My sister-in-law, Denise, sat down beside me and rested a gentle hand on my arm.
“Have you eaten anything today, Eleanor?”
“I’m fine.”
“You look exhausted. Did you sleep?”
“Enough.”
She squeezed my arm.
“I can speak for you in there if this becomes too much.”
I smiled politely.
“I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself.”
At ninety years old, people often assumed fragility before they bothered checking whether it was actually there.
My name is Eleanor.
Walter and I had been married for sixty-nine years.
We met in college,
