Right to Die

what happened to “John,” I gestured toward the parlor.
    Andrus made a noise that actually sounded like “harrumph” as she strode in ahead of me and sat rigidly on a wing chair. “What?”
    “First, I’m sorry about Manolo.”
    “Manolo? A traitor! Do you realize what my husband did for him? What I did for him? He deserved what happened.”
    I had the sensation of speaking to a different person, another member of a family whose personality diverged one hundred eighty degrees from the rest.
    “Does your husband know?”
    “Sir, my husband is d— Oh. Oh, you mean Tuck, don’t you? I’ve left messages for him, but we keep missing each other.”
    “You mean, he doesn’t know about all this?”
    “It is not the sort of thing one can synopsize for a Parisian hotel operator.”
    “Don’t you think he ought to come home for you?”
    “No. No, I don’t, not that it’s any of your business. I am hardly the damsel in distress here. This is my home, and I am perfectly capable of living in it alone for as long as I desire.”
    “Inés Roja said you—”
    “Mr. Cuddy. I prefer to be alone right now. Alone means no Tuck, no Inés, and no you.”
    “Professor, Inés thinks Manolo may have had help.”
    “What on earth are you talking about?”
    I started in about the notes.
    Andrus threw up her hands. “Out, Mr. Cuddy! I have been betrayed, betrayed by a man I thought loyal to me and to my family. That will take some getting over, and I would prefer to do so on my own, without your irrelevant inquiries and whether that meets with your approval or not.”
    She got up, but I didn’t turn to go.
    “Professor, have you seen a doctor?”
    “I was not injured last night. Thanks to you, I’m told. Don’t worry. You will be compensated for that, and I’ll cover any medical bills.”
    Andrus went to push me toward the door. I hit her at each shoulder with the heels of my hands, sending her reeling back two steps.
    The eyes burned again. “How dare you!”
    “Can’t you see yourself? Your appearance, your attitude.”
    “What I see, sir, is a trespasser and a batterer who used to work for me. Are you leaving?”
    “Yes.”
    Staying out of the warm breeze, she slammed the door behind me.

    * * *

    On Friday morning I decided to spare my side the warm-up run but walk over to the river anyway. Bo wasn’t there, but hundreds of obvious marathoners were, just jogging loosely for a few miles, getting the kinks out toward the race three days later.
    By Saturday I figured Nancy might have cooled off enough to talk with me. The A.D.A. who answered at the courthouse said no one had seen her, and there was no answer at her apartment. When I tried Maisy Andrus, I had to wait fifteen rings before she picked up. Her voice was hoarse, like she’d been using it to yell. Telling me “positively for the last time” to butt out, she hung up.
    By Sunday I was feeling restless and a little lonely. I walked over to the Hynes Convention Center for the Marathon Expo.
    The building was filled with everything that ever had to do with running and a lot that didn’t. Displays of the old-time shoes and shorts and singlets. Clips of Jesse Owens humbling Hitler in the thirties and Roger Bannister breaking the four-minute mile in the fifties. Longer pieces on Bill Rodgers in the seventies edging into Joan Benoit in the eighties. All watched reverently by probably the biggest, slimmest crowd the Hynes had ever hosted.
    But after a while, being jostled this way and that, I felt nostalgia yielding to commercialism. How-to books and exercise videos, health foods and vitamin supplements, rowing machines and stationary treadmills. Uncountable cross-sectioned shoes in front of as many sales reps trumpeting arch support and heel stability. College kids working for restaurants and handing out discount flyers for beer and pasta “last suppers.” I’d been trained by a pro, but I was basically an amateur, a little overwhelmed by the breadth of a sport in which I knew I just dabbled.
    At a pay phone I tried Nancy at her apartment again. No answer. Maisy Andrus at the mansion. Busy signal.
    I recovered my quarter and walked home.
    Coming into the condo, I saw a movement near the kitchen. All I had were my keys and the chance of making the bedroom for a weapon.
    “John?” said Nancy ’s voice from the kitchen.
    I exhaled and moved around the corner into the living room. “How did you know it was me?”
    She came out of the kitchen. “I