Dave had already begun to suspect this. ‘If you’re right, it’s going to ruin Olga’s day.’

‘She should have expected it. How many times do you think this version of the Eiffel has been assembled, and then taken apart again? Old people are as careless as teenagers.’ He straightened up. ‘Would you walk outside in the garden with me? I have something to give you. Also something to tell you.’

Dave studied Ollie. ‘You okay?’

The other chose not to answer this. ‘Come outside. It’s a beautiful morning. Warming up nicely.’

Ollie led the way toward the patio, his cane tapping out that familiar one-two-three rhythm, tossing a good-morning wave to someone as he passed the coffee-drinking coterie of TV watchers. Dave followed willingly enough, but slightly mystified.

II

Lakeview was built in a U shape, with the common room between two extending arms that comprised the ‘assisted living suites,’ each suite consisting of a sitting room, a bedroom, and the sort of bathroom that came equipped with handrails and a shower chair. These suites were not cheap. Although many of the residents were no longer strictly continent (Dave had begun suffering his own nighttime accidents not long after turning eighty-three, and now kept boxes of PM Pull-Ups on a high shelf in his closet), it was not the sort of place that smelled of piss and Lysol. The rooms also came with satellite TV, there was a snack buffet in each wing, and twice a month there were wine-tasting parties. All things considered, Dave thought, it was a pretty good place to run out the string.

The garden between the residence wings was lush – almost orgasmic – with early summer. Paths wandered and a central fountain splashed. The flowers rioted, but in a genteel, well-barbered way. Here and there were house telephones where a walker suddenly afflicted with shortness of breath or spreading numbness in the legs could call for assistance. There would be plenty of walkers later on, when those not yet arisen (or when those in the common room got their fill of Fox News) came out to enjoy the day before it heated up, but for the time being, Dave and Ollie had it to themselves.

Once they were through the double doors and down the steps from the wide flagstoned patio (both of them descending with care), Ollie stopped and began fumbling in the pocket of the baggy houndstooth check sportcoat he was wearing. He brought out a silver pocket watch on a heavy silver chain. He held it out to Dave.

‘I want you to have this. It was my great-grandfather’s. Judging by the engraving inside the cover, he either bought it or had it given to him in eighteen ninety.’

Dave gazed at the watch, swinging on its chain from Ollie Franklin’s slightly palsied hand like a hypnotist’s amulet, with amusement and horror. ‘I can’t take that.’

Patiently, as if instructing a child, Ollie said, ‘You can if I give it to you. And I’ve seen you admire it many and many a time.’

‘It’s a family heirloom!’

‘Yes indeed, and my brother will take it if it’s in my effects when I die. Which I’m going to do, and soon. Perhaps tonight. Certainly in the next few days.’

Dave didn’t know what to say.

Still in that same patient tone, Ollie said, ‘My brother Tom isn’t worth the powder it would take to blow him to Des Moines. I have never said as much to him, it would be cruel, but I’ve said so many times to you. Haven’t I?’

‘Well … yes.’

‘I have supported him through three failed businesses and two failed marriages. I believe I’ve told you that many times, as well. Haven’t I?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘I did well, and I invested well,’ Ollie said, beginning to walk and tapping his cane in his own personal code: tap, tap-tap, tap, tap-tap-tap. ‘I am one of the infamous One Percent so reviled by the liberal young. Not by a lot, mind you, but by enough to have lived comfortably here for the last three years while continuing to serve as my younger brother’s safety net. I no longer have to perform that service for his daughter, thank God; Martha actually seems to be earning a living for herself. Which is a relief. I’ve made a will, all proper and correct, and in it I’ve done the proper thing. The family thing. Since I have no wife or children myself, that means leaving everything to Tom. Except this. This is for you. You’ve been a good friend to me, so please. Take it.’

Dave considered, decided he could give it back when his friend’s death premonition passed, and took the watch. He clicked it open and admired the crystal face. Twenty-two past six – right on time, as far as he could tell. The second hand moved briskly in its own little circle just above the scrolled 6.

‘Cleaned several times, but repaired only once,’ Ollie said, resuming his slow ambulation. ‘In nineteen twenty-three, according to Grampy, after my father dropped it down the well on the old farm in Hemingford Home. Can you imagine that? Over a hundred and twenty years old, and only repaired once. How many human beings on earth can claim that? A dozen? Maybe only six? You have two sons and a daughter, am I right?’

‘You are,’ Dave said. His friend had grown increasingly frail over the last year, and his hair was nothing but a few baby-fine wisps on his liver-spotted skull, but his mind was ticking along a little better than Olga’s. Or my own, he admitted to himself.

‘The watch isn’t in my will, but it should go in yours. I’m sure you love all your children equally, you’re that kind of guy, but liking is different, isn’t it? Leave it to the one you like the best.’

That would be Peter, Dave thought, and smiled.

Either returning the smile or catching the thought behind it, Ollie’s lips parted over his remaining teeth and he nodded. ‘Let’s sit down. I’m bushed. It doesn’t take much, these days.’

They sat on one of the benches, and Dave tried to hand the watch back. Ollie pushed his hands out in an exaggerated repelling gesture that was comical enough to make Dave laugh, although he recognized this as a serious matter. Certainly more serious than a few missing pieces in a jigsaw puzzle.

The smell of the flowers was strong, heavenly. When Dave Calhoun thought of death – not so far off now – the prospect he regretted most was the loss of the sensory world and all its ordinary luxuries. The sight of a woman’s cleavage in a boatneck top. The sound of Cozy Cole going bullshit on the drums in ‘Topsy, Part Two.’ The taste of lemon pie with a cloud of meringue on top. The smell of flowers he could not name, although his wife would have known them all.

‘Ollie, you may be going to die this week, God knows everyone in this place has one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel, but there’s no way you can know for sure. I don’t know if you had a dream, or a black cat crossed your path, or something else, but premonitions are bullshit.’

‘I didn’t just have a premonition,’ Ollie said, ‘I saw one. I saw Mister Yummy. I’ve seen him several times in the last two weeks. Always closer. Pretty soon I’ll have a room visit, and that will be that. I don’t mind. In fact, I’m looking forward to it. Life’s a great thing, but if you live long enough, it wears out before it runs out.’

‘Mister Yummy,’ Calhoun said. ‘Who the hell is Mister Yummy?’

‘It’s not really him,’ Ollie said, as if he hadn’t heard. ‘I know that. It’s a representation of him. A summation of a time and place, if you like. Although there was a real Mister Yummy once. That’s what my friends and I called him that night in Highpockets. I never knew his real name.’

‘I’m not following.’

‘Listen, you know I’m gay, right?’

Dave smiled. ‘Well, I think your dating days were over before I met you, but I had a pretty good idea, yes.’

‘Was it the ascot?’

It’s the way you walk, Dave thought. Even with a cane. The way you run your fingers through what remains of your hair and then glance in the mirror. The way you roll your eyes at the women on that Real Housewives show. Even the still-life drawings in your room, which form a kind of timeline of your decline. Once you must have been so good, but now your hands shake. You’re right – it wears out before it runs out.