Twelve
MONDAY MORNING ARRIVES bright, sunny and warm. It’s one of those rare times that I’m actually optimistic. Helen’s appointment with Martin is at 9 a.m., and we both hope he’ll tell her that she can begin to get out of her apartment and begin physical therapy on her shoulder.
As much as my instincts are to say Helen needs to rest, that she’s not ready for too much activity, I recognize that’s not who she is. She’s itching to get out, to at least spend her days somewhere else besides the inside of her apartment.
Driving this time, I know Anna will have prepared and insist we eat a full, hearty breakfast. I’m hoping for biscuits and gravy this morning. Nothing like good old Southern comfort food.
When I get to her apartment on Monday morning, Helen surprises me by being dressed and
