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It was jarring to read about her, so alone in this town, and driven to kill herself. God, she lived just down the street, and Annie never heard a gun go off, never knew her neighbor was in such emotional turmoil.
    What could make a person do it? She looked up at her husband and took another deep breath. “Being a stay-at-home mom is harder than I thought it would be.”
    Her eyes met his watery brown ones.
    He gently stroked her hair. “I know.”
    “Maybe I should go out for a walk,” she said. “Or better yet, I’ll go to the hospital to see how Vera’s mom is doing. I’ll bring flowers.”
    “That sounds like a good idea,” Mike said. “But first—” He placed his lips on hers and held her firmly; then he cradled her chin in his hands. “Mmm. I love you. That woman, that Maggie, if you ever feel—”
    “I’ll let you know. I promise. But for now, I need to go and say good-bye to the boys.”
    She cracked open the door—as she often did, just to watch the boys while they didn’t know she was watching—they were both coloring while lying on their stomachs. Ben’s elbows formed triangles against the blue carpet. Sam was so intent on staying in the lines; his tangled dark brown hair was in desperate need of a good brushing.
    “Boys,” she said in a low voice. They both looked up at her and dropped their crayons. She sat on the corner of the toddler bed. “I wanted to tell you both that I’m sorry I yelled.”
    “Why did you yell?” Sam asked. “We just wanted to look at the pictures.”
    “Those pictures are very special to me,” she said, and paused. “It’s like your blankies. You know how it’s hard to share them sometimes?”
    “It’s okay, Mommy,” Ben said, and hugged her.
    “It’s okay,” Sam said almost at the same time—and then both boys were in her arms. Warm boys. Her boys. Flesh of my flesh.
    “Well, now, I’m going out for a while. Will you be good boys for Daddy?”
    They both nodded their heads.
     
     
    After the gift shop soaked her for thirty dollars for a small flower arrangement, Annie walked over to the information desk to see where Vera and her mom might be.
    “Excuse me, please. Where might I find Beatrice Matthews?”
    “Now, let’s see.” The receptionist looked at Annie through thick glasses, and then turned to her computer. “Room one-thirteen.”
    “Thanks,” Annie said.
    “Sure thing, hon,” she said in a warm voice as she looked back to her computer screen. Annie could hear her fingernails clicking on the keys. Why didn’t she cut those nails? How could she stand that?
    Saturday night at the hospital: Annie noticed clusters of people around chairs. Some were sitting; some were standing. Others were drinking coffee and soda, eating snack machine potato chips. The very worst food for stress, Annie thought. She saw room numbers on the sign up ahead, with arrows pointing in both directions. She at least could still follow directions, she mused as she walked down the long hallway with barn paintings on either side of her.
    Don’t these people ever get enough of barn art? As if there aren’t plenty of barns to look at in person, they have to have paintings everywhere with barns in them.
    Her tennis shoes squeaked on the shiny floor as she turned the corner. Standing five-nine, Annie used to wear pretty little flats with her business suits. Flats that didn’t squeak on shiny floors—but these days, she was all about the sneakers and blue jeans. A brief flash of her old closet in D.C. came to her mind—all of the designer flats she had donned were lined up neatly. The Guccis were her favorite.
    She thought she heard music as she approached room 113 and knocked lightly on the door. Vera answered.
    “Well, hello, Annie. How lovely to see you,” she said, with a huge smile on her face.
    Annie thought she smelled wine. As the door opened, she could see why. Four women were scattered through the room—each held a glass of wine, and one was pouring