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PJ slipped on his Birkenstock sandals and his sweater, the zip-up with the polar bears stitched onto it. "If you want to hear a sad story, read about the polar bears," PJ would say to the women at the bar sometimes. He blamed the plight of the polar bear for one of his heart attacks. It was the documentary that had started the chest pain, he told his doctor. The bears were drowning, had the doc heard that? Habitat loss.

"Yes, I've heard that too," his doctor had said. "But I think it's your diet and lifestyle that's causing your heart trouble."

"Genetics," PJ said to that. "Nothing I can do about genetics."

The doctor had given him statins and a pamphlet about diet and exercise.

At 8:05, PJ was out the door for his morning walk. Walking used to be part of his job as a postman, and he walked everywhere still. He'd always gotten plenty of exercise, he was just big-boned, but doctors never listen when you talk about big bones. PJ didn't bother to lock the front door behind him when he went out. People rarely locked their doors in Pondville, unless they were leaving on a long vacation, and that morning, PJ had no plans to go anywhere. Out on the street, PJ waved hello to his neighbor Kellyanne Thomas, headed to work at the cranberry juice factory headquarters. She was in corporate, and PJ felt terrible for her, having to wear a monkey suit to work. PJ used to hate his own work uniform, the navy polyester pants and light-blue shirt, but he had been fired from his mail-carrier job a long time ago. "How are you, PJ?" Kellyanne Thomas called out to him from her driveway.

"We're one day closer to the end!" he called back.

"The end of what?" she asked.

"Our time together! But I've loved every minute."

She laughed. "Well, I have too, PJ."

"You're looking like a million bucks today, Kellyanne," PJ said, although he didn't like the suit. "Don't let the boss get you down."

"Oh, thank you," she said, blushing. "And I suppose you would know what a million bucks looks like!"

PJ chuckled and waved as she drove off. He knew she would smile all the way to work. He liked to make people smile.

It had been $1.5 million, actually, not a million bucks, that PJ had won. Everyone in Pondville knew he had won big in the scratch-off lottery tickets sold at the gas station, ten years ago. He didn't even remember buying the ticket, he'd been so drunk when he bought it. It had been good timing, he had really needed the money, had been about to lose his house, his wife already halfway out the door. But even after the lottery winnings, his wife had left anyway. People might have considered PJ the luckiest man in Pondville, if everyone didn't know how much he'd already lost.

PJ's sandals smacked the pavement. It was fifty-three degrees, the very beginning of spring in New England, the third day of May. It wasn't really sandal weather yet, but it was a short walk.

Every morning, after he had his first cup of coffee alone, PJ walked the ten houses down to his ex-wife's house, where Ivy lived with her boyfriend, the retired judge Fred Sharp, in their home right on the pond. It had been Fred's second home, until Fred moved down full-time so he and Ivy could get serious. He'd taken a big pay cut with the move, too, changing to a district court, but he'd still made a good living, and now he was ready to retire. Fred was also a world-class bird-watcher, and he was taking Ivy on a bird-watching trip, leaving tomorrow. It wasn't just a weekend trip, either; they'd be gone for four entire months to Alaska, which seemed about as far away as they could go. PJ had been steeling himself for it. He walked up the gravel path to their house with heavy legs.

Ivy opened the door; she'd been waiting for him. PJ's ex-wife was still as beautiful as she had been the day he met her. She had just turned sixty-two. She still dyed her hair Marilyn Monroe blond, and she wore red lipstick, lots of jewelry, and colorful ponchos she knit herself. She had been an art teacher at the high school. 

"It's not safe to leave me alone," PJ told her, giving his ex-wife his best puppy-dog eyes when he came in, but Ivy only shook her head. She'd explained this before. She and Fred had both retired and it was time for them to travel.

"Live your life," PJ muttered. "Yes, forget all about me. Leave me here to die."

"No one's leaving you to die," Ivy said, rolling her eyes. "We're only gone four months. May until end of August."

"Keep taking your medication," Fred reminded PJ when he came downstairs to join them. Fred was freshly showered and dressed in a V-neck cashmere sweater. "And lay off the booze."