They both turn to me. “Muons,” Meret repeats. “They’re subatomic particles. Kind of like electrons, but with more mass. They hit Earth all the time and they can go through stone and solid matter, but then they peter out. Physicists used them in the Great Pyramid to see places where they were zipping through empty space.”

“A Japanese and French team carried out the tomography in Giza. But,” Wyatt argues, “it didn’t really tell us anything. Rather than being a new burial chamber, it’s likely to be an architectural feature, taking the weight off the Grand Gallery of the pyramid.”

Meret shrugs. “Still, you have to admit it’s a really cool tool, using natural radiation for mapping.”

“And bloody expensive,” he counters.

I watch them argue amiably. Wyatt’s eyes are dancing as he matches his daughter’s verbal parries.

I let myself imagine it. Maybe we three will go to Giza, and shuffle into the cramped tunnel of the Great Pyramid, breathing in sweat and stale air until we stand in the center of the Grand Gallery, surrounded by history.

Glancing down at my screen, I open an email from Abigail Trembley. The subject line is WIN.

Before I left for England to find Thane, I had called my social worker friend. Although Win had absolved me of my duties, I didn’t feel right leaving her and Felix without someone to watch over them. Then I had emailed Abigail from Egypt, but I hadn’t heard back.

I click on the message, waiting for it to load, expecting the worst.

Wyatt is dealing a new hand. Out of the blue, Meret asks, “What should I call you?”

Don’t say Dad, I think silently. She isn’t ready for that.

“Mighty is the Ma’at of Re, Chosen of Re?” Wyatt suggests, giving the translation of Ramesses II’s Egyptian name.

Meret’s lips twitch. “I was thinking Wyatt.”

“That works, too,” he says.

The body of the email loads.

    Dear Dawn,

When I last spoke with Brian, you were still out of town. In case you are checking your mail, you should know that Win is still with us. Fading, unresponsive, but here.

I think she’s waiting for you.

Let me know when you’re back.

X

Abigail

I look at the date of the message: this was sent two hours ago.

I stand up so abruptly that both Meret and Wyatt turn in unison. “Everything all right?” he murmurs, getting to his feet.

“I need to go see someone. A client.”

“Now?” Wyatt looks down at Meret. “Don’t cheat,” he says, and he pulls me into the hallway. “Someone who’s dying?”

“Yes,” I reply, impatient. “That’s what happens to my clients. I need to sit vigil.”

“Olive, is that really a good idea? You’re barely out of surgery—”

“I’m not dying,” I say simply. “She is.”

He nods. “All right. Get what you need and I’ll take you.”

It never occurred to me that he would think to come. But there are things I have to say to Win, confidences that can only stay between us.

“I need you to stay here,” I say gently. “To babysit till Brian gets home.”

Wyatt rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not babysitting when it’s your kid,” he replies.

* * *

—

THE UBER DRIVER drops me off at Win’s house and I find the key that they used to leave for me under a flowerpot to let myself in. “Hello?” I call out. “Felix?”

The rooms are dark, musty. But the kitchen is clean and the dishes are all rinsed on a rack. It’s clear that Abigail has been taking care of them, as the inevitable hurtles closer.

“Dawn?”

Felix has gotten so thin that his clothes hang from his shoulders and hips. His hair is matted down on his scalp, and I would guess that he hasn’t had a shower in a couple of days. His eyes are red, with weariness and tears.

I fold him into my embrace, feeling him shudder against me. “It’s going to be all right,” I murmur. “I’m here to support you both.”

He draws back, as if he hasn’t trusted his own eyesight. His gaze locks on my scar and the shaved swath of my head. “What…what happened to you?”

“It’s a very long story and it’s not important right now,” I tell him. “You are. Win is. I’d love to see her, if that’s all right.”

Abigail is sitting beside Win when we enter her room, reading aloud from a novel. Her eyebrows fly up to her hairline as she looks at me, at my angry red wound, but she is a professional. Instead of making this about me, she says, “Win, Dawn’s come to see you.”

