The garden hose slipped from my hand.
“Marjorie?”
She slowly turned toward me.
For one hopeful second, I believed she might come across the yard.
Then Owen appeared behind her.
He rested one hand on her arm and guided her toward the house.
“She needs to lie down,” he said.
I stepped closer to the fence.
“Marjorie, are you feeling all right?”
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She glanced over her shoulder.
Our eyes met for only a moment.
The smile she had been trying to hold disappeared completely.
Then Owen led her inside and closed the door.
She never answered me.
That night, I lay awake replaying her expression.
I tried to be reasonable.
Elderly people became tired. Their health could change quickly. Sometimes they needed more help than they wished to admit.
Owen had never shouted at her. I had never seen him behave violently. Accusing someone of wrongdoing because of closed curtains and a worried glance would have been irresponsible.
