Near the end, Carter began to think that mirrors were
unreliable. When he walked past his reflection in
the shopping mall, he saw a coyote by his side. He
looked down, quickly. No coyote. In the morning,
above the bathroom sink, he saw chokecherries in
bloom behind him, so he turned around. Sheetrock. In
the shiny paint of a new car—he saw himself—a crow
on his shoulder.

After checking in to the local hospice, a nurse made
sure that he felt comfortable. She asked, “Can I get you
anything?” He said, “I would like a mirror. Hand-held
mirror. Please.”