“I'm not here! I'm not here!”—and in a minute, she was connecting with my old professor as if they'd known each other since college.
I sensed this, even though all I heard on my end was “Uh-huh... Mitch told me... oh, thank you...”
When she hung up, she said, “I'm coming next trip.” And that was that.
Now we sat in his office, surrounding him in his recliner.
Morrie, by his own admission, was a harmless flirt, and while he often had to stop for coughing, or to use the commode,
he seemed to find new reserves of energy with Janine in the room.
He looked at photos from our wedding, which Janine had brought along.
“You are from Detroit?” Morrie said. Yes, Janine said.
“I taught in Detroit for one year, in the late forties. I remember a funny story about that.”
He stopped to blow his nose. When he fumbled with the tissue, I held it in place and he blew weakly into it.
I squeezed it lightly against his nostrils, then pulled it off, like a mother does to a child in a car seat.
“Thank you, Mitch.” He looked at Janine. “My helper, this one is.” Janine smiled.
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