Five minutes passed before Violet came out of the house, and through the open windows of the Buick Vivian heard her calling back into the house to Robert that she’d be back in time to cook dinner. She climbed in the front seat, and the McGinty sisters started on their drive up to Akron.

“Vivy, gosh, you’re thin!” Violet exclaimed. She hadn’t seen Vivian since Grandma Kurtz’s birthday party. “You look like Katharine Hepburn.”

Vivian made a face. Katharine Hepburn was one of those women who wore trousers.

“I haven’t been baking as much. Except for these.”

She patted the tin of peanut butter crisscross cookies beside her. Vera had always liked peanut butter cookies.

Vivian might have dropped a few pounds, but it was nothing compared to Vera. Vivian inhaled sharply when they stepped into Vera’s bedroom. She’d never seen her older sister so weak, so diminished. Her skin lay atop her bones like wax paper across a rickety ladder. In fact, she looked like a skeletal version of their mother. Violet took Vivian’s hand and pulled her up next to the bed, where Vera was propped up against a lace-edged pillow, with their mother’s crazy quilt pulled up around her torso. Two straight-backed chairs had been set next to the window, to the left of Vera’s bed.

Vera’s eyes lit up when they drew closer. They were watery, but alert, and there was a brightness in them that Vivian’d never seen before. That scared her even more than her sister’s sickly appearance. There’d never been a time she could remember when her older sister looked pleased to see her. Vivian was properly unnerved and had to put her hand on the back of one of the chairs to steady herself.

“Hi!” Violet greeted Vera in a cheery but soft voice, as if speaking too loudly would give Vera another stroke.

The right side of Vera’s mouth pulled up in a ghastly way. On the nightstand next to the bed was a glass of water and a notepad and pencil. The stroke had paralyzed Vera’s vocal cords and the left side of her body, so she couldn’t speak. But she could write what she wanted to say on the notepad.

“She’s smiling, Viv,” Violet said, explaining the lopsided facial expression that was sure to give Vivian nightmares.

Vivian stood next to the chair, still holding it with one hand, the other holding her pocketbook. The nurse had taken the cookie tin to the kitchen when they’d arrived. Seeing Vera in her current condition threw Vivian’s emotions into a choppy washtub of confusion. From the bed Vera lifted her right hand and waved for them to sit in the two chairs.

“Come on, Vivy,” Violet coaxed, patting the empty chair like she was talking to one of her cats.

Vera’s hand moved to rest on the notepad, and then she tapped the cover with her middle finger.

“You want to write something?” Violet asked, getting up from her chair and reaching for the notepad.