“Where is she?” “Room seven,” I said.

“Let me go in first.

Let me tell her.” I stepped into Edith’s room.

She was in her chair by the window with her crossword.

“You have a visitor, Edith.” “Is it Colton?” she asked, not looking up.

“No.” She raised her head, surprised — she got so few visitors that weren’t her son.

“Then who?” I came closer, and I said it carefully.

“Someone from South Bend.” The pen dropped out of her hand and rolled off the tray and onto the rug, and for a long moment Edith Ledbetter did not appear to breathe at all.