Sometimes Annie forgot that Donna was older than she made herself look. That morning, however, as she lay under the scratchy, over-bleached sheet, Donna looked her age. And frail. And ill. Her clear complexion was almost powdery; the color of her eyes seemed to have faded. Were those things possible in a few short hours? Annie looked around the room, trying to frame her next question without staring at the wig that now was back in place. “Are you feeling better today?”

Donna nodded. “A little. Yes.”

Annie squirmed in her chair. “I brought you a few things. . . .” She opened the bag and took out toiletries, Donna’s silk robe, some clean underthings, and pants and a sweater for when she was released the next day, Saturday. “I hope you don’t mind that I raided your clothes.”

“Not at all. You are a dear.”

Lowering her eyes, Annie said, “I only wish you’d let us know sooner how sick you . . . are.” She pulled out a book she’d thought Donna might enjoy and the latest issue of Martha’s Vineyard magazine. She set them on the nightstand.

“The less I talked about it, the easier it was to deny it,” Donna replied. “Can you understand that?”

“I think so. But maybe we could have . . .”

Donna held up a hand, a plastic IV tube snaking up along with it. “You couldn’t have done a damn thing. The fact is, I was hoping I’d simply fall asleep, and we never would have had to have the ‘talk.’”

“About hospice?”

“And the rest.”

“By ‘the rest’ do you mean how I’m more than a little angry that my birth mother might be leaving me before I’ve really gotten to know her?”

“Yes. I suppose that’s what I mean.”

“Well, so you know, I am angry. And I’m sad. For you. For me. For Kevin.”

Donna turned her head toward the window. “Now that you know what’s really going on, are you still all right with having me stay in your place?”

“Of course I am. But we’ll put a twin bed in the living room. Earl and Kevin can take care of that. I want to stay with you, not up in the Inn. I want to be there if you need me during the night. That’s not negotiable.”

When Donna looked back to Annie, tears were in her eyes. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve made an old lady cry.”

Annie stood up, leaned down, and kissed Donna on the forehead. “My dad always said tears are caused by angel’s kisses.”

Donna closed her eyes. “I have a feeling your father was right about a lot of things.”

It was odd to have Donna mention Annie’s adoptive father, but Annie supposed it was no weirder than seeing Earl holding Donna’s hand. But Annie well knew that dying often shifted people’s perspectives.