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chance she’d have to take. If she remained downstairs, Sue Barber was liable to chat her up again about the botanical gardens field trip—especially when she discovered that Essie had not actually signed up for the trip as she promised. Essie placed her walker at the edge of the sofa and slid herself down into the soft cushions of the couch. This sofa was endlessly better than the thinly padded rubber seat on her walker where she typically sat when she had to wait for long periods of time. She could even fall asleep here—just like Fay did. Oh, my. Contain yourself, Essie, she thought. Pay attention and watch for Rose’s entrance.
    As she focused her eagle eyes on the main entrance doors, numerous people entered and exited. Some were residents or their relatives. Some were delivery men. Some medical support people or staff of Happy Haven and various others. Eventually, a short woman with short bluish gray locks and a voluminous bosom entered, leaning on a carved mahogany cane, helped along by a younger blonde woman who looked almost like her double, with a short pixie-cut haircut. Rose Lane. And daughter.
    Essie clutched the handle of her walker and extracted herself from the sofa with great difficulty. Quickly as she could, she headed to the elevator and pressed the button. The machine arrived almost instantly and she entered the compartment and rode down to the first floor. As she exited the elevator on the ground level, she rolled as fast as she could through the foyer, looking for Rose Lane and her daughter. She glimpsed them heading down the first floor side hallway between the mailboxes and the dining hall. She zipped towards them.
    “Rose!” she called out. “Rose!” The lady turned at the sound of her name, along with her daughter. Essie moved toward the mother-daughter couple. “Rose, hello. I’m Essie Cobb. I was speaking to Hazel and she suggested I talk to you.”
    “Oh, my!” said Rose, smiling at her daughter and then looking back to Essie. “Hello, Essie. I know you. This is my daughter Dora.” There were greetings all around.
    “I understand you’ve been visiting Bob,” said Essie.
    “Yes,” confirmed Rose. “We just returned.”
    “How is he doing? We’re all so concerned about him.”
    “I know,” said Rose. “Everyone here is worried. Bob is a favorite here.”
    “Such a sweet man,” interjected Dora, the daughter.
    “He’s still in a coma, but the doctors are hopeful.”
    “They think he’ll recover?”
    “I hope so. Although they did say that the longer he remains in the coma the worse things look.” She glanced quickly at her daughter. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I sat with him and held his hand. I tried to cheer him up but I don’t know if he heard me or not.”
    “I just don’t understand why he collapsed in the first place,” said Essie. “I always thought of Bob as a really sturdy fellow. You know, so athletic. He was always doing aerobic exercises.”
    “I know,” agreed Rose. “He did sit-ups and push-ups regularly. He prided himself on taking really good care of himself.”
    “Maybe it was stress,” offered Essie.
    “Stress?” said Rose, her small nose twitching as she glanced again at her daughter.
    “I mean, maybe something was bothering him. Sometimes, they say that stress can be just as dangerous as high cholesterol or lack of activity in causing heart attacks. . .”
    “Oh, it wasn’t a heart attack,” noted Rose. “The doctors aren’t certain exactly what it was—or is—but Bob’s nurse said quite specifically that it’s not a heart attack—or a stroke.”
    “But it could be stress?”
    “I guess,” responded Rose. “I guess it could be anything else. Who knows?”
    “Had Bob discussed anything with you that was bothering him?”
    “No . . . ”
    “Nothing?”
    “Nothing he said,” said Rose, again looking towards her daughter.
    “I sense a but,” offered Essie, glancing from one woman to another, sensing