Vivian climbed the stairs slowly, counting them the way she sometimes did in her own house. Fifteen. A much luckier number than thirteen, although less lucky if you happened to fall from the top. Fifteen. Like the day on the December calendar when Vivian’s world had crashed around her. Vivian would forever after connect the date of December fifteenth with the fifteen steps she had to climb up to her sister’s room. Violet had turned on the lamp next to Vera’s bed, and was sitting in the chair Vivian had left hours earlier, watching Vera sleep. No longer bothering to blot the drool dripping from the left side of her mouth.

She looked up when Vivian entered the room, and got up from the chair. Her hands went to her heart, and she mouthed, I’m so sorry. Vivian just gave a slight, defeated nod, and walked to the side of the bed, where she stood over Vera. Her eyes flicked briefly to the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. A long time ago its weight would’ve felt good in her hand. But not now. Instead of reaching for the clock, she slipped Aunt Catharine’s Irish claddagh ring off her right ring finger, lifted Vera’s frail, weakened right hand, and slid the ring over the knobby knuckle of her third finger. She then turned to Violet and jerked her head toward the door. Violet left the lamp on, but closed the door to the room after them. Neither said a word to Wally as they walked past the living room and out the door into the mild summer night.

The two younger McGinty sisters sat silently in the front seat of the Daltons’ Buick, and stared straight out the windshield following the path the headlights made on the drive back to Wooster. The car’s engine and the constant vibration of the wheels on the highway kept the silence from seeming awkward. Vivian replayed the words from Vera’s notepad over and over inside her head, just like she had when she’d gone out for her long walk. Violet thought about the notepad confessional, too, and Vivian’s strained voice as she’d read from it. And then she thought about Vivian’s actions, and would think about them long after that day.

That McGinty claddagh ring had always meant more to Vera than it should have, in Violet’s opinion. She couldn’t believe Vivian had given it to her after what Vera had done. But Vera was sick and not likely to get any better; that was for certain. Violet sneaked a look at Vivian while she steered the Buick from the highway onto the exit. Vera had always been the know-it-all of the family, but Violet would point out that her sister Vivian really knew people.

“Did you see the papers?” Vivian finally broke the silence as they drove into Wooster, the glowing streetlamps coming into view. “They’re executing the Rosenbergs in a couple of weeks. The electric chair.”

“Oh?” Violet responded. “I didn’t see that. Robert said something about it, though. You’re reading the papers now?”