The first thing Mike really noticed was the silence. Maxine had always made noise before. Small sounds, but constant ones—little hums, half-formed words, the occasional squeal when something caught her attention. Now, when he arrived at Eleanor’s house in the evenings, the rooms felt muted in a way that had nothing to do with Eleanor’s insistence on calm.
Maxine was usually in her grandmother’s arms, eyes half-lidded, her head resting heavily against Eleanor’s shoulder. She didn’t twist to look at the door anymore. Didn’t lift her arms. “She’s been so peaceful today,” Eleanor would say, smoothing Maxine’s hair.