When nothing happened, Vernie began to fear the worst. Anjean had been murdered and no one had identified her body. She’d been sent to the medical school in Morgantown; the Adult Service Work having checked the box, “anatomical gift”.
While my sister was forming in my mother’s belly, my cousin Beverly Anne was dying in her mother’s arms.
Grandma looks bewildered, like a child who’s been tricked. I’ve seen this look on her face before. In the hospital, mostly in the evening. The physical therapist told me not to worry. “It happens with stroke patients. We call it sundowning. They get confused. Expect her to have good days and bad. Expect her to cry and be moody. Don’t be alarmed at outbursts, accusations.” I’ve never feared for anything until now.
We were a couple. Nobody on the floor but us. This went on for, oh, I don’t know how long. He even begged me to go away with him.
Who is this poor man, so tired, so broken? Slowly, she recognizes Bart. She can only guess at his suffering, his contained hours of grief. He is in love.