THE NURSING HOME THAT Miss Elizabeth lived in was a few blocks down from Main Street. We walked there, enjoying the sunshine and a slight breeze. The nursing home was a squat building surrounded by extensive flowerbeds and a walking trail. When we checked in at the front desk, we were told that Miss Elizabeth was sitting outside drinking lemonade until lunchtime. She was sitting on a rocking chair in the corner of the flower garden. She was busy knitting while staring out at the flowers. She was a small frail woman with her steel-grey hair tied into a tight bun at the base of her skull. Her shoulders were stooped and covered in a bright yellow cardigan that matched the flowers next to her. I hung back as Delilah approached her.
“Is that my lovely Dee Allen?” Her voice had a singsong melod
