Thirty-EightMichael steers Elaine's wheel chair slowly along the garden path. Elaine is still weak, but she looks more like the Elaine of the past. She wears a pastel summer peignoir, her hair is combed softly around her face, and her eyes look less pained and frightened. She is appealing, even in her post-suicide state, relaxed and almost light-hearted. Michael stops the wheelchair by a picnic table under a sprawling shade tree, places the basket of food on it and serves their picnic lunch of fruit, cheese, teacakes, and ice tea with mint leaves.
“Do you remember the first picnic we ever had?” Elaine asks. “You took me to the banks of the Schuylkill River near the Philadelphia Museum of Fine Arts and fed me soft pretzels and German beer. I don't think I ever enjoyed a picnic so much.”
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