At six, a white van stopped behind Vivian’s hedge.
The garage door opened enough to admit it and closed before anyone emerged.
I saw the van only because its roof was visible above the hedge as it turned.
I noted the time without pointing my phone toward her property.
A little after seven, a man in dark medical scrubs carried several grocery bags into Vivian’s house.
He was tall and moved with the weary speed of someone near the end of a long shift.
When he returned, he paused at the driveway and looked across toward my yard.
I stood beside my grill with the lid open, pretending to study the burners.
He stared for a second longer, then drove away in a dusty blue sedan.
The plate was visible from the public sidewalk, and I wrote it in my notebook.
I wondered whether I was becoming obsessive.
Then an upstairs light blinked three times.
I stopped pretending to inspect the grill.
The same hand appeared behind the curtain.
This time the person held a small object rather than a paper sign.
It looked like a silver spoon.
The spoon struck the window frame twice.
I heard nothing from that distance, but the movement was unmistakable.
The curtain was pulled aside for barely three seconds.
A woman’s face appeared.
Her hair was gray, and her mouth moved as though she was speaking through the glass.
Then a shadow crossed behind her and drew the curtain closed.
I stood motionless with the grill brush in my hand.
The face reminded me of my mother during her final months, when pain had robbed her of patience but not determination.
I felt the old, familiar terror of being the only person nearby who recognized that something was wrong.
I called the county nonemergency number and asked for a welfare check.
The dispatcher took the information and reminded me not to trespass or attempt a rescue myself.
I agreed.
Twenty minutes later, a patrol car stopped outside Vivian’s house.
I watched from my porch as Vivian opened the door wearing a pale blue cardigan.
She laughed at something one officer said and invited them inside.
They remained for eleven minutes.
When they emerged, Vivian walked them all the way to the car.
She waved as they drove away.
Then she turned toward me.
Her smile was gone.
She crossed the street and stopped at the foot of my driveway.
