Page 15 of The Endowment Effect

Handing her phone to the caregiver, she watched as the woman plugged her cell phone number into her device.

Handing it back, Jeanette said, “Don’t you worry about Miss Pearl. She’s in good hands.”

Birdie nodded with a thin smile, praying with everything in her heathen’s heart that would remain the case, and Errol’s insinuations was just him pounding his chest and fishing for more weaknesses he could expose.

Minutes later, Birdie approached the fountain in the middle of which stood the daunting statue depicting the Chinese god of longevity. Jeanette once told her that it was donated by a wealthy patron. She stared at the monstrosity as she usually did with a mixture of awe and revulsion.

How was this priceless piece of art supposed to make her feel encouraged about growing old?

The weird frontal lobe that bulged at the front of the god’s forehead gave her the creeps. And the peach he held in one hand looked more like a beating heart.

“Birdie?”

Her head turned toward the voice of one of her dearest friends with nothing less than pure shock. Pearl stood before her with a shy smile on her face, wearing a smart knit suit, her long white hair pulled back in a loose French twist and looking quite polished.

Even more wonderful to Birdie was the awareness shining bright in Pearl’s eyes.

Jeanette was right. She was having a good day. She recognized her.

“Why, Miss Pearl, you are looking utterly divine,” she said, kissing both cheeks.

The elderly woman blushed, literally blushed, and self-consciously patted the back of her hair.

“Why, thank you, Birdie dear. You’re looking your usual stunning self.”

“Please,” Birdie said, leading her toward the bench that faced away from the fountain. “Let’s sit and catch up. Have you been reading any good books lately?”

Miss Pearl chuckled, leaning toward her. “Why yes. I read a spicy little novel with passages that made me blush.”

“Yeah? Tell me all about it. You know I like a lotta spice in my reading material.”

Pearl rarely remembered it was Birdie who personally delivered the stacks of books of her favorite authors. That was okay. If she had to choose, she preferred Pearl recognizing her than remembering she was her illicit book benefactor.

“Well,” Pearl said, covering her mouth with her hand as if sharing a story with a naughty girlfriend. “The author’s name is Kathleen E. Woodiwiss and the title of the book isThe Wolf and the Dove.”

“I’ll have to remember that one.” Birdie smiled. “She must be a new author; I haven’t heard her name before.” Birdie put her arm around her friend’s thin shoulders and hugged her. “You’ll have to be sure to share that one with me when you’re done.”

Miss Pearl had read that book no less than thirty times, after which they had this same conversation.

“How is Marshall? Will he be joining us today?” Pearl asked, patting her hand.

The thick scars on Birdie’s heart contracted. Miss Pearl rarely remembered Marshall. A fact of her debilitating illness that had crushed him and was the only event in his life Birdie could ever recall bringing the six-foot four-inch man to his knees.

Today Pearl remembered him, which for Birdie was a sweet torment.

“Marshall is… wonderful,” she lied, making her tone upbeat, despite forcing the words through the shards of glass lodged in her throat. “He… he would have come to see you but he had some unavoidable business to attend to. He told me to tell you how much he loves his Little Pearl and that he’ll be sure to visit you next week.”

Pearl nodded with a resigned smile. “The man works too much for his own good.”

“Yes,” Birdie replied, not wanting this moment of lucidity to end and at the same time, her heart wrenching in two. “But don’t think for one minute that you’re not his number one priority, Miss Pearl. He loves you so very much.”

“Well, of course he does,” she said with conviction. “Everyone says we were meant to be together. He’ll come to see me soon enough. He always does.” She continued to pat Birdie’s hand.

The irony of this slip of a lady consoling Birdie almost brought her to her knees. Then, Pearl’s expression turned solemn and Birdie feared she might be slipping away. She desperately wanted to keep her a few minutes longer. Bask in the woman’s precious memories, despite some being more accurate than others. “How much longer before I’m well and can come home?”

This was her home.

“Not much longer,” Birdie replied, threatening herself with bodily harm if she allowed one single tear to fall from her eyes. “You and Marshall will be together soon. I promise.”

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