“Then don’t make a number you can’t maintain.”
“I want to do something.”
I closed the envelope.
“All right.”
She exhaled.
“Does that mean you forgive me?”
“No.”
Her face fell.
I touched her arm.
“It means I see that you’re trying.”
That was all I could offer.
At the time, it was enough.
Over the next several months, my life became smaller.
And infinitely richer.
I stayed with Ruth while looking for a permanent place.
Without stress waking me at dawn, my blood pressure improved.
My headaches became less frequent.
I started walking every morning.
I ate when I was hungry instead of waiting until everyone else had been fed.
I began reading again.
Then one afternoon Ruth drove me past a church thrift store.
In the window were baskets of yarn.
