Everything had been modified.
Handrails.
Mechanical lift.
Wide shower.
A padded bathing chair.
The kind of equipment that cost more than my apartment building.
When Mrs. Alvarez finally left us alone, silence filled the room.
Mr. Bennett watched me organize towels.
“You’ve never done this before.”
“No.”
“You’re nervous.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I looked at him.
“Why is that good?”
“People who aren’t nervous usually hurt me.”
I swallowed.
That answer revealed more than he probably intended.
I approached carefully.
“I need to help you remove your shirt.”
“I’m aware.”
I began with the top button.
My fingers trembled.
Not because of him.
Because somewhere across Chicago, Brandon was still sick.
Because I had twelve dollars left in my purse.
Because if I lost this job, I had no idea what came next.
