“I’m not sure what they do, but it’s important work in a hospital. And for May, it’s a start. She’s bright. Who knows where she’ll go from there? She’s quiet, because she doesn’t want to bother us. She’d pack and leave, even if she had to live on the street, if she thought she were upsetting you.”

“You’re right, Grace. I’ll try to see her as you do and remind myself it’s not forever.” She gave Grace a piercing look. “It’s not forever, right?”

“Certainly not.”

“Truth is, I’m angry that Amelia moved her in here without asking either of us,” Hannah said.

Reaching over, Grace rested her hand on Hannah’s arm. “I had a moment or two of being annoyed about that, but I think it all happened so fast. Amelia made an offhand remark, and May took her up on it. Not the end of the world, right? Not the end of the world, and you’re helping a woman without many resources and in need, right?”

“Right. But I still don’t like it,” Hannah said.

“I understand that.”

This is what’s so incredible about Grace. She’s so good and so generous of spirit. I always feel better, feel like a better person, when I talk to her. Hannah leaned across the table. “I’ll just accept that May’s here and concentrate on her finding a better place to live soon.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I’ll do the same,” Grace replied.

16

A Baby Girl Is Born

Sarina’s baby arrived two weeks past her due date. On May 12, Hannah, in her bedroom across the street, awakened to the sound of Max’s pickup reversing, heard the screech of tires, and from her window watched it turn left onto Elk Road. The baby was coming. Why hadn’t Max called and wakened her?

“You need a cell phone so I can call you when it happens,” he had said.

“I hate those things,” she had replied.

“They’re so easy to use.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she replied. “It’s not easy for me.”

Like so many electronic items, she found a cell phone annoyingly complicated. Cell phones were designed for midgets with tiny fingers. Her wide fingers hit the wrong buttons and she must use the tip of a fingernail (and hers were short) or a pencil tip to punch the numbers. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being “I hate this,” she rated cell phones a ten.

How many times had they gone round and round this issue? How many times had she agreed and done nothing about it? Hannah slapped her forehead. And when she finally did get one, where was it? Tucked away in the glove compartment of her station wagon. Now she must drive alone to Memorial Mission Hospital.