’Aunt Eunice was a taking-charge kind, always running around organizing some committee or church group—but here she lay all puffy-faced and tear-stained, stretched out on her precious crocheted bedspread with her shoes still on. I said, “Aunt Eunice, honey, don’t you want to get more comfortable?” She didn’t answer. I wished I could think of something real to do for her. I laid the compress on her head. I took her shoes off and covered her with an afghan. I adjusted the curtains a bit. Then I sat down in the rocking chair and looked at my hands, which still smelled of lilacs from the last cream I’d tried. Of course the wrinkles were as deep as ever. My little gold finger ring was buried in them, like wire grown into a tree trunk. But it came to me how cool my palms felt—wouldn’t they soothe poor Aunt Eunice? I reached over and pressed her forehead. It seemed my hand needed to be laid there, it seemed all that coolness was begging to be poured into somebody. Then Aunt Eunice said, “Oh!” and her eyes flew open. I snatched my hand away. “It’s gone,” she told me. “What?” “My headache’s gone.”’
This is the fourth book I’ve read by Anne Tyler, although it is more of a short story than a full length book at 29 pages.
Susanna’s Aunt Eunice shares the story of her healing, and word spreads quickly. Susanna finds it hard to believe she’s been given this gift of healing. At first she shies away from it, but when pressed by others she relents to at least try, but first cautions them that it may not work, 'The first thing I tell people is, I’m just an ordinary woman.' This is something she believes, having no real understanding or control of what she is able to do, believing that if she is healing others, the power originates elsewhere.