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finger to her lips, I dropped my voice to a whisper. “I thought we would walk home together,” I said.
    â€œThere’s something I want you to see,” Minnie told me.
    â€œTonight’s my night with Carter,” I reminded my aunt, though it wasn’t at all our night any longer, not since Finn.
    â€œDon’t worry about that,” Minnie said. “This will take a minute.”
    I agreed to follow Minnie into the dayroom. Inside was a row of elderly residents, most of them women. Though they faced the TV, none of them actually watched the screen; instead their milky eyes were directed at the wall.
    Minnie crossed her arms angrily. “So now you see,” she said to me. “Is this the way to treat senior citizens?” She shook her head sadly. “Very nice.” Minnie turned to make certain no nurses approached us, then she poked me with her elbow, she lowered her voice below a whisper. “Their stockings,” she croaked.
    â€œWhat?” I leaned my ear closer to my aunt.
    â€œStockings,” Minnie whispered. “That’s what I wanted you to see.”
    Nearly every one of the old women’s stockings had fallen; there were folds bunched around their knees, drooping nylon gathered around their blue ankles.
    â€œDon’t they wear garter belts?” I asked.
    â€œGarter belts?” Minnie laughed. “These old ladies don’t remember their names, how can they remember garter belts?”
    â€œThey must be freezing,” I said. “Somebody should do something about it.”
    â€œHah,” Minnie said gloomily as she signaled me away from the dayroom.
    â€œWhy do you have your coat on?” a nurse behind the reception booth called to Minnie as we prepared to leave.
    Minnie stroked her camel’s hair coat. “I’m Mrs. Lansky,” she said.
    â€œHow nice for you,” the nurse said as she approached Minnie.
    â€œShe’s a volunteer here,” I explained. “My aunt.”
    â€œA woman her age?” the nurse said.
    â€œThat’s right,” Minnie said. “A woman her age.”
    â€œMy shift starts at five-thirty,” the nurse explained to me. “I can’t be expected to know all the day volunteers. Especially not by name. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Lansky?” the nurse said sweetly to Minnie.
    But sweetness was no use on Minnie now; she refused to answer the nurse; she growled low down in her throat.
    I took Minnie’s arm and led her to the door. My aunt looked back at the nurse. “That woman knows nothing about suffering,” Minnie said.
    Outside, there was a stiff harbor wind which coated our lips with salt; we walked quickly, Minnie took giant steps, I trotted to keep up with her.
    â€œThe situation at Mercy isn’t good,” I called to my aunt. “But I certainly hope you don’t expect me to get into it. Outreach has nothing to do with other agencies in town.”
    Minnie stopped at a street corner. “You?” she said. “Not you. Me. I intend to do something about it.”
    â€œReally?” I said. “Just what do you intend to do?”
    But Minnie didn’t answer; she had covered her mouth with her long woolen scarf; she walked faster toward home and I followed closely, up the porch steps and then into the kitchen. Minnie immediately began cutting up carrots and broccoli, without even bothering to remove her scarf or her coat.
    â€œThe director of the home thinks I’m there to play Bingo,” Minnie said as she threw the bamboo steamer onto the stove and lit the burner. “To read off Bingo numbers.” Minnie shook her head. “But I have a plan. And I wanted a witness to see how bad conditions are at Mercy. Just in case.”
    â€œIn case of what?” I asked, suspicious of what a woman who had spent fifty years writing nasty letters to congressmen might now do if provoked.
    â€œThey may ask me to give up