I even stopped and bought cookies because arriving empty-handed somehow felt wrong.
When I reached the house, most of the furniture was already gone.
The living room was nearly empty.
Boxes lined the hallway.
But Mrs.
Whitaker had deliberately left the kitchen table and two chairs.
There were sandwiches waiting for us.
On actual plates.
“Sit down,” she said.
I hesitated.
She smiled.
“I know you usually eat lunch in your car.”
That stopped me.
I hadn’t realized she’d ever noticed.
I slowly sat across from her.
For the next half hour, we talked.
Not as employer and cleaner.
Just as two people.
She told me about the apartment she was moving into near her daughter.
She asked about Willa’s senior year.
She remembered which colleges my daughter had been considering.
