Free Angel Landing by Alice Hoffman Page B

certainly have been doing a lot of research,” I said.
    â€œOh sure,” Minnie shrugged. “I intend to find this Allen Crest and see to it that he makes some improvements.”
    â€œThere you go,” I nodded. “You’re helping other people, you should feel great about yourself.”
    â€œBut who’ll do something for me? Who’ll take care of me? The Lanskys? I never even get a phone call from any of them. Not even from Ephraim Lansky, and that old man used to write to me once a week until his son bought a condominium in Atlantic City. Who’s going to watch out for me when I get taken to Mercy?”
    â€œYou’re perfectly healthy,” I told my aunt. “You’re not about to go into a nursing home.”
    â€œNot today. Not right this minute. But what about tomorrow? I could fall down the stairs and break both of my hips. That’s how brittle bones get when they’re old,” Minnie confided to Jack.
    â€œYou can’t worry so much about the future that you’re paralyzed in the present,” I said.
    â€œOh yes I can,” Minnie said softly.
    I looked at my aunt carefully: her hands, which were once powerful enough to direct a whole house full of Lanskys with one wave, were now an old woman’s hands; the lines on her face ran together to form a creviced graph; her long legs were never warm, not even when she wore three pairs of woolen knee socks. There might soon be a day when Beaumont moved out of her house; I certainly didn’t plan to stay forever; and then Minnie would be alone. The house would be empty; one day Minnie would be so frail that she would no longer be able to lift wood into the parlor stove. Death would come to her slowly; when she was found, weeks, perhaps months later, Minnie would be lying on the hardwood floor like a lonely artifact, her skin would be blue, and when she was carried from her parlor, the ice which had formed on her skin would melt in huge drops, and all that would be left to be taken down the porch steps would be an old woman who had frozen to death in her own house.
    â€œOh, Minnie,” I said.
    â€œI’ve never felt sorry for myself. Not in my entire life,” Minnie said. “Not until now.”
    â€œI’ll take care of you,” Jack volunteered.
    Minnie sat up straight. “At the moment I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you.”
    â€œWhen you can’t.”
    â€œHe’s cute,” Minnie said to me.
    â€œI mean it,” Jack insisted, his eyes glowing with dedication.
    â€œNo,” Minnie shook her head. “You have better things to do.”
    â€œI don’t have anything better to do,” the boy confided.
    Jack spent his days avoiding school, drinking gallons of soda in coffee shops and diners; at three-fifteen he returned home to a family who would not have noticed if he never returned.
    Minnie glared at the boy. “Do you think you’ll live forever? Do you think you can just waste time?”
    I cleared my throat. “Well,” I said, “I think our session is over.”
    â€œThis is it?” Minnie said. “This is therapy?”
    â€œDid you expect to come to terms with death and old age in five minutes?”
    â€œYes,” Minnie nodded, “I had hoped to.”
    â€œYou can’t expect miracles,” I said.
    â€œWell, if this is it, I’m very dissatisfied,” Minnie said. “Very.”
    â€œMe, too,” Jack sighed.
    â€œYou?” Minnie said to Jack. “You’re too young to be dissatisfied. What you need is the proper diet. The right vegetables would fix you right up.”
    â€œJack has other problems,” I said. “School. His family.”
    Minnie ignored me. “Do you know what happens to people who don’t get enough vitamin E?” Minnie asked Jack. “They disappear. Their skin becomes as thin as tissue paper.”
    â€œMinnie,”