“What about you?” she asked. “Are you single?”
“Divorced.” It still felt like a failure, saying it. “You?”
“I’m married, though you wouldn’t know it from the amount of time my husband and I are together.” She grabbed a white bar towel and wiped down the counter. “Right now he’s in the North Sea. Before that, he was off the coast of Africa.”
“Is he in the service?”
“He was, but not anymore. Now he’s the captain of a supply ship that largely works on military contracts. Did you see that movieCaptain Phillips? Well, that’s him—except his boat has guns.”
“Wow. Do you ever go with him?”
“No passengers allowed.” Her face grew tight. “He keeps saying he’s going to quit, but then he always signs up for another voyage.”
Uh-oh. Sounded like trouble in paradise.
The door jangled and three chattering middle-aged women came in, followed by two men in ball caps advertising the local feedstore. I picked up my coffee and sketchbook. “I’d better let you get to work—and I’d better do that myself.”
Kirsten smiled. “So nice to meet you. And please try to join us on Saturday! It’ll be a good time. The carpool group is a bunch of women about our age.”
“I’ll try to make it,” I said. I carried my cappuccino to a table in the corner, got out my pencils, and started detailing stones on an ivory tower.
15
adelaide
Ihated the idea of someone bathing me. I needed help stepping over the side of the tub and getting seated in that shower chair from the medical equipment store, though, and I could no longer reach my back or my feet. Thank heavens the aide lets me wash my personal parts myself so I can cling to a shred of dignity.
By the time she’d helped me dry off and dress, Hope was back. Through the window, I watched her lug a trash can full of flattened empty boxes and garbage bags to the curb. At my request, the aide settled me in my bedroom rocker, then left the room.
“Let’s go through my closet,” I said when Hope came back inside and stuck her head in my room.
“Oh boy!” She pulled out her little portable phone—they call them cell phones, though I don’t know why. I think they should call them camera phones because they can take pictures.“I’ve been looking forward to this. If it’s okay with you, I’ll take pictures of your clothes as we bring them out. Then I can send an e-mail to a vintage store in Chicago or upload them on eBay.”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I loved the idea of taking photos of my clothes. I should have done that years ago myself.
“Whatever you want to do is fine, dear. I thought that goingthrough my closet would help me remember the things I need to tell you, because I can recall what I was wearing when special things happened.” I gave her a sheepish grin. “Although I’m afraid I can’t remember what we were talking about when we left off.”
“You’d just told me about the night Joe took you up in the bomber.”
“Oh yes. Yes, indeed! Oh, that was quite an experience. Pull out that green plaid skirt at the back.”
She dug around in my closet. “This one?”
“Yes. That’s what I was wearing that night.”
She took a picture of it with her phone camera, then did something with her thumbs.
“There’s a blue-and-white polka-dot dress in there, with a fabric-covered belt. Do you see it?”
She rooted around and pulled it out. It had a V-neck, short sleeves, and navy buttons down the front. She hung it on the door and took a photo.
“Did you ever get your camera back?” Hope asked.
“What?”
She pulled the dress off the door and handed it to me. “You said you gave your camera to Kevin or Carl that night.”
“Oh!” A scrap of the past floated by like flotsam. “Yes. Yes, I did. He gave it back to me when he let me out of the car that morning.”
