“Every so often,” I said.
June nodded slowly. She reached over and touched the back of my hand with one finger, tracing the knuckle.
“So do I,” she whispered. “More than you’ll ever know.”
Chapter 3: A Week
It happened on a gray Monday, the kind of day where the rain can’t make up its mind.
I came in with a bag of lemon drops, because she’d confessed on Saturday that she’d been craving them since 1977. Bettina was coming out of 412 with a face I recognized. It was the face she made when she didn’t want to be the one to tell me.
“Doctor Vasquez was just in,” she said quietly, and touched my arm, and kept walking.
June was sitting up. She’d put on lipstick. A coral shade, a little crooked at one corner, the kind of color she’d worn to the senior picnic.
“Well, don’t you look fancy,” I said.
