It had been years since I last saw Mrs. Pawlowski. Other than additional wrinkles, she looked the same since we last ran into each other. Five feet tall with short curly hair. Her clothing style never changed: a long black dress, a yellow shirt, and a knitted cardigan. In one hand, she held an envelope and the other Get-Well balloons.
Get-Well“Hello, dear,” she said, in her kind, soft voice.
I slid my laptop back in its case and stood up. “Mrs. Pawlowski, what are you doing here?”
She walked slower than she had in my school days. I never had her when she was a history teacher, but I did when she became a substitute. Her sense of humor and easygoing manner made her a favorite among students.
“To see Leo, of course.” Once she faced him, her eyes softened.
I stood at the end of the bed a
