“You wore a green dress that night,” I said.

“Yellow,” she corrected, pressing her thumb against my knuckles.

“You were always colorblind when you were nervous.”

Out of habit I touched my brass wedding band, running my thumb along its worn outer curve.

“I was surprised when Helen showed me the room roster this morning,” I said.

“I thought you lived over in Marion.”

“I did until yesterday morning,” Margaret said, resting her head back against the white pillow.

“I had my son Wade drive the transfer request over to the county health administrator at seven.”