from Hinges (originally published in San Jose Studies)

 

In just five months Anne's father became a sickly, fearful stranger.  Of course she believed the doctors, but she also believed he had one day decided to begin forgetting, then simply lost himself in the vast white linen of his bed.  Some outward change in him would have made it easier for her.  But from across the room he looked almost the same, and she hated him for that: the iron gray hair untidy still, the pink skin stretched as tight.  Closer, she could see that the pale blue eyes no longer leapt into hers; they stabbed the air beside her, searching.  His sudden inward change had left her too spent for friends.  But now, Anne thought, if her brother came, then everything might at least be different.