I can face grief, bills, and loneliness. I can't face her
Fifty-nine years melt away before Claude gets to the end of the sentence.
This woman — this new admission — it is Miss Merrick. Her fifth-grade teacher.
Ruti’s arms go slack as she stares into the face of the elderly woman. She is a sweet and simple woman, diminutive frame, gray, watery eyes. Nothing different from most geriatric patients under her care.
Except for the part in her wig.
It’s the part that gives her away. That has Ruti transfixed. Just a few inches removed from her ear, it’s like a side entrance to her head, and from there, the wig’s hairs are teased into a stiff dip over her forehead.
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