By noon people had begun trading phone numbers.

Someone volunteered to make calls to homebound neighbors.

A student asked whether she could interview a few guests for an oral-history project.

Mrs.

Alvarez organized next week’s menu before we’d washed the plates from this one.

After everybody left, Maya sat down in Arthur’s chair and rubbed her aching feet.

“Do you think he would like this?” she asked.

I looked at the coats forgotten on the rack, the empty casserole dishes, and the stack of handwritten names beside the telephone.