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insisted to herself that she was mistaken. The Kadoshes, old Finkel upstairs, and before too long Simon Winter, would be back from his meal; they would all be surrounding her, and she would be fine.
    She nodded to herself as if insisting on the safety of her observation. She took a step back toward the television. The comedy had been replaced by a darker drama.
    Who else could it have been? she suddenly demanded.
    The question made her breathe in sharply again. It stung her imagination, and she swiftly tried to anesthetize her feelings with complacencies.
    Why, it could have been anyone. Another old man on
    Miami Beach - why, the place is positively thick with them. And they all look alike too. And maybe he thought you were someone he knew, because of the way you stared, and that’s why he looked back so carefully. And when he realized you weren’t familiar, why, to save you the embarrassment, he just walked away. Happens all the time. Go through life meeting hundreds of folks, and so it’s not unreasonable to get mixed up every once in a while. But she did not feel mixed up. Why here? she asked. I don’t know.
    Why would he come here? I don’t know. What will he do? I don’t know. Who is he? She knew the answer to this question, but she would not
    articulate it to herself.
    She tried to take charge of her emotions as they catapulted about the small apartment. She decided that in the morning, she would go over to the Holocaust Center and speak with the people there. They were always so kind, even the young ones, and so interested in everything she had to say, she was sure they would listen to her once again. They would know what to do. She felt immediately better.
    That’s a good plan, she told herself.
    Sophie Millstein picked up the telephone and dialed the
    Holocaust Center number. She waited until the taped
    answering machine had completed its recitation of operating hours, and then, after hearing the signal beep, said into
    the phone: ‘Esther? This is Sophie Millstein. I need to talk
    to you, please. I will come by today, in the morning, and
    talk a bit about how I was arrested. Something has
    happened. I was reminded …’
    She stopped, not knowing how much she could explain. In her hesitation, the tape machine ran to its end, beeping and disconnecting her. She held the phone out, considering calling and adding to her message, then deciding not to.
    She hung up, feeling better.
    She went to the front window and just slid a corner of the curtain back, peeking out once again, as she had earlier when she’d watched Simon Winter depart. She saw the lights were off in his apartment. For a moment she watched the courtyard, straining her eyes to see past to the street. A car went by rapidly. She caught a glimpse of a couple walking swiftly down the sidewalk.
    She abandoned the front, then walked to the rear patio door, checking, just as Simon Winter had, to make sure it was locked. She gave the sliding door a little shake. Lamenting the flimsy lock, she decided another thing she could do in the morning was to call Mr Gonzalez, the owner of the Sunshine Arms. I’m old, she thought. We’re all old here, and he really should install better locks and maybe one of those fancy alarm systems like the one my friend Rhea has over at the Belle Vue. All she has to do is push a button and the police are called, just like magic. We should have something like that, she thought. Something modern.
    She glanced outside again, but saw nothing save darkness.
    Mr Boots was at her feet.
    ‘See, kitty. Nothing for you to worry about.’
    The cat did not respond.
    She felt exhaustion battling with fear within her. For a moment she allowed herself to think that perhaps the elderly complex her son was trying to persuade her to
    move into wouldn’t be such an awful idea.
    But like everything else, she decided it could wait until the next day. She reassured herself with a mental list of the things she would have to do in the morning: call