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like her to be so intrusive. The pretense that this was for “We Remember” made a good cover for pure nosiness. “Thirty, thirty-five,” he said. “Around in there.”
    She laughed. “Around in there?” His body was so thin and wobbly, it made him look younger. “Do you work for a company?”
    “I had my own company. Have. Had.”
    “What do you make? Did you make?”
    “Feet.”
    “Feet? Feet?”
    “Feet, legs, hips, pelvises. Mostly feet.”
    “Oh, you mean artificial limbs?”
    “Orthotics.” He put the weights down to take a drink from his soda. No, not soda, one of those nutritional drinks they advertised on TV for old people, supposed to give you energy or a new lease on life or something. He must drink it for the calories. According to Nana, food didn’t mean anything to him since the accident. He’d completely lost his sense of taste.
    “Um, are you from Maryland? A native Michaelstowner?”
    “Are you?”
    “Yes, I was born right here. I grew up on the west side—do you know Early Street?”
    He shook his head.
    “Where do you live?” she asked.
    “Here.”
    “Just till you get well. Where’s your home? I just thought maybe we went to the same school or something. We could have friends in common.”
    “No home anymore. This is it.” He pushed off from the wall and walked away.
    She was afraid she’d upset him—she was relieved when he just went over to help Susan change the tape in her tape player. Susan spent most mornings doing speech and physical therapy to learn how to talk and walk again. The sessions left her so tired, she kept quiet and still the rest of the day.
    “Is it okay?” Magill asked her. “Loud enough? Sure?”
    “It’s perfect,” Susan answered, smiling at him.
    “You’re never going to let me write your biography, are you?” Caddie asked him when he came back. “Because I don’t even know your first name. Some biography.”
    She was glad when he took off his football helmet, even though it had flattened one-half of his hair and made the other half stick up like a rooster’s crest. At least now she could see his face. “Yeah, well,” he said. “One’s enough for me.” When he bent down to pick up his weights, he missed; he had to try again with one eye closed. Besides everything else, he had bad depth perception. He could play cards with Cornel, but not checkers or chess. Once, Caddie saw him walk into a door.
    “One’s enough? Like Cher?” It was fun to tease him. He tried not to show that he liked it, but he did. She wished she knew the secret about him, the mystery.
    Thump, step, step. Mrs. Brill paused in the hallway on her way out.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Brill,” Caddie and Magill called to her in unison. Magill put his weights on the windowsill and stood up straight: Mrs. Brill brought out everybody’s best behavior. She lived across the hall from Nana. A white card on her door said in neat black ink, SUNDAY SCHOOL TEACHER, RETIRED, and that was all Caddie knew about her. She had on white gloves today, and black-and-white spectator pumps with a matching purse that swung wide from her wrist each time she pushed her metal walker. She pulled back the left sleeve of her polka-dot blouse. “Good afternoon,” she corrected, tapping the watch face.
    “Good afternoon, ” they echoed, and she started off again with a push of her walker. They heard her on the porch, thump, step, step. Thump, step, step.
    “Where does she go?”
    “Just walking,” Magill said. “I think.”
    “She’s very dignified.”
    “She scares the hell out of me.”
    Caddie looked at her own watch. “Wow, I didn’t know it was so late. I have to go, I’ve got a twelve-thirty lesson.”
    “Uh…”
    She paused in gathering up her things.
    He dug something out of the back pocket of his voluminous trousers, which hung dangerously low on his hips; she could plainly see the elastic top of his shorts. “Just something,” he muttered, handing over a plastic box.
    A CD