Today was Thursday—walk day. She’d twirl the white bone of the parasol in between her fingers as she shuffled, looking up. Every once and a while she’d talk under her breath, and grin. Today it was actually raining; well, raining for California. The light mist soaked through the lace of the parasol, and the thin drops of water clung to her face. She stamped small puddles as she walked. She was wearing slippers, and no coat. I wondered where her caregiver was? Soon she was at the dilapidated wood fence at my yard. She waved. I shut the door.