I’d visited her twice while she was in the hospital. The first time she was almost cheerful, asking me questions about my work and my life, listening attentively to my answers. She didn’t want to talk about herself or her husband or her little daughter, so I did as she wanted and filled the half hour with my own life. She asked me if I’d made friends with any of the other country club wives and I had to admit that I hadn’t, but I promised I would try. The second time I visited, she was weak and quiet but peaceful, as though she were finished with this life and looking toward the next. Now she was gone, and I felt the loss in my bones. I wished I’d had the chance to know her longer. I had the feeling she would have understood me. Nobody else seemed to these days. I wasn’t even sure I understood myself anymore. Robert and I sat together through the Monday afternoon funeral and then drove to the country club for a reception. “I’ve made my plane reservations for the medical conference in Atlanta,”
