"My gutters are fine."
"Mom, last time you said that, a squirrel had moved into one."
Chanel called every Wednesday night while making dinner.
"Did you eat today, Mama?"
"Of course."
"Toast is not dinner."
"Did you eat today, Mama?"
"I never said toast."
"You didn't have to."
They knew me too well. I loved it and hid from it too.
***
Last month, Dr. Evans held my chart in both hands and stopped smiling.
"Say it plainly," I told him. "Please."
He sat down. "Your heart valve has gotten worse, Sylvie."
"How much worse?"
"We need to schedule surgery."
I loved it and hid from it too.
I gripped my purse. "Can it wait?"
"Sylvie."
"I'm asking because I have things to arrange, Dr. Evans. I know the risk, and I know my age, so I have to tie my affairs together."
"I understand," he said. "But we're talking weeks here, not months."
***
In the parking lot, I didn't start the car. A woman my age walked past with her husband. He held her elbow as she stepped off the curb.
"I have to tie my affairs together."
I looked away and pulled Walter's bank card from my purse. Recently, I had begun to carry it around with me.
"Not yet," I whispered, and tucked it back inside.
