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*On the days when Leonard goes to the *day-care centre, I knit. I plan to finish the
scarf for our fifty-third wedding anniversary. The scarf is almost finished, and when
I hold it to the light, diamonds shine through. I shake the wool, drop a stitch, try to
find it again. Was I more in love with Leonard than he was with me? I have so many
questions... and I cannot ask any of them now.
'It's finished,' I tell my niece, *putting the scarf *round my neck.
'It looks good,' she said, 'if you don't look too closely. Is it a gift?'
Yes. My last.'
On the morning of our anniversary I kiss Leonard and give him the scarf. I know
he will not speak, but while I am putting the scarf round his neck, (3)I find that I am
still hoping.
The scarf is as crooked as my fingers. It's full of holes
long thin holes, little
**round holes. Leonard puts his hand up and touches the wool, and for one short
moment, his eyes come alive again.
Yes,' he wants to tell me. 'Yes,' he wants to say.
"The scarf is soft.
The scarf is blue.
The scarf is us.'
