Farthest House

She also let her eyes take sidelong glances at Mémé’s back and the bump larger than her own. “How come you look like that?”

“Life grows a woman down. One day, she’s as bowed as a spent flower. Not to worry though, that’s when she’s strongest. She loves mightily, and she creates. She’s alive here,” Luessy’s finger touched her forehead and then tapped her wool sweater over her heart, “and here. When a body curls, a woman knows it’s time to start making plans, giving away her things.”

“Why?”

“She needs the space to journey inside. The clutter’s too cumbersome.”

Willow pressed her lips together. Her mouth wanted to tell Mémé she talked funny, but the issue of Mémé’s back was more important. “How come a doctor can’t fix you?”

“There’s no hocus pocus for old age; I don’t need to be fixed.” Her eyes narrowed. “Your father isn’t still hunting doctors for you?”

“They can’t fix me.”

They reached knee-high lavender growing wide and round alongside the flagstone path. The swish of Luessy’s skirt against the small, dusty-green stems and leaves sent perfume into the air. “Our bodies are memory,” Luessy said. “Unfinished work. Your back is what’s right with you. And mine? Well, by the time you’ve reached my age, you’ll have seen such a world of sorrow and nonsense you’ll know you’re something just for staying. A dowager’s hump means I’ve been blessed with a long life. I’m proud of that.” She paused, “Besides, one person looks silly as the next. I don’t care how beautiful they suppose they are.”

“Do I have a dowager’s hump?”

“No. Yours is so special that it came with you. You didn’t need to earn it.”