Paulete says I should absolutely call him. She says he probably wants to know I know.

Maybe she’s right. Paulette usually is.

But I also keep thinking about Donald, measuring things twice and then a third time, just to be sure.

And Gerald, sitting on that swing every summer Sunday, laughing about something I couldn’t quite hear from the kitchen.

I’m going to finish the painting myself tomorrow if it’s dry enough. I found his brush in the drop cloth and I know how Donald wanted it done. I’ll do it careful, work around the flowers.

Then I’ll call.