Goodbye to July
Ms. Ruth loved sunshine. I knew by the way she gazed—how the sun misted her eyes and teased a blush from the pastel-white of her cheeks. She dreamed of out there, but she was in here, barred from July by a set of porch steps. Her wheelchair could not carry her down those steps.
I sat, powerless, beside her. A frayed copy of <i>Pride and Prejudice</i> rested in my lap. Fifteen minutes ago, Ms. Ruth had giggled at my deep-throated impressions of Mr. Bennet, but now she was a thousand miles beyond my reach. She dreamed, perhaps, of fairies, as she watched the trimmed grass and square hedges for a flash of sparkling wings.
A car rumbled by on the road beyond the lawn. Ms. Ruth started; I clasped her withered hand.
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