I rang the bell and was greeted not by Connie but by Morrie's wife, Charlotte, a beautiful gray-haired woman who spoke in a lilting voice.
She was not often at home when I came byshe continued working at MIT, as Morrie wishedand I was surprised this morning to see her.
Morrie's having a bit of a hard time today,she said.
She stared over my shoulder for a moment, then moved toward the kitchen.
“I'm sorry,” I said. “No, no, he'll be happy to see you,” she said quickly.
“Sure...” She stopped in the middle of the sentence, turning her head slightly, listening for something.
Then she continued. “I'm sure... he'll feel better when he knows you're here.”
I lifted up the bags from the market“my normal food supply,” I said jokinglyand she seemed to smile and fret at the same time.
“There's already so much food. He hasn't eaten any from last time.”
This took me by surprise. “He hasn't eaten any?” I asked.
She opened the refrigerator and I saw familiar containers of chicken salad,
vermicelli, vegetables, stuffed squash, all things I had brought for Morrie.
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