“I know. I told you, I’ll get her signature.”

After Tom left, Drake wandered out into the backyard. It was still warm outside, with the promise of summer. But spring was a mockery, an unkind and cruel joke. He roamed from one flowering border to the next. They had created this garden with their own hands. When they moved into the house, seven years ago, the yard had been badly

neglected. It had been nothing but weeds and bare earth. He had done most of the work, but it had been according to Ana’s design and under her direction. These were her walkways and flower beds, not his. How could he bear to look at them, if she was gone?

After five minutes he went inside. He had to check all the legal procedures one more time. •

•

• Three days later Drake called Tom Lambert again to the house. The doctor went to the bedroom, felt Ana’s pulse, and took blood pressure and brain-wave readings.

He emerged stone-faced. “I’m afraid this is it, Drake. I’ll be very surprised if she regains consciousness. If you are still set on this thing, it has to be done while she has some normal body functions. Another three days… it will be a waste of time.”

The two men went together into the bedroom. Drake took a last look at Ana’s calm, ravaged face. He told himself that this was not a last farewell. At last he nodded to Tom.

“Go ahead.” He could not tear his gaze away from her face. “Any time.”

Time, time. A waste of time. To the end of time. Time heals all wounds. 0! call back yesterday, bid time return.

“Drake? Drake? Are you all right?”

“Sorry. I’m all right.” Again he nodded. “Go on, Tom. There’s no point in waiting.”

The physician made the injection. Working together, they lifted Ana from the bed and removed her clothes. Drake wheeled in the prepared thermal tank. He laid her gently into it. She was so light, it was as though part of her was already lost to him.