She quit on her birthday, on New Year's, on the Tuesday after the chest X-ray, and on a Thursday in June for no reason at all, which she considered the most serious attempt. Each time she threw the pack in the bin at the garden center, announced it to Denise at the register, and bought a fresh one at the Shell on the way home.

The announcement was what she could not give up. Thirty-nine years of it, and the small ceremony still worked, still made Denise say good for you, still gave her a clean morning to be proud of. Her granddaughter drew her a picture of a crossed-out cigarette in March and she put it on the fridge, where she could see it from the back step.