Conducting

The interview room at the nursing home smelled of antiseptic and something sweeter—decay, maybe. Eleanor sat across from Martha, whose hands were spotted with age but steady, arranging pill bottles on the metal table. They were both in their seventies now, but the memory remained vivid.

"He took his vitamin every morning," Martha said, pushing a small orange bottle forward. "Like religion. Like the job was going to kill him if he didn't prepare."

Eleanor nodded. She remembered. The pharmaceutical plant, 1983. They were union organizers, both of them—Martha's husband, Frank, and Eleanor's then-husband, Carlos. They'd been planning something big. A strike that would bring the corporation to its knees.

"The dog knew something was wrong," Eleanor said. "That night."

"Buster," Martha said, a small smile touching her lips. "Frank's dog. That dog never barked unless it mattered. He was going crazy that evening—pacing, whining at the door. Frank said, 'He's got a sense about storms, El. Better than the weatherman.'"

They fell silent. Outside, rain drummed against the window.

"The lightning strike," Eleanor said finally. "That's what the report said."

"That's what they paid people to say."

Martha's eyes were sharp despite her age. "Buster never stopped barking after that. Every time it rained, every time the sky flashed—he knew. He lived twelve more years, and he never forgot."

Eleanor reached across the table and took Martha's hand. The skin was paper-thin, the veins prominent.

"Carlos left me a month later," Eleanor said. "Couldn't take it. The guilt. The looking over his shoulder." She paused. "But you stayed. You kept organizing."

"Someone had to," Martha said simply. "Frank would have wanted that."

The vitamin bottle sat between them like an accusation. A testament to a man who'd prepared for everything except betrayal.

"They're still there," Eleanor said. "The company. Still making the same drugs. Still breaking the same unions."

Martha squeezed her hand. "Then we've got work to do."

Outside, lightning split the sky. Neither woman flinched.