"This looks like a good spot," I said, pulling the car under a shady tree and trying to sound cheerful.
Paul glanced nervously at his wristwatch. "Sure, Betsy, a good place..."
I knew exactly what he was thinking, what he stopped himself from finishing. A good place to spend eternity. I put my hand on his, squeezed. He looked at me, sighed and mustered a half-hearted smile. I hadn't seen him happy for nine years, and wasn't going to now, not just yet.
We got out and I retrieved our picnic basket from the trunk. We walked hand-in-hand through a stand of pine trees, crunching needles under our feet, and once through stood on a high ledge overlooking the mountains. The day was clear and warm and the far away mountains looked still and angular, their frosted peaks contrasting with the looming cliffs of purple and green. The site was awe-inspiring, no matter how often I'd seen it. I smiled and looked at Paul, and for one second I thought he'd forgotten about Planck-this and phase-change-that. Then he looked at his watch again.
I took a thin blanket from the basket and spread it out, started setting up lunch. I'd brought some fine cheeses--gouda and extra sharp cheddar--table water crackers, a bottle of our favorite Merlot, and some grapes. A light lunch, we'd decided, was best under the circumstances.
Paul swatted at his arm. "Damn!" he said. He scratched at the spot, so hard he started to draw more blood than the bug had. "Damn! Betsy, it burns."
I stood, rushed over and put my arms around him. "Don't think about it, sweetie." He kept rubbing and rubbing. "Just stop fiddling with it," I said. "It'll stop hurting long before..." and now it was I who had to stop short.
"How do you know? How do you know it'll stop? I'm the one who'll feel it, Betsy, not you!"
I remembered that there was a first-aid kit in the car. "Okay, wait, I'll get something for it." I ran to the car and thank god the kit actually had some topical analgesic.
When I returned, Paul was standing very close to the edge of the cliff. "What are you doing?" I asked calmly, though my voice caught in my throat.
"It might be better this way," he said, looking down.
"No!" I said, tears coming to my eyes.
"Death might be better. It would be better for a lot of people, maybe most people."
)
