There’s soup in the freezer.
The guilt disappeared.
Not completely thief.
But enough tools.
A man climbed out of the moving truck and walked toward me carrying a clipboard.
“Margaret Sullivan?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Luis.”
He glanced at the large two-story house behind me.
“Where are we going?”
I handed him a sheet of paper.
It listed the address of a furnished short-term apartment in Old Town Scottsdale.
I had rented it the previous afternoon for one month.
One month.
That was all the future I had been prepared to decide.
Luis studied the list of furniture I had written.
“You’ve marked specific items?”
“I have receipts for all of them.”
He smiled politely.
“Then you’re more organized than most people we move.”
“My husband used to say organization was my favorite form of entertainment.”
