"I can't remember if we ever signed divorce papers."
"I signed divorce papers years ago," she says.
"At whose request?"
"Mine," she says. "I like things organized — dot the 'i's, cross the 't's."
"I was asking about me," Ben says. "Do you ever think about how it would have been different for me?"
"Yes," Richard says. "I think about it a lot."
"If this was the end of the world, the last conversation we'd ever have — what would we say?" Ben asks.
"Is it something you think about?" Richard asks. "How things would have been — the end of the world? It's all very fragile, isn't it — our time here."
"I don't like games like this," she says.
"Well, I just want to say that if this was the end of the world, right now, it would be OK with me," Ben says.
"If this was the end of the world, I personally would wonder what was going to happen next — the world as we know it is not all that there is; there is more, something larger than any of us," Richard says.
"If this was the end of the world," she says, interrupting, "I would stay up talking to you, but it's not, so I'm going to lie down." Richard helps her off the sofa. "It's been a very long day, I have to get up early, and if I don't go to sleep now, everything will be ruined."
Richard and Ben follow her into the bedroom and lie on the beds, while she goes into the bathroom.
"We should stay the night," Richard says to Ben.
"What about Malibu?"
"He'll be OK — he has food and water, and the door is cracked open so he can go out."
"I think I should go home with her," Ben says softly from his bed. "Summer's almost over, the stuff for the donut shop has all been ordered, and I can always fly out and help with the installation."
"I want more," Richard says, from the other bed. "I want to go to Disneyland again, and I want to go to Knotts Berry Farm; I heard they have a really good roller coaster. I want to go all kinds of places with you, maybe take one of those bike trips across France — do you like riding a bike?"
"I guess."
"We can train — if we start now, we'll be ready by next spring."
"OK."
"Do you want to take Malibu back to New York with you?"
"I don't think he'd like being alone in the apartment all day, and, besides, you need him."
She comes out of the bathroom in a T-shirt and climbs into the bed where Richard is. "Night," she says.
Ben says nothing more, and Richard realizes that the boy has fallen asleep.
Richard thinks of leaving, of getting up and going, but instead he climbs under the covers next to her — her body bends to accommodate him.
AT 6:00 A.M. she is on the treadmill in the second bedroom in her bra and underwear. "I wasn't expecting company," she says, gesturing to her outfit.
"It's cute," Richard says.
"The power's back on," she says, increasing the incline. She has already eaten her half a grapefruit and her decaf cappuccino. Ben is still asleep in the other room.
"It's nine a.m. in New York. I'm late."
"Where are you going?" Richard asks.
"I have two breakfasts — seven-thirty and a nine — and then a meeting at ten-thirty and lunch at one."
"How's your leg?"
"Fine, but my arm is sore from the shots," she says.
Back in the bedroom, he watches her dress; he always thought it was incredibly sexy, the way she would sit at the edge of the bed and roll her panty hose up her legs, stand, reach behind herself, and zip her skirt. He watches, overcome with longing.
"I may have to head back to New York tonight — a production crisis — but I'll call you later," she says, leaving — the two discreet Band-Aids at her ankle the only mark of her attack.
OVERNIGHT, a fire has started in the hills: the flick of a match, a lightning strike, a smoldering ember. It spreads quickly; dry chaparral bursts into flame; fire skirts the ground, hopping from stick to stick. It starts small, intimately, but spreads with enthusiasm.
As Richard and Ben drive from Beverly Hills into Santa Monica, they see the smoke high up, far away, fire on the hill.
"When she goes, are you going with her?" Richard asks.
Ben nods. "I'll be back. You believe me, right?"
"Flat screen, high-speed Internet," Richard says, reminding Ben of what will be in his new room.
"A bicycle ride across France," Ben says.
"I'm going to hold you to it," Richard says, dropping Ben at the new donut shop — the painters are there, the counter guy is coming, it is a work in progress.
"I can't say good-bye," Ben says.
"Call me," Richard says.
Ben holds his fingers to his ear, making the sign of the telephone. "Will call," he says.
NIC IS OUTSIDE the house in Malibu, digging through the garbage. "I think I threw away something."
"What?" Richard asks.
"I don't know. As I was emptying the can I had the feeling I was throwing away something I shouldn't. I bought a shredder," he says, dumping an enormous pile of shredded paper back into the trash can.
"You look like you haven't slept in days — everything OK?"
"Working like a dog."
"Script?"
"Novel. It's like I'm on fire," Nic says.
Richard follows Nic into the house — it's a mess, coffee cups, half-eaten sandwiches, wads of crumpled paper all over the floor, two typewriters set up, motors humming.
"Just waiting for the last page to firm up," Nic says. He feeds paper into the shredder, which spits confetti. "Rough drafts. So I called my folks," he says.
"Oh?"
"Yeah; you know, the whole Fred thing spooked me. 'When are you coming home?' was the first thing my father said. 'First flight out,' I said. It was the only thing I could say. It was like they'd been sitting by the phone for years. 'Do you have a jacket?' my mother asked. 'It gets chilly in the evenings, it's not like it is out there.' While I was talking to them, I couldn't remember why I'd stayed away for so long."
"It'll come back to you as soon as you get there," Richard says with confidence.
Nic looks worried. "Did I ever mention how much I hate to fly?"
"No."
"Petrified. I have a recurring image of the small plane that crashed in New Jersey a couple of years ago, hurling people still strapped in their seats into the parking lot of a Kentucky Fried Chicken."
"Do you want me to go with you? I'll fly to Albany, check into a hotel for a few days, and, when you're ready, fly back."
"That's probably the nicest offer I've ever had."
"It's not just an offer."
"How about you just drive me to the airport?"
"Just say when."
"Give me a couple of hours."
THE DOG is glad to see Richard; he gives him an enormous greeting, complete with a full series of licks to the face and ears. Richard feeds him and takes him for a long walk. The tide is high: waves lap at the timbers under the houses; seaweed wraps around Richard's ankle, tickling him, trapping him. Richard thinks about Ben, Ben back in New York, a senior in high school, Ben taking the SATs, applying to colleges — what does he want to be? Richard thinks of the house on the hill, of moving back, of being alone. He cannot bear the idea of going back to what was, spending the days home doing nothing. He can't do nothing, but what can he do? He has a good car; he will be the man who picks up the donuts from Anhil and delivers them to the new location; he will outfit the trunks with racks, they will slide the trays of warm donuts in, and he will drive them to Santa Monica twice a day. And after he drives the donuts — then what? It will only be 6:30 a.m. He will meditate. He will sign up for a yoga class in Santa Monica — that's perfect, he likes it there, likes the feeling of the place — and then, at 8:00 a.m. he'll go to the gym, eat breakfast at the donut shop, and then — he'll go visiting. Not just one person, but a dozen people. He will visit door to door delivering donuts to the elderly, the infirm — OK, not delivering donuts, it's not like old people want to be eating donuts — he will deliver Meals on Wheels to old people. He'll arrange for Meals on Wheels to have Sylvia cook for old people on special diets, people who need good nutrition. It will be his gift; he will pay for it and he will deliver the food and visit the old people. He sees himself knocking on doors, ringing bells. "Mrs. Donziger, it's Richard from Meals on Wheels." If they want to talk, he will sit down and talk. If not, he will simply bring them food and good wishes. He's thrilled, he's finally figured it out, he has something to do — he is useful. He imagines calling his parents in Florida and telling them the good news.