Twenty-Five
WHEN I FINISH THE REQUIRED decades, I continue praying, delighting once again in Our Lady and her Son. I am doing so when I hear a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I call. In response, a sheepish-looking Helen peeks around the door.
I smile and wave to her to come in. She eases through the door, looks me over quickly, then says, “You look better.”
“So do you,” I reply without thinking. But she does. She’s obviously still tired but she looks like she’s better prepared to face the day. Her hair’s brushed, and she has a touch of lipstick. She has color back in her cheeks.
“Have they said anything about when they might let you out?” she asks.
“No,” I reply. “I haven’t seen the doctor this morning.” I pause, considering if I should tell her. “I have seen a priest, however.”
