“How’s everything with you?” I asked. “Pretty good.”

“How are things at the house?”

There was an unusual delay in response, so I waited a couple of moments and asked, “Martha?” I didn’t feel her touch on my back any longer.

There was no answer. I got a little concerned, so I rolled over and looked around the room. She was in the far corner of the room with her face buried in her hands.

“Oh my God, Martha–Is everything okay?”

She ...