayed with him all night, sleeping in a chaise. She had accepted his untrue plan for the very reasons he knew she would not accept his true one-letting go was natural, embracing G.o.d's will. If he was at peace with stopping the dialysis, then she could be, too.

Still, she hid a tear the next morning when Victor asked Roger to bring over a set of files. Don't be mad, she told herself now, as she bent a straw for him into a gla.s.s of water, this is how he holds on to his life, his papers, his business, it is who he is. She didn't know that Roger was bringing doc.u.ments to protect Victor's future empire.

She offered him the gla.s.s, which Victor took himself, rather than let her hold it for him. He sipped the water then put the gla.s.s down. He saw the concern on her face.

"It's OK, Grace. It's the way it's supposed to be."

It was not, in the world's design, the way it's supposed to be.

Not this. Not freezing yourself for a second go-round. But Victor was determined to control his dying the way he'd controlled his living. The numbness coming in his feet and hands? His skin turning a sickly gray? Both would be identified as end-stage signs of renal failure. Death would be expected. No one would suspect an alternative plan-Victor being frozen before he died. When that happened, only Roger, Jed, and a carefully chosen doctor and coroner would be present, and all would be well paid for their silence.

Death, on paper, would come when they wrote it came.

But death would never touch Victor.

He would duck it. And jump a boat to the future.

"Listen, Grace," he said, his voice scratchy. "I know how hard this has been. But once I'm gone, everything is taken care of. All the paperwork, I mean. Roger can go over everything with you. What's important is ..."

He thought about what to say next. He wanted it to be true.

"What's important is, you'll never have to worry."

Her eyes watered.

"I was never worried," she said.

She took his hand. She stroked his fingers.

"I'm going to miss you, you know."

He nodded.