“I don’t get the point of aging,” I say.

“It comes with lots of changes, doesn’t it?” he says.

“There’s a reason everyone is obsessed with staying young. You’re lucky you still are. And now as much as I want to pretend everything’s fine, I know it’s not. My knee is getting worse. And my memory is starting to fade. I’ve started forgetting things.”

“I’m sorry, Penny,” he says.

“I started writing notes to myself to help remember. I get a little confused sometimes.”

“It will be better here.”

“Better? No, that’s the point. I’m too old to get better. I’m too old for anything.”

“That’s not true. You slept better, didn’t you?”

My eyes drift over to the framed photo on the desk that’s sitting beside my ceramic sculpture. It’s of him. I don’t know why I brought it. I could have just left it at the apartment. I had planned to leave it. Did Mike put it in my bag? Did I unpack it?

“Who’s that?” Jack asks, noticing my glance.

“That’s him,” I say.

“The man you lived with? He was an artist, right?”

“Yes. But he didn’t believe in marriage. It was too traditional for him. I don’t think he believed in much. He became very cynical, and by the end he looked for approval wherever he could find it. He just wanted to fit in. I don’t know why that bothers me so much. But it does.”

“Relationships are complicated,” he says. “Just like families.”

I sense he’s about to elaborate, tell me more about his own life, but instead he continues brushing.

“There,” he says, when finished, stepping back, holding the brush at his side. “That’s better. You still have such pretty, soft hair. Come on. Let’s go to breakfast. You must be getting hungry.”

I am hungry. I’m famished.

I can feel my stomach grumbling as we walk the corridor. I’ve managed on my own for years, even as my knee worsened, always walking to get my groceries, but after one day in this house it feels normal to hold on to Jack for help. It’s a relief. I watch our feet as we step in unison. His white tennis shoes look brand-new, as if they’ve never been worn outside.

When we turn left, toward the dining room, the hall lights turn on. They must be on a motion sensor. Everyone else is already in the dining room when we arrive at the entrance.

I look to Hilbert’s spot at the table first. He’s engrossed in a book. He looks up when I sit down. His face brightens, and he nods.

I notice the others have already eaten their breakfast; dirty cutlery and plates licked clean.

“I wanted to let you sleep a bit longer, Penny, so the others ate before you. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” I say.

Pete is slumped in his chair. He’s having a post-breakfast nap right at the table.

“Another busy day,” says Ruth. “No time to waste. We had to go ahead without you. We couldn’t wait any longer. Un autre jour. No time like the present. Enjoy breakfast, Pennies.”