“Thanks,” Shelley says to him.

He nods and walks out of the room.

I look at the other old faces around me. Along with the short-haired woman, there are two others, both men—a chubby, bald one and a dashing gentleman in a tie and tweed jacket. His white hair is perfectly combed. Though he’s sitting, I can tell he is tall. He has a long, lined, hangdog face.

“I want you all to meet Penny.”

I wave at no one in particular.

“Bonjour, madame,” the short-haired woman says. “So nice to see you, to meet you. You’re lovely. Very pretty. How old are you? You don’t have to answer that. I know it’s a rude question. It’s unfair to ask that so soon. Ignore it; ignore me if you want. You’re one of us now. That’s the important thing. One of us.”

Neither of the men says anything, perhaps because they don’t want to compete with the talkative one, but the white-haired man in the tie nods and smiles.

“Ruth here is our language expert,” Shelley says. “She can speak French, Latin, and a few other languages, too.”

“Some Greek,” adds Ruth. “Mostly French, though. There’s so much to learn with each language. They’re all so interesting. Languages are dying out around the world, and it’s tragic. But there’s something about French.”

“Language is good for the brain,” says Shelley. “And it’s good to talk.”

“Like eating fish,” says Ruth, touching her temple. “Good for our brains.” She looks at me. “Penny. Pennies, Pennies from heaven. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“And that’s Hilbert,” says Shelley, interrupting and pointing at the man with the tie. “And he’s Pete.”

The bald man. Some drool escapes from the side of his mouth. Pete looks like he’s the oldest of all of us. By several years. He doesn’t even make eye contact with me, but Hilbert smiles again, nods, which relaxes me.

“We like to meet like this most days, Penny, to talk, check in.”

“We love talking,” says Ruth.

“Some of us more than others,” says Shelley, raising her eyebrows. “It’s a chance to touch base, share, sing a song, laugh, tell a story, discuss something new.”

“We can tell any kind of story we want,” says Ruth.

“That’s mostly true, Ruth,” says Shelley. “Before you arrived, Penny, Hilbert was telling us about—”

“Approximating by fractions,” Hilbert says.

His voice is calm, deep, steady. I like the sound of it.

“Sometimes we’d rather just be sleeping,” says Ruth.

“Pete gives the best violin concerts,” says Shelley.

“Does no one care about the fractions?” says Hilbert. “It’s one number, but it represents a part of the whole. I’m a fraction. Penny, you are, too.”

Shelley laughs but stays still. Her posture is stiff. She doesn’t smooth out her dress or pick at her nails. She holds her hands in front of her.

“We don’t want to get overly technical, Hilbert,” Shelley says, looking at him.

“Fractions and fragments are wonderful,” says Ruth. “Talking is wonderful. Being together is wonderful.”