Long after the neighbor had shut the door and snapped the dead-bolt, Doug was still rehearsing in his mind all the measures he would take to remain safe, while scenes from his mother's funeral drifted to mind. He deeply regretted not having spent her final year by her side, even though he had managed to get there at the end. Sure, he had called her constantly from Ohio and avowed his love, but in retrospect that felt so paltry.

But was where she had gone that awful? In light of how she had lived and what kind of person she had been, he sensed not. By example she had shown that leaving this world was as natural — and no more frightening — than entering it. But what if it occurred among strangers, no matter how kind they might be? Doug rapped on the door.

A frail voice on the other side wheezed, "Yes?"

"It's Doug, Ray."

A latch clacked and a chain lock clicked and the door edged halfway back to reveal a long, narrow, emaciated face. "Raymond?" Doug ventured. This old man's moist eyes were sinking into a shriveling head, yet their dark chestnut color and piercing gaze were unmistakably Ray's.

"You're early," Raymond rasped like a human scarecrow in pleated charcoal gray woolen slacks and a Brooks Brothers button-down pink shirt.

"No," Doug said, "I'm late." All of a sudden he burst forward and hugged his dear friend with all his might.

"Careful, careful," Raymond whispered, but Doug wouldn't let go — his neglect of their friendship through Ray's ordeal was racking him with guilt. Minutes after he had already pressed his cheek into Ray's tears, Doug remembered the shaving cut he had wanted to protect. Too late. But at least he had finally shown his friend how he really felt.

"Where'd all the furniture go?" he blurted. His last visit this place had been stuffed with antiques.

"Danny and I had to sell most of it to pay his medical bills."

Doug squelched an automatic "I'm sorry," because that sounded too inane.

"But where's your suitcase?" Raymond said, squinting his rheumy eyes.

"Oh, the airline lost it. I mean, they misplaced it. I'm sure it'll turn up."

Ray paused a full minute to take that in, as if his quick mind had at long last slowed. "Let me show you to your room," he finally said. Doug dutifully followed, panicking over how to break the news about already staying at the Hilton. "I'm sure I have a spare toothbrush for you somewhere. And your towels and a washcloth are lying on the pillow."

It was Danny's bed and Danny's room, though the only trace of him left was a high school graduation picture on the wall. Dark, neat, Princeton-cut hair and smooth skin years from its first wrinkle and a disarming, guileless smile. Dan's natural warmth and constant good cheer had been easy to like, yet his utter lack of irony or sarcastic wit had always made him seem an odd partner for Ray. No matter, they had gotten along famously throughout their brief years together, and Ray had stood by him all the way to the end. And for a fleeting moment Doug envied Danny for not having had to die alone. Because if he didn't find himself a good woman and pull his life together soon that would be his own fate.

"He was handsome, wasn't he?" Ray said. "A gorgeous saint. But was his death ever miserable."

"Raymond," Doug said, facing his friend, "United didn't lose my luggage. It's sitting in my room at the Hilton."

Ray's gaze sought out Doug's, locked on, and froze in a fierce glare.

"And my flight got in this forenoon, and since then I've been touring Chicago. Or at least, I've been trying to."

The stare was merciless.

"Ray, please forgive me. I know I've been a shitty friend."

Raymond kept silent until tears began to trickle from Doug's eyes. And then he said, "You never did like Danny much, did you?"

"No, I liked him. Really. He was one of the nicest guys I ever met."

Ray snorted, revealing a flicker of a grin. "One thing you and I have always agreed upon is that nice is not enough. He was a sweet dweeb. And, boy, was he sweet."

Doug stood there quietly crying over the pain Raymond had gone through without his support. "Please don't hate me," he said, "for not having been there for you with Danny."

"Hate you? I've cursed you, I've damned you, I've reviled you, but I" — Ray paused as his own eyes filled with tears, and he lifted his skinny arms and reached out — "but I could never hate a dear, old friend. Besides I don't have time to hold a grudge."

Doug jumped into his Raymond's embrace, and in each other's warm grip they freely wept.

Finally the soft tenor Doug had been hearing on the phone for years, if not face to face, murmured into his ear, "Consider yourself forgiven."

"God bless you."

"Don't forget, you're not religious. Now I have two favors to ask."

"Certainly."

"First of all, may we sit down? I don't have the energy to stand very long anymore."

So they seated themselves close together on the same couch cushion, and Ray went on, "I recently made an appointment in Amsterdam." Doug glanced down at the coffee table and spotted the Hemlock Society magazines. "So my second request is this. Will you fly with me there and carry my ashes back and place them in the family niche?"

Doug hesitated a long minute before uttering a barely audible "No."

"No?"

"No, I won't go with you to Amsterdam, but I'll tell you what I'll do." Doug gulped before going on. "You know I've got an empty bedroom now back in Ohio. Ray, will you come live with me?"

Raymond bit his lip and blinked and took a deep breath and finally whispered, "Okay."

And then he quipped, "But not indefinitely."

They both chuckled.