Was she? She’d felt worse. She gave her head a tiny shake.

“Can you tell me your name?” he asked.

That made Mina smile. She remembered the many times she’d watched the staff at Pelham Manor ask Annabelle that question, and the day when she’d answered, “Anne Shirley.” Not too long after that Annabelle couldn’t come up with an answer to that question at all.

Mina cleared her throat. “Wilhelmina Yetner.” It came out weak but clear.

“Excellent. Do you know what happened to you?”

Of course she knew what happened. “I fell. In the parking lot. Idiot driver.” She looked around and made a guess on the answer to the question he’d be asking next. “Bronx Memorial Hospital.”

He chuckled.

“Your turn,” she said. “How am I?”

“Dislocated your hip, I’m sorry to say.”

Mina knew which hip it was. The one that had been replaced. The one on the side that was starting to throb. Her arms were scraped raw, too, she could tell, but it could have been much worse.

“Has that happened before?” the doctor asked.

“Never.” She was always careful not to overflex, to never go beyond the ninety-degree angle as her surgeon had warned her.

“Well, it’s back where it belongs now. You took a nasty tumble, but I don’t see why you shouldn’t expect a full recovery. We were concerned about your blood pressure. It was very low when you came in. Then it spiked during reduction. We’re pretty sure that was from the shock of the accident, but we’re going to keep you overnight to monitor your vital signs and make sure it’s all systems go.”

Just overnight? Well, thank goodness for that. “So I’ll live?”

“Absolutely.” He unhooked her from a monitor, lowered the mattress, and cranked up the back. “And now, we need to get you up and about. The sooner the better.”

The royal “we.” The staff in the home talked to Annabelle like that, too. Like she was a toddler.

He brought over a walker. Another milestone on the slippery slope to infirmity.

She pushed back the covers, took the hand he offered her, and pulled herself up. Slowly, gingerly, she inched her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet dangled inches from the floor, and for a moment she could see Annabelle’s feet and legs, the way they’d grown childlike and slack from disuse near the end. Better to die than waste away like that.

Mina summoned her strength and pressed her feet to the floor. She half expected the doctor to say upsadaisy as she shifted her weight to her good leg. Holding on to the walker, she shifted her weight gradually to the other side, too, worried that the ball would slip out of the socket again. But it held, and though it was sore, the pain was tolerable.

“No deep knee bends, now,” the doctor said, backing up so she could move forward under her own steam. “But normal movement shouldn’t be a problem. If we need to, we can get you fitted with a hip brace.”

A hip brace? She’d just as soon not. Mina leaned into the walker and stepped forward with one foot. Then the other. Lifted the walker and moved it forward, thinking all the while of the old people at Pelham Manor tethered to their walkers and oxygen tanks. She gritted her teeth and took another step forward. The walker did make her feel more stable.

“Terrific,” the doctor said, watching her with a critical eye.

What was terrific was that she could shuffle her way to the bathroom and take care of her own business. When someone had to wipe for her, she’d be ready to check out.

By the time Mina was back in bed, she was sweating from exertion. She collapsed, shivering against the pillows. Accepted some pain medication. The doctor was tapping at a computer when she closed her eyes for what she thought would be a few moments.

“Aunt Mina?” This time it was Brian’s voice.

Mina opened her eyes. The bed was still cranked up, but now it was dark out. Brian was standing by her bed. Her purse sat on the tray table. Beside it Brian set her key ring. Mina squinted at it. Something looked different. Then she got it. Her car keys had been removed.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sore. A little shaky. Not so bad, considering. Where are my car keys?”

“I drove your car home and left it parked in your garage,” he said, eyeing her coolly and taking a sip from a paper coffee cup.

“I want my car keys.” She extended her hand, palm up. “Now.” No matter how hard she stared at it, her hand still trembled. Damn him. She was not about to beg.

“That car isn’t safe. What is it, thirty years old? And you shouldn’t be driving it.”

Mina felt her jaw trembling as she tried to stare him down. “I have never gotten a speeding ticket. Ever. Or had a single accident. And I don’t drink.” What did he think, that she’d forgotten the DUI that got his license suspended a while back? Or maybe he was still insisting that the police had singled him out, that he’d barely tested intoxicated after his car spontaneously accelerated and that fire hydrant took out the front quarter panel of his precious Mercedes. He’d had to “borrow” money from her to make the repairs—money that she’d long ago kissed good-bye.

“Facts are facts, Brian,” Mina went on. “I am a safe driver—”

“—who can’t remember where she parked her car.”

“Well . . . that . . .”

“Who walks oblivious behind parked cars.”

“Really, Brian, I don’t think you’re being fair.”

“Fair? I’m sorry, Aunt Mina,” Brian said, though there wasn’t a drop of remorse in his tone. “But, as you are so fond of saying, facts are facts. Seems crystal clear to me. If you can’t find your car, you shouldn’t be driving one.”

Mina pushed herself upright, wincing at the dull ache that pulsed through her side. She shifted to find the least uncomfortable position. “Thank you very much for your concern, Brian, but I can take care of myself. I’m not a child, you know.”

For a moment, he actually looked wounded. “Well, neither am I, in case you haven’t noticed.” He pulled over a molded plastic chair and sat in it, crossing his arms over his chest and rocking the chair back on two back legs. Of course he was doing that deliberately. He knew she’d remember the time he’d leaned back like that one Thanksgiving dinner and cracked her mother’s dining room chair legs.

He stared down his nose at her. “There will come a time, and I’m afraid it’s not in the too distant future, when you’re going to want . . . need to move somewhere more appropriate.”

Appropriate. Appropriate? Mina seethed. “You are not in charge of my life.”

Brian gave a heavy sigh. “Sadly, no one is. That’s what scares me.” The chair creaked ominously as he leaned back still farther, as if taunting her.

“Sit properly, Brian,” Mina said. She plucked a tissue from the box by the bed and blew her nose. “It doesn’t matter. Keep the keys. You should probably have a set anyway. I have copies.”

“Of course you do.” He leaned forward, setting the chair straight and narrowing his eyes at her. “But do you remember where you put them?”

Mina’s vision blurred and her throat started to close, but she refused to cry. Absolutely refused. She could hear her mother’s voice: There is a little bit of good in the worst of us and a little bit of bad in the best of us. She wasn’t sure if Brian was one of the worst, but he was a boatload of arrogant, smug, and annoying.

Brian’s look softened. “Aunt Mina, let’s not fight. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Or worse, for you to hurt someone else. Imagine how you’d feel.”

She wanted to slap that smirk off his face. “I am not going to live in one of those . . . places. If you think I am, then you’ve got another think coming. As soon as I’m fit again, I am going home.”

“Fit? You’ve got to be—” Brian stopped. He pinned her with a hard look, and after a moment of stony silence, he said, “Yes. Fine. I agree. You’re going home.”