woman her age passed along the sidewalk with her husband, who was holding her elbow as she stepped off the curb. Sylvie looked at her hands on the steering wheel.
Then she opened her purse and took out Walter’s bank card.
She had started carrying it with her recently — not using it, just carrying it. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Something to do with knowing it was there. Something to do with knowing that even now, even in this, there was a resource she had access to that she had not asked anyone for.
She held it for a moment.
“Not yet,” she said to nobody in particular, and put it back.
The Church Potluck Where Her Children Started to Suspect Something, and What Mrs. Bell Said About Walter’s Award
That Sunday, she went to the church potluck with lipstick on and a green bean casserole she had nearly
