Reeva“It’s time for dinner, dear.”I close the picture book I’m looking at to answer Ruth’s call. I still don’t understand why none of my books have words in them, but they do have lovely hand-painted illustrations. Admiring them passes the time.Stepping out of my room, I feel a draft, and I wrap my arms around myself to quiet the chill. When I step into the dining area, I notice the front door is open.“Is there something wrong with the door?” I ask.“The door?” she asks blankly. She turns to glance at it, then looks back at me. “Oh, I just thought the fresh air would be nice.”“Oh.” I inhale the scents of the food she carries over, and my stomach growls a little, the door forgotten. “I do enjoy your casserole, Ruth. Thank you for making it for me again.”“Of course, dear,” she says. “Anything for you.”After she’s seated, we both dig in, enjoying the lovely food. But a breeze picks up, and I feel cold again. “Do you think we could close the door?” I ask.“Oh, I don’t think so, dea
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