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A woman answered the door. She looked to be around thirty, and she held a toddler on her hip. It had to be Cameron’s wife, Becky.
“Hi,” Anita said. “We live next door. Anita and Carly Gifford. We spoke with your husband earlier? Are you Becky?”
She flashed a dimpled smile. “Yes, that’s right. Nice to meet you. Phyllis came home about an hour ago if you’d like to see her.”
Anita’s eyes widened. “She’s home already?”
“The last twenty-four hours have been really good. She’s doing so much better, so the doctor has assigned a physical therapist to come here three times a week. They think she’ll make a full recovery.”
“Oh wow,” she breathed. “That’s amazing.”
Becky opened the door wider. “Come this way.”
They followed her into the house, but instead of heading to the bedroom as she thought they might, Becky led them through the house to the backyard. There, on the back patio, Phyllis sat on a cushioned lounge chair, a throw blanket covering her legs. The yard and garden beyond her were bathed in soft orange light, a precursor to the approaching twilight.
“Well...my...favorite neighbors,” Phyllis said in a cheery tone. Her hair had been brushed, but lacked its usual immaculately curled style. She didn’t wear any lipstick or rouge, and the wrinkles in her skin seemed deeper. But it was still Phyllis. Dear Phyllis.
“How wonderful to see you up and about,” Anita said.
Phyllis smiled and held out her hand.
Carly stepped forward and took it, then kissed her cheek. Anita did the same.
“I’ll leave you three to visit,” Becky said. “If you need anything, just holler.” She walked back into the house.
“Becky said you’re improving by leaps and bounds,” Anita told Phyllis.
She sighed and adjusted her blanket. “I’m . . . fortunate. You . . . rescued me.”
Anita and Carly sat on nearby chairs. “It was the middle of the night, and you had all your lights on,” Carly said. “Mom broke into the house, then called nine-one-one and the ambulance came.”
“I didn’t exactly break in,” she said with a laugh. “The door was unlocked.”
“I . . . don’t remember . . . leaving it unlocked.” Phyllis rubbed at her temple. “Cameron and Becky . . . want to move in. I don’t . . . know, though. I like my . . . own space.”
Anita didn’t know what to say. How much help would Phyllis need after her physical therapy appointments? She knew that stroke recovery couldn’t be predicted. “It might be too early to make that big of a decision. Just be patient with yourself and your recovery.”
“You’re right,” Phyllis said, then she turned to Carly. “Carly . . . your mother . . . is a smart woman.”
Carly smiled. “I know. She always has good advice, but I don’t think she’s being smart about Wyatt.”
“Wyatt?” Phyllis asked in an intrigued tone.
“Carly—” Anita started.
“He’s the guy we met at the assisted living center,” she said. “Don’t worry, he’s her age. It’s his grandpa that we visit.” She continued, laying out the entire story of Sam and Susan and their trip to Medford. She finished with, “They hold hands when they think I’m not looking, but I think they should start dating and kiss already.”
“Carly!”
Phyllis laughed. “Wyatt . . . sounds wonderful . . . I agree with you, Carly . . . Anita needs to give . . . him a chance.”
“I am giving him a chance,” she said, sure her face was tomato red. “I have a lot of complications in my life, and I’m not looking for heartbreak.”
“What kind of complications?” Carly folded her arms. “And Wyatt would never break your heart.”
“Said the fourteen-year-old,” Anita muttered under her breath.
“Mom, I’ve watched you date other men,” Carly said. “Wyatt is different. From Glenn, from Dad, from anyone else. You don’t have those frown lines on your forehead when you’re around Wyatt.”
