As she crossed the parking lot, a woman driving a car passed her.
She squinted at the vehicle.
She walked on. She reminded herself to order additional invitations for her daughter's upcoming party. She recalled how the girl had looked the other day as she had stepped out of the dressing room in her new frock, her slender limbs extending from the short sleeves, her black, almond shaped eyes peering inquiringly out from under arched brows. She was a mirror image of her father, long gone.
The idea struck her that the woman had passed resembled her former mother-in-law.
They had not seen her in years.
She dismissed the idea.
She entered the facility and approached the registration desk.
Someone stepped to the right of her.
She wondered.
Wide bangle bracelets jangled against the counter. .
She had always worn them.
Manicured fingernails.
She favored red enamel.
"Mrs. Stein, do you have your driver's license?" the receptionist asked.
No one had called her Mrs. Stein in a long time.
As she handed the clerk the card, she glanced at the photo. At the time it had been taken she was profoundly, almost mortally dulled with grief and fear, yet the woman staring at the camera looked strangely animated.
It can't be her, she thought.
Then she heard her voice.
It wasn't the reedy voice that she remembered.
It was the voice of an old woman.
She waited while the receptionist busied herself with paperwork. She lowered her gaze and looked at her opened wallet. Her elder daughter's high school graduation photograph was visible. Cascading honey blonde hair trailed her shoulders, a vibrant crimson rose was pinned to her gown.
She hadn't seen or called the children since the divorce.
When her marriage was failing, she went to her and pled, "Help me. Help me. The children need a father."
"No, they don't" she had sneered.
When she had been young, she had been a fashion model. Her macquillage had been perfect, her jewelry tasteful, her dresses and trousers, tailored and sharply pressed, were made of expensive gabardine or linen fabric.
As she turned she saw that her rump, much broader than she remembered, was encased in shapeless denim pants.
Then, she saw her face.
It resembled a decomposing apple.
A green suited assistant approached her.
"Your co-pay is one thousand dollars,” she said.
She heard the sound of perforated paper being ripped.
Her cell phone rang.
She took the call.
"Hello!" she said cheerily. "Shelly Stein here. May I help you?"
She walked out.
When she returned, her mother-in-law was gone.
