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viewers. She regretted to note that none of the three appeared to be early morning news junkies. She continued on her expedition through the main foyer and past the fireplace. Several people were seated here. One old man was close to the fireplace, which was aglow with a warm blaze, even though it was technically spring. He was reading a newspaper. A woman was in a chair across from him. She appeared to be waiting for someone—probably a relative. No sign of Rose, Hazel, or Evelyn. Essie continued toward the dining hall. She could see through the glass wall that separated the dining hall from the rest of the complex. In the dining hall, the kitchen workers were busily preparing for the noontime meal. Several residents were seated at a table in the dining hall near the entrance, drinking coffee and chatting. They were ignored by the wait staff. Essie moved closer to the dining hall entrance, intent on checking the faces of the people at the table. Again, none of the group members appeared to be the three companions of Bob.
    Moving away from the dining hall, Essie decided to stop at the mail boxes, located directly across from the dining hall entrance on a wall that separated it from the foyer. Leaning on her walker, she bent over to the lowest row and peeked into box number C103, the same as her room number. As usual, her box was empty. She seldom received any mail. Sometimes, Happy Haven put flyers in the mail boxes to announce various activities, but no such flyer was there today. Essie rose with difficulty from her kneeling position to find herself facing one of the three people for whom she was searching.
    “Hazel,” she exclaimed, tentatively. “Are you Hazel Brubaker?”
    “Yes,” responded the tall woman, bent precariously over her walker, as she had also been checking her mailbox. Essie was resigned to using her walker because of the osteoarthritis in her back, but she reveled in the fact that she could move it with relative speed. Hazel Brubaker seemed to be having trouble merely making the walker move forward a few inches. “I’m Hazel.”
    “You share a table with Bob Weiderley, don’t you?” Essie asked.
    “Yes,” replied Hazel Brubaker. “Yes. I do.” Her hands shook almost imperceptibly and her lower lip started to tremble.
    “I’m so sorry about Bob,” continued Essie in a soft voice, moving closer to Hazel. “He’s such a friendly person. I played canasta with him several times.”
    “Yes,” agreed Hazel, obviously struggling to control her shaking hands by gripping the handles of her walker to the point where Essie noted her knuckles were becoming white.
    “Have you heard how he’s doing?”
    “He’s at Fairview,” responded Hazel. “He’s in a coma.” She looked down at her hands.
    “Yes,” said Essie, placing a hand on the woman’s clenched fingers. “I had heard. Do they know what happened?”
    “I don’t know,” said Hazel, still staring at her hands. “I don’t know. I wish I knew what happened.”
    “Me too,” agreed Essie. “I always thought Bob was so athletic—so healthy.”
    “He is. I mean, I thought he was.”
    “Have you spoken to anyone? Does anyone know how he’s doing?” asked Essie, continuing to press the woman’s hand.
    “Rose is supposed to go see him today. Her daughter promised to take her.”
    “That’s nice,” said Essie, smiling. “Rose is part of your table, right?”
    “Yes,” said Hazel. “She was—is—close to Bob.”
    “Oh, I see.” Essie didn’t see, but Hazel said this last as if Essie should know. “Do you think she’s at the hospital now?”
    “I don’t know,” responded Hazel, and then with a blank look, she guided her walker around and started moving away.
    “Goodbye, Hazel,” called out Essie. “My best wishes for Bob’s speedy recovery.”
    Hazel continued pushing her walker slowly through the main foyer and into the family room where she disappeared from Essie’s sight.
    How strange, thought Essie. That