Claudia Monpere

That new resident, Bea Watkins, heads toward us as we eat our dry meatloaf at Shady Oaks Assisted Living. Whenever I’m physically close to someone new, I must be wary. I still don’t know what causes my spells.

“Hi ladies, I’m Bea,” she says. “Okay if I join you?”

Katharine’s smile is genuine as she says sure, gesturing to Lydia’s empty chair. Lydia is still having meals in her room, recovering from pneumonia. My smile is plastered on, like Mama taught me. And Deb—she hoards her smiles. “Actually,” says Deb, “this is Lydia’s spot. We’ve all been eating together for years. We’re family.”