I rose slowly, smoothed down the front of my coat, and climbed the low steps to the back porch door.

The back kitchen door opened with a soft click as I stepped into the warm room.

Martha sat by herself at the round kitchen table, holding a silver spoon and stirring a blue ceramic mug of coffee without end.

The metal spoon tapped gently against the inside of the mug in a steady, hypnotic rhythm: three times, four times, five times.

“Where were you all morning, Eleanor?” Martha asked softly, without lifting her eyes from the dark coffee in her cup.