she read the letter again, more slowly this time, then read it a third time before she put it bato the envelope. once more, she imagined him writing it, and for a moment she debated reading another, but she knew she couldnt delay any longer. lon was waiting for her.
her legs felt weak as she stepped out of the car. she paused and took a deep breath, and as she started across the parking lot, she realized she still wasnt sure what she was going to say to him. and the answer didnt finally e until she reached the door and ope and saw lon standing in the lobby.
the story ends there, so i close the notebook, remove my glasses, and wipe my eyes. they are tired and bloodshot, but they have not failed me so far. they will soon, i am sure. her they nor i go on forever. i look to her now that i have finished, but she does not look back. instead she is staring out the window at the courtyard, where friends and family meet.
my eyes follow hers, ach it together. in all these years the daily pattern has not ged. every m, an hour after breakfast, they begin to arrive. young adults, alone or with family, e to visit those who live here. they bring photographs and gifts aher sit on the benches or stroll along the tree-lined paths desigo give a sense of nature. some will stay for the day, but most leave after a few hours, and when they do, i always feel sadness for those theyve left behind. i wonder sometimes what my friends think as they see their loved ones driving off, but i know its not my business. and i do not ever ask them because ive learhat were all entitled to have our secrets. but soon, i will tell you some of mine.
i place the notebook and magnifier oable beside me, feeling the ache in my bones as i do so, and i realize once again how y body is. even reading in the m sun does nothing to help it. this does not surprise me anymore, though, for my body makes its own rules these days.
im not pletely unfortunate, however. the people who work here know me and my faults and do their best to make me more fortable. they have left me hot tea on the end table, and i reach for it with both hands. it is an effort to pour a cup, but i do so because the tea is o warm me and i think the exertion will keep me from pletely rusting away. but i am rusted now, no doubt about it. rusted as a junked car twenty years in the everglades (wetlands region in southern florida).
i have read to her this m, as i do every m, because it is something i must
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