Betty Dillard heard the phone ring.  Though she could no longer see to read, she swiveled her favorite reading chair to face the picture window view of the lake beyond. They didn’t get many calls, and she strained to hear her husband’s voice when he answered.  “He’s whispering again,” she fretted, fumbling with her hearing aid.  Betty had come to suspect that he often talked to others about her.  What is more, this was a recent change; they had always been tight with one another.  If she couldn’t trust Jack Dillard, she didn’t know who she could trust.

            “Who is it?”  she called out to him.

            “It’s Carla,” he interrupted his phone call.

            “Oh,” she answered.  Normally she would have insisted on saying hello to her stepdaughter.  Carla lived in Chicago and visited them in Detroit once a year.  She could make out snatches of his conversation:  “it’s not good...” and “she’s not ready for that yet...” and “...happen to me.”  She felt hollow, her limbs weak.

            He had finished speaking before she could say hello to Carla, and returned to his chair across from her. 

            “Well,” she stated matter-of-factly, “that was a surprise.  Didn’t she just call last week?”

            “Yes.”

            “Well?  What?” she prompted, recognizing his cue for clamming up.

            “She’s here in Detroit.  She’s changed her vacation plans to come and visit you.”  He emphasized you.

            “Jack, I can’t!  I’m not well enough!”  Betty felt the burn in the pit of her stomach.  “You didn’t tell her to come?”

            “She insisted.  She said she was going to be visiting her friend Jean up north, and she would stop by on the way back.”  He rose and stood by her chair.  “She wont stay more than an hour.  I promise.”  He stood and took her arm.  “It’s time we get you some lunch, isn’t it?” 

            It was a cheerless lunch: soup which he fed her from a spoon.  Thank heaven, she thought, they wouldn’t be going out to dinner! I couldn’t find food on a plate if I had a shovel. It was too embarrassing.

                                                ………………………..

            Betty stood next to Jack at the door.  She embraced her tall stepdaughter formally, but had to stand on tiptoes to kiss her cheek.

            "How was your drive?” asked Betty, leading her to the living room. 

            "Great!  I had beautiful weather.  I left early so I could stop at the winery in PawPaw for lunch." 

            Betty's nearly stopped dead in her tracks.  PawPaw was between Chicago and Detroit, hardly up north.  But she dared not look back being prone to falls.  She leaned forward and extended her arms when she walked, reasoning she’d brace herself if she fell.  They passed her white cane where it leaned against the wall.  Had she heard Jack wrong this morning?

            “Let’s sit down,”  Betty said, motioning Carla to a chair across from her.

            “The house hasn’t changed in a year!” Carla  said with genuine surprise.  Betty wondered what she had thought she would find. 

            “Why ever did you think it would?” she queried. 

            Jack interrupted quickly.  “Well, we did take out the plum tree by the driveway.  It was always messy.”   He stepped into the kitchen and broke out the ice tray.  Ice clinked into the glasses.

            “You mean, you got tired of cleaning up the carpets,” Betty said.  She smoothed her hair.  She had loved the little flowering Plum. 

            Jack entered, distributing drinks from a tray.  “Still drink Scotch, I see” he quipped to Laura, setting the drink down.          

            Betty accepted her own tumbler with gratitude.  Lately, it seemed always a good time for a drink.  She slid into the gay cocktail chatter as into a favorite dress.

            “We don’t see anyone but the doctors now,” Betty said, changing the subject.   “We have the eyes on Tuesday, ears on Wednesday, bones on Mondays.  Oh, and physical therapy twice a week.” 

            “Did you have good news from the eye doctor?” Carla responded to her stepmother’s mood.

            “No” Betty said in an injured tone.  “They don’t want to see me anymore.  There’s nothing they can do.”

            Jack said “We think they botched it, because her sight’s worse than it was before the operation.”

            “How horrible!  Can you still see light?” Carla asked.

            “Oh yes!” she exclaimed.  “I can see light, and I can see shapes.  I just can’t read.  I can’t write.  There’s nothing I can do.”

            “They have wonderful books on tape,” Carla said helpfully, unable to imagine her stepmother without a book in her hands.

             “I don’t want books on tape.  My cousin sent me one and I never opened it.  See, it’s over there.  I want to see again.”  Betty stopped then, realizing she’d gone too far.  She shook her head, bemoaning "I just can't believe it!"

            In a short while, Betty knew she had exhausted her reserves.  She stared at the floor, praying that Carla would know it was time to go.

            Look what I found! she heard Jack say.  I must have bought these months ago.  Look, three Filets.  He held up the package of bright red meat he’d been saving for their anniversary.  You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you, she heard him plead. 

            “I haven’t had steak in years,” came the acceptance from Carla. 

            Betty hunched her shoulders, pressing the handkerchief to her eyes, sniffling as the hot tears overflowed on her cheeks. 

            "What is it dear," He inquired. 

            "Nothing," she cried into her handkerchief.  "Never mind." 

            “Did I say something wrong?” Carla asked.

            “No,” Jack said.  “She is always that way.”