The etiquette books were silent on the matter of cell phones, at least the ones she had been gifted during her long-ago coming out party and her long-ago engagement party. Their advice had stopped at rotary phones, and frankly she felt that the rest of the world ought to have followed suit. New technology meant new worries, new inconveniences, new wrinkles. She’d been Miss Junior Class in high school, runner-up for Miss Stonewall Jackson in college before meeting Trip, and the age-worn cares that had faded those accolades into memory was almost entirely due to worrying over the newfangled, she was quite convinced.

But even as she rejected touchscreens and streaming media, there were two closely connected innovations that she was willing to tolerate, even proselytize. Pastor Daniel, before he’d moved on and then died, mind, had once said in a sermon that any technology was the Lord’s work that could be put toward His purpose, and she firmly believed that cell phones and her Placebook account fell firmly into that category.

Once upon a time, reaching out and talking to her family or her girlfriends had meant going to visit or talking on a landline. Increasingly gummy knees made the former ever more untenable, and the latter risked Trip overhearing. The man may have been an angry, withered old husk, but he had ears like a cat and she’d get the third degree from him over every little bit of gossip. But with her cell phone, everywhere was suddenly her living room. Maisie could hear about her day from inside the car. Cousin Jan could get updates down to the minute without either of them risking the open road.

So let those other patients in the waiting area stare their daggers as she talked, loudly, on speakerphone. There was nothing in the etiquette books against it, and with Trip out back ensconced in the cold metal grip of an MRI machine, there was nothing the biggest regret of her life could do to interfere.

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