She watches as he gets up, uncrossing her long legs and reaching to pour him a glass of Scotch as he talks. He's blaming his own death for his brother's decline.

'Here.'

She holds the glass up for him, not rising from her place on the couch, knowing that the answer she's going to give him is not the one he wants to hear.

'It's not your fault. Anymore than it would be my fault if something were to happen to Molly ten years after...' Her mouth goes dry, because she would feel responsible, nonetheless. 'It's not your fault, Gene.'