Two blue vinyl suitcases stood next to the kitchen door, their brass zippers already closed.

“Who told the neighborhood board I was moving down to Canton?”

“Bob called the town council president from his office at the hardware store,” Clara said.

“He told him you’d been having trouble remembering things and needed rest.”

Mrs.

Gable stood by her mailbox across the street, a pair of garden shears held perfectly still against a rosebush while she watched us.

I lifted the heavier suitcase by its leather handle to feel how much it weighed.