Bestseller. Olivia Goldsmith

and another wave of despair hit her. The bread was out, and the skillet still bore the remains of eggs from Daniel’s breakfast. The sink was filled with the dishes and pots from the dinner of two nights ago, while the pizza box and the paper plates and forks from yesterday’s takeout meal still littered the small table.

      Judith looked at the kitchen clock. Ten minutes! Quickly, she gathered up the garbage, but as she tried to fold the pizza box and throw the rest of the trash into the can under the sink, she realized it was already full to overflowing. And then she found there were no more garbage bags. She’d forgotten to get more.

      Judith went into her office and found an empty carton under the card table. She hadn’t been in her office in over two weeks—not since she’d finished the book. She looked around for a moment. Though those days had been hard and isolated, they now seemed a golden time compared to this emptiness. She sighed and picked up the box. Then she noticed the dog. Flaubert was lying in the farthest corner, his soft brown eyes sadly watching her, his muzzle pressed into the floor beside his two front paws. “What are you doing here?” she asked. No wonder she had forgotten him. Did Flaubert hate her, too? He’d gone to the corner of the apartment farthest away from her and the bed.

      My God, she thought, when was the last time he was walked? No wonder he hated her. Pity for the helpless dog overwhelmed Judith. Had Daniel walked him this morning? She didn’t think so. “Come on, Flo,” she coaxed. But the dog only looked away. What was wrong with him? Was he sick? She approached him and scratched behind his ears, right in the place he liked, but she didn’t get the usual responsive thump of his tail. Well, she didn’t have time to think about it now. She’d fill the carton with trash, put the dog on his leash, run him downstairs for a quick pit stop, and then rush back upstairs to make something for lunch. It would have to be grilled cheese on stale bread, but at least it was better than nothing. Daniel would know she’d tried.

      She was dressed and the kitchen would be reasonably neat; these were improvements over Daniel’s return yesterday. She wondered why she could only mobilize herself to do things for the dog or her husband, not herself. But she didn’t have time to think about it now. She filled the carton with the kitchen garbage, called the reluctant Flaubert, and hooked the leash to his collar. Then, balancing the odorous carton in one hand and holding the leash in the other, she walked through the kitchen and into the dark hallway to the door. Her foot descended on something soft, and she nearly slipped. She had to put down the carton and fumble for the lightswitch. She looked down. “Oh, Flaubert!” The dog’s ears went down, and he turned away in shame and trotted back through the kitchen to the cold little office. Daniel hadn’t