She puts the book aside and stands up, relinquishing her chair to me. A host of unspoken communication passes between us—gratitude, curiosity, and acknowledgment. I reach for Win’s hand, which is a canvas of skin stretched over bone. Her eyes are dark hollows, her cheekbones are blades. We are the same age, but she looks double her years. Her breathing is erratic and soupy. “Cheyne-Stokes?” I murmur.

Abigail nods. “All morning. She’s been unresponsive about twelve hours now.” She squeezes my shoulder. “I’m glad you made it.”

Because there isn’t much more time.

She turns a soft smile on Felix. “Why don’t you freshen up, and I’ll make some fresh coffee while Win and Dawn visit?”

He nods, grateful to be told what to do. Following directions is so much easier than staring the unknown in the face.

I settle in beside Win. Her son’s blanket has been spread over her. The door closes behind Abigail.

“I told you I’d be here when it happened,” I say softly, when I am really thinking: Thank you for waiting for me.

Her skin is cold and dry. Her breath saws from her lungs in gusty, uneven wheezes. “I found him for you,” I whisper. “He’s so handsome, Win. He had just come back from biking and his cheeks were red.”

Beneath her closed lids, her eyes shift. “I have something to confess. I didn’t give him your note. I know I promised. But you see, he has a daughter, and a son, and a wife. When I saw that, I thought, That’s not what Win wanted. And then I thought a little more, and wondered if maybe it was. I think that what you really hoped I’d get for you was knowledge, which you could take with you, when you go. The understanding that he’s all right. That he was as happy in his life as you have been.” I smile sadly. “I mean, who gets such an embarrassment of riches? One love that sends you into orbit…and then another that guides you home?”

I let go with one of my hands to wipe away a tear. “If you want to hate me for not carrying out your wish, I understand,” I tell her. “But I hope you don’t. Because even though I was the one who was supposed to be giving you the tools to make the most out of the life you had left, you turned out to be the better teacher. What I did…what I found…Oh, Win. There’s really no such thing as a right or wrong choice. We don’t make decisions. Our decisions make us.”

I bite my lip. “You asked me once what it was like, when we die, and I said I didn’t know. But now, I do. I almost died in a plane crash. I’ve been trying so hard to remember it, to feel every minute of it again, so I could tell people in the future what to expect. I felt like I had to go somewhere, but it was so hard to stick to the path. It’s like when you finally reach the top of a mountain you’re hiking, but look down and realize how small you are by comparison. Your heart is in your throat, because it’s beautiful and terrible all at once, and if anyone asked you to describe it, you wouldn’t be able to find the right words, because how can you be so alone and insignificant and also so full and complete at the same time?” I shake my head. “I know this isn’t what you were hoping for. You want to know if there’s a white light, or a hundred dogs, or an angel who comes to get you. I don’t know any of that. But I do know that all the answers were there, to questions I would never even think to ask.”

Win’s chest stops moving. I stare down at her, waiting. I search for the broken thread of her pulse.

“But I came back,” I tell her. “Maybe I wasn’t ready to hear those answers.”

I feel it then, the slightest squeeze of my hand.

One more shallow breath. A long pause.

“Felix?” I call out. “I think you should come now.”

I lean down and press my cheek to hers. “It’s okay to let go, Win,” I whisper.

The door flies open and Felix stands there, wide-eyed and frightened. “Is she…?”

“Not yet,” I tell him. “But now would be a good time to say whatever you need to say to her.”

Felix sinks onto the edge of the bed. He leans down, whispering something into her ear that I cannot hear. Her breath rushes out, a soft susurration stirring his hair, and then she is gone.

He folds himself into her, an origami of grief.

I step outside the room to give them a final moment of privacy. I take my phone from my pocket and add Win’s name to my list of ghosts.

* * *

—

ABIGAIL TAKES ONE look at me and my scar and tells me she will take care of contacting the funeral home but she’d really like it if I didn’t keel over myself, so I should go home. She calls me an Uber and even though the ride is only fifteen minutes, I fall asleep. Sadness sits with me, another passenger.