As I come back into the yard, I hear the familiar squeaking of the wheels on the cart that Rita uses to carry her food. She’s exiting the front door; I don’t offer to help her, knowing she doesn’t like it. Instead, I wait for her to reach the patio table and chairs before pulling one out for her.

She sits down with a mug of coffee and a heavy sigh. “I do love company.”

I pick up the other mug from the cart and sip it, closing my eyes as I savor the taste.

“So, I heard you got in a ...