I sighed.
“Well, Cousin, I’m Maggie’s friend.” She looked at my hand, still on Maggie’s shoulder.
“Should she really be out here on her own? Washing windows?” I touched Maggie’s arm with my other hand.
“Oh, she’s fine.”
“I’ve known her my whole life. She doesn’t seem fine to me.” More words bubbled up but I swallowed them.
“When was the last time you saw her? When was the last time your mother saw her?”
I said nothing.
“When was the last time you talked to her?”
I said nothing.
“How about your mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I do know, and nowadays, this is how Maggie is, Cousin Teddi.”
They walked into the house and the door slammed behind them. I stood there and pictured the Cousin Maggie I’d known, with a short bob and a little bounce, her feet slightly turned out like a duck’s, wearing shoes that made her feet look like paddles. She’d always had a book in her hand and another under her arm, and had been the only relative my mother tolerated, even with the digs about my name and the Winnebago. Cousin Maggie never had children of her own. She had handed me an envelope with ten one-hundred-dollar bills the day I left for college.
“For your books,” she’d said.
It was the only time I’d hugged her.
I turned, snapped a picture of the double-hung window, the bucket still on the ground, a squeegee beside it. I wished I’d asked that woman to take a photo of me and Cousin Maggie.
*
I sat on Maggie’s steps and scrolled through e-mails. I didn’t reply, I just read. It was time to let Annie steer the ship. If she needed help, she’d call.
When I finished, I stared at my home screen, at my favorite shot of the Golden Gate Bridge I’d taken from Hawk Hill. I hadn’t even shared it on Instagram or Facebook. My social media was all work related, all the time. Sharing personal photos like this one would be too, well, personal. I held my breath at the thought of my worlds colliding and exhaled when I realized it wasn’t possible for my two worlds to collide.
I was only part of one world.
The door behind me opened but I didn’t turn around. I’d been reprimanded enough in the past twelve hours.
“I’m leaving.” I flagged another e-mail and stood.
“Don’t go on account of me.” The woman sat on the steps. “She’s asleep. Sit.”
“I didn’t mean to trouble her. Or you.”
“You’re not. And she might not even remember.”
“No one visits her?”
“No.”
“I’m surprised.”
“Why? You’re related and you don’t. I’m not trying to be mean. If her family took care of her, I’d be out of a job.”
“I thought you said you were her friend.”
“I am. But I’m also being paid to ‘watch her.’”
I bobbed my head, not knowing what to say.
“We have a copy of the San Francisco magazine you were in. Where they wrote that article on your boss.”
“You do?”
“Absolutely. I showed it to Maggie online and she wanted a real one. So I ordered it from their Web site.”
“It has been really good for business.” There was just one part about how I’d photographed Gretchen Halliday’s mountaintop wedding in Aspen, and our bookings tripled nationwide. Of course, Simon had failed to mention Gretchen’s business manager was his cousin.
“That’s in part to you, I bet.”
“Well, the article was about Simon.”
“Yes, but there was a whole sidebar on the weddings there. And a photo of you.”
“I wasn’t the only one in that photo.”
“You might as well have been. At least to the people here.”
“You’re too kind. It was just part of my job.”
“Would you autograph it?”
“Autograph what?”
“The magazine. I’ll go get it.”
“Me? No, that’s silly.”
“It absolutely is not silly. You should be proud of your accomplishments. Own them. And I can’t think of a better way of owning something than to scribble your name right on top of it.” The woman rose and walked into the house and right out again with the magazine and a pen. She sat and opened it to the page with my photo.
“I’ve never done this before.”
“First time for everything.”
Indeed. I clicked the pen. “I’m so embarrassed, I don’t know your name. I’m sorry.”
“My name is Lorraine, but sign it to Maggie.”
“Nice to meet you, Lorraine.”
“Likewise.”
Dear Cousin Maggie,
All of this was made possible because of the Canon X40.
Love,
Teddi
Lorraine looked at it and smiled. “She’ll love this. Sorry I barked at you earlier. I’m just protective of Maggie.”
“Is Maggie the only person you’re ‘friends with’?”
“She’s enough.”
I laughed. “Seems like a hard way to spend your days. Have you always done this kind of work?”
“No. I just needed a change.”
“I can relate to that.”
“I think we all can at some time or another, don’t you think?”
“Do you think she’s happy? Maggie, I mean.”
“I think so.” Lorraine lifted the magazine from my lap and placed it on hers. “The doctor says the glitches in her memory are normal for someone her age. She’s tired a lot, and ornery, but otherwise she’s good company. She can still talk about books for hours. Or until she dozes off. I consider it an honor to spend time with her. With anyone this age, really. I don’t have family of my own nearby, and neither does she. I hope I’m blessed enough to be washing windows when I’m her age.”
“Me too.”
For months after Celia died it was hard for me to look at any woman older than she would ever be, wondering what she would have been like at forty, at fifty, at eighty-two. I had envied those women and their families and friends with such fervor that sometimes I’d turned away and counted to ten, or one hundred, before I could turn back, tell them to smile, and fake my enthusiasm as I snapped their picture. I never thought about what these women’s lives might have been like on an ordinary day.
“I should go. It was nice to meet you. Thank you for taking such good care of Cousin Maggie.”
We stood, hesitated, and then hugged. “You’re very easy to talk to,” I said.
“So are you, Cousin Teddi.”
I stepped away, still clutching my phone, then laid my other hand on Lorraine’s arm.
“How about we take a selfie?”
*
I was heading back to Nettie’s on Lark when my phone buzzed.
This is Violet. See you at 2? Would you like to stay for dinner?
I stared at the last part of the text.
Would you like to stay for dinner?
Celia’s replacement was inviting me to eat dinner in Celia’s house with Celia’s husband and Celia’s daughter. It was zero degrees of separation from all things Celia.
“Teddi?”
I jolted and looked toward the street. “Josie?”
She pulled out an earbud and bounced in place, jogged over to me, and continued bouncing. Her Lycra running shorts and top glistened from the sun. Or maybe from sweat.