Stop Here by Beverly Gologorsky Page B

this early.” Actually, phone calls alarm her whatever the time.
    â€œI knew you’d be leaving for Ava’s and—”
    â€œYes, well, what is it?”
    â€œYou do sound strange.”
    â€œAn incident in the shower. It’s nothing.”
    â€œDid you fall?”
    â€œI didn’t.” A woman enters her sixties and it’s the first question.
    â€œI have to get a pair of shoes for a wedding. I hate going to the mall alone. Do you need anything?”
    Since leaving her job she buys only essentials. “No, but I’ll keep you company.”
    â€œMeet me in front of Baker’s shoe store at ten-thirty.”
    â€œOkay.” An ER nurse, an ICU supervisor, a world within which she functioned for years at high speed, now she is a woman with time on her hands.
    Returning to the steamy bathroom—her mug of coffee cooling on the rim of the sink—she stands for a moment remembering. It was nothing. But there’s a tug at her insides, not a stomach problem. No, it’s a tug of panic, the second one this morning. The first was brought on by seeing the new rubber mat in her tub, which she placed there last night. It’s a surprising state, getting older, the limitations, bodily insults, odd sense of both urgency and mortality. But no one can stop the process. The fading beauty thing bothers her least. When she peers in the mirror, the face of yesteryear still meets her eyes. What she can’t hold onto is that step-lightly kind of go. The way Ava wills her limber body to comply without complaint, Mila’s seemingly never-ending energy, Rosalyn’s jaunty step with no thought of tripping.
    The clock on the shelf tells her she has thirty minutes to wake Bobby. Her black slacks and pink blouse hang outside the closet door. Pancakes, Bobby loves them. Now that she has time, he’s growing up and soon won’t need her. Caring for Bobby—so different than her son—is never a chore. Tim insisted on attention. As soon as she stepped through the door he was all chatter and need. Maybe if her husband had lived . . . her son was so young . . . but who knows? She saw Tim during the last snowstorm. He arrived wearing sneakers. She offered to buy him boots and he wanted cash. She gave him what she could. He stayed less than an hour. She was relieved to see him go, something she can barely admit to herself.
    Taking a sweater, though it’s a strangely hot spring, she checks for her car and house keys, confirms the toaster and coffeemaker are unplugged.
    â€¢ • •
    Driving to the mall from Ava’s house, Bobby’s on her mind. He was quiet during breakfast, unusual for him. Moodiness is a given at his age. Maybe he’s upset about the kitchen guy his mother is dating, not that he’d say so. He’s double-digits now, things are happening to his body. Would he talk to her about it? She passes a row of renovated houses with new roofs, landscaped lawns. Beginnings.
    Pulling into a parking space, she notices the indoor mall is bustling. Shops, restaurants, and offices occupy two tiers that circle up and around. People dressed for work hurry by, reminding her she’s a lady of leisure. Not quite. Still, her recent scheduled-by-the-minute life is done with. The alarm clock is no longer set, but she wakes early anyway. She bought lots of plants, a tomato box she tends daily. There must be more to retirement. Maybe she’ll buy a book about it, though she doesn’t believe in experts.
    Rosalyn waves, a gremlin all wire and vigor, jeans and a short-sleeved shirt like it’s already summer. Rosalyn’s thick, dark hair frames a face that will always contain beauty. Some faces are like that but she’d never noticed before.
    The shoe store is surprisingly crowded for a weekday. Balancing boxes, salesmen scurry back and forth, making her seasick. She finds a seat while Rosalyn studies the display shelves.
    â€œI want to dance,