The Last Reading

The ceiling fan wobbled above us, its rhythmic clicking the only sound in the stifling room. Elena lay against the pillows, her once-lush hair now a soft shadow on the white linen. I reached for her hand, pressing her palm against my cheek, feeling the papery thinness of her skin, the life-line that had promised eighty years now delivering only thirty-two.

"You should have left when I told you to," she whispered, not unkindly. "Go home to your life. Your job. Your actual friends."

"Buster's here," I said, nodding toward where her golden retriever lay curled at the foot of the bed, his chin resting on her blanket. "He needs someone to walk him."

Elena's mouth twisted into something that might have been a smile. "He's waiting for me to die. That's what dogs do."

I thought of last night, sitting on the balcony of this rented beach house, palm fronds silhouetted against a moon that seemed too bright for hospice weeks. I'd let my fingers drift through the strands of my own hair—shoulders now, when Elena had made me promise never to cut it—and considered how many promises we keep to people who won't remember them.

"That palm reader in college," Elena said suddenly, her eyes fluttering closed. "She told me I'd have a long life full of love."

"She also said I'd marry someone whose name started with J," I reminded her. "Remember how relieved you were when Jason turned out to be such an asshole?"

Elena's breathing hitched. I smoothed the hair back from her forehead, the same way she'd done for me freshman year when my mother called to say she was leaving. Some friends become family through trauma and timing, not choice. I'd hated her pity then. Now I'd trade everything for five more minutes of it.

"Will you..." She swallowed. "Will you make sure someone adopts Buster? Not a shelter. Someone real."

"Already found them," I lied. "Perfect couple. Two kids. Big yard."

Elena's hand went slack in mine. Outside, I could hear the ocean, relentless and indifferent. I pressed my lips to her palm one last time, tasting salt and skin and the bitter realization that every friendship eventually ends, whether we want it to or not. The dog lifted his head, sensing what I already knew, and began to howl.