“Is there anything we can do for you?” Judith inquired with concern.
Margie shook her head. “N-n-no. I’ll be fine.” She
dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. “Please tell me
if you’re comfortable, if there’s anything you need.”
She gazed at Judith with red-rimmed eyes. “Hip replacement surgery, I believe? Oh, dear, that can be so
dangerous! I can’t tell you how many patients dislocate
within a short time of being sent home. It’s terribly
painful, worse than childbirth.”
“Really?” Judith’s dark eyes were wide.
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Margie turned back to Renie. “Shoulder?” She nodded several times. “You never really recover from rotator cuff surgery. Oh, they tell you, ninety, even
ninety-five percent, but it’s nowhere near that high, especially if you’re past a Certain Age. You’ll be fortunate if you can ever raise your arm past your waist.”
“Gee, thanks,” said Renie in a bleak voice. “I feel so
much better since you came to see us.”
“Good,” Margie said, dabbing again at her eyes.
“Anything I can do to cheer you, just let me—” She
stopped and turned as two young people stood at the
door. “Oh! My children! How sad!”
Mother, daughter, and son embraced in a three-way
wallowing of hugs. Margie’s tears ran afresh. “Let me
introduce you,” she blubbered to the cousins. “This is
Nancy, and this is Bob Jr., my poor semiorphans!”
Nancy Randall was a pale, gaunt younger version of
her mother except that her hair hung below her shoulders. Bob Jr. was thin, with rimless glasses, scanty
blond hair, and sunken cheeks. They both waved listlessly at Judith and Renie, who waved back. Neither of
the Randall offspring spoke.
“They’re numb with grief,” Margie lamented, a hand
on each of her children’s arms. “Come, darlings, let me
get you some nice Moonbeam’s coffee from the staff
room. Then we can talk about the funeral. We’ll make
some wonderful plans.” With a surprisingly energetic
wave, Margie Randall left the cousins in peace.
“Jeez,” Renie shuddered, “she’s a real crepe pants,
as my mother would say.”
“Those poor kids,” Judith said. “They look awful. It
can’t be just grief—they look like they’ve been drawn
through a knothole—as
Renie nodded. “Bill was right. Something’s wrong
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Mary Daheim
with them. I mean, really wrong.” She got out of bed
and gazed through the window. “It’s stopped snowing. I’ll bet we got at least a foot. It’s beautiful out
there.”
“Maybe I can walk far enough to look outside later
today,” Judith said, digging into her purse. “Maybe I
won’t pass out if I try.”
“What’re you doing?” Renie asked as Judith began
