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In this moment of silence, something touches James's hand, so light he can barely feel it. A moth, he thinks. The sleeve of his shirt.
在这寂静的时刻，有什么东西碰了碰詹姆斯的手，轻得他几乎感觉不到。他觉得是一只飞蛾。碰到了他衬衫的袖子。
But when he looks down, he sees Marilyn's fingers curled over his, the merest curve as they squeeze. He has almost forgotten what it felt like, to touch her.
但当他往下看时，他看到玛丽琳的手指在他的手指上蜷曲着，那是他们挤压时最弯曲的部分。他几乎忘记了触摸她的感觉。
To be forgiven even just this much. He bows his head and rests it on the back of her hand, overwhelmed with gratitude at having one more day.
即使是这样的宽恕。他低下头，靠在她的手背上，为能再多一天而不胜感激。
In bed, they touch each other gently, as if it's the first time they've ever been together:
在床上，他们轻轻地互相触摸，仿佛这是他们第一次在一起:
his hand sliding carefully across the small of her back, her fingers careful and deliberate as she undoes the buttons of his shirt.
他的手小心翼翼地滑过她的后背，她的手指小心翼翼、不慌不忙地解开他的衬衫纽扣。
Their bodies are older now; he can feel his shoulders sagging, he can see the silver scars from childbirth crisscrossing just below her waistline.
他们的身体更老了；他能感觉到他的肩膀下垂，他能看到分娩时的银伤疤在她的腰部以下纵横交错。
In the dark they are careful of each other, as if they know they are fragile, as if they know they can break.
在黑暗中，他们小心翼翼，仿佛知道自己是脆弱的，知道自己会崩溃。
In the night, Marilyn wakes and feels her husband's warmth beside her, smells the sweet scent of him, like toast, mellowed and organic and bittersweet.
晚上，玛丽琳醒来，感觉到丈夫在她身边的温暖，闻着他的甜香，就像烤面包一样醇厚、有机、苦乐参半。
How lovely it would be to stay curled here against him, to feel his chest rising and falling against her, as if it were her own breath. Right now, though, there is something else she must do.
要是蜷曲着身子靠在他身上，感觉着他的胸膛在她身上起伏，仿佛那是她自己的呼吸，那该多好啊！但现在，她还必须做一件事。
At the doorway to Lydia's room, she pauses with her hand on the knob and rests her head against the frame, remembering that last evening together: how a glint of light had caught Lydia's water glass and she'd looked at her daughter across the table and smiled.
在莉迪亚房间的门口，她停了下来，一只手放在门把手上，头靠在门框上，想起了最后一个晚上：一缕亮光照在莉迪亚的水杯上，她看着桌子对面的女儿，笑了。
Spinning out her daughter's future, brimming with confidence, she'd never imagined even for a second that it might not happen. That she might be wrong about anything.
她对女儿的未来充满信心，从未想过这可能不会发生。她可能在任何事情上都是错的。
That evening, that sureness, feels ancient now, like something grown small with the distance of years.
那天晚上，那种踏实感，现在感觉很古老，就像随着岁月的流逝而变得渺小的东西。
Something she'd experienced before her children, before marrying, while she was still a child herself. She understands. There is nowhere to go but on.
这是她在生孩子之前，结婚之前的经历，那时她自己还是个孩子。她明白，除了继续下去，别无他法。
Still, part of her longs to go back for one instant—not to change anything, not even to speak to Lydia, not to tell her anything at all.
不过，她也有几分想立刻回去一趟，什么也不改变，甚至不跟莉迪亚说话，什么也不告诉她。
Just to open the door and see her daughter there, asleep, one more time, and know all was well.
只是打开门，看到她的女儿又一次睡着了，知道一切都好。
And when at last she opens the door, this is what she sees. The shape of her daughter there in the bed, one long lock of hair stretched across the pillow.
当她终于打开门时，她看到的是这样的景象：床上是她女儿的身影，一缕长发横躺在枕头上。
If she looks hard, she can even see the rise and fall of the flowered comforter with each breath.
如果她仔细观察，她甚至可以看到每一次呼吸时花被子的起伏。
She knows she's been granted a vision, and she tries not to blink, to absorb this moment, this last beautiful image of her daughter sleeping.
她知道自己产生了幻觉，她努力不眨眼，专注于这一刻，捕捉女儿熟睡时最后的美丽画面。
Someday, when she's ready, she'll pull the curtains, gather the clothing from the bureau, stack the books from the floor and pack them away.
有一天，当她准备好了，她会拉上窗帘，把衣服从衣柜里拿出来，把书从地板上堆起来，把它们收起来。
She'll wash the sheets, open desk drawers, empty the pockets of Lydia's jeans.
她会洗床单，打开抽屉，把莉迪亚牛仔裤口袋里的东西拿出来。
When she does, she'll find only fragments of her daughter's life: coins, unsent postcards, pages torn from magazines.
当她这样做的时候，她只会发现她女儿的生活碎片：硬币、未寄出的明信片、从杂志上撕下来的书页。
