IN THE BEDROOM, LOUISE sat on the edge of the bed as Philip brushed her hair. She closed her eyes. There was once a time when she could brush her own hair. It had been such a thoughtless activity; almost mindless. But now, even just taking hold of the brush handle was too much for her. “Do you remember that time we went to Portland?” Louise asked Philip.
“Do you mean back when we were teenagers?”
“Yes, we had the youth group exchange.” Louise smiled and turned to look at Philip. “Do you remember that?”
“I sure do,” Philip said. “You were wearing this long white dress, and you’d twisted your hair into a crown on your head. You looked like a princess.”
Louise beamed, pleased that he too remembered the day. “And you were wearing a pair of bell-bottom jeans and a vest over a plain white t-
