So Anne did what Louisa had been nagging her to do for several years already, and “downsized” to one of those so-called assisted living places—“assisted dying” is what Walt would say. The truth was, though it had been perhaps the worst move of her life, when it was finally over Anne did feel a bit of what Louisa, always lecturing, had scold-promised her she would feel. Not “relief,” but at least a dumb numbness. A passive plopping-down and not-thinking. She liked that the new place was so small she’d had to jettison half her belongings and cram the rest so tightly together that normal
