I'm a second in her memory

I've always been her favorite. I know because she's been telling me for as long as I can remember. She slouches in her wing chair. Alive, I think. Most times I can see her chest rising and falling slightly. Once I put my fingers by her nose to see if I felt the breath coming out. For one millionth of a second I wondered if she would be better off if I just pinched her nose for a few seconds. she wouldn't have to be so scared anymore. She could see her husband again. Most days I'm sure she thinks we're trying to steal from her. Her car, her imaginary house, her mutual funds. I don't think she remembers that she's rich anymore, actually. She knows that she has drawers of diamonds. She used to smuggle them to me in her napkin under the dinner table. She knows that when she wants to buy crystal covered rose petals and fiberoptic Christmas sleighs, she can. If she can calculate the right amount of cash, that is. I remember the last time I saw her try to use a credit card. It was three years ago. She took me out to one of her favorite restaurants- the type of place where you look like a mess if you're not in heels. She handed the waitress her credit card and told her to keep the change. When her card was returned with her slip, I saw her concentrating. She laughed and went to use the ladies' room. When I glanced at the slip, I saw that she had added the date to the total and signed her name on the tip line. I wanted to cry. On the ride home, I did. Last Tuesday she banged on my bedroom door. She screamed at me and asked me why I had stolen her car.I wanted to cry. Today, I did. I guided her to her chair and gave her a cookie. Pecan shortbread. It's always been her favorite.