I answered.
“Happy day after Thanksgiving.”
“That depends,” Linda said. “Did you survive yesterday with Rebecca’s sweet potatoes?”
“There were no sweet potatoes.”
“What happened?”
I drove silently for several seconds.
Then I told her.
Not everything.
Just enough.
When I finished, Linda said nothing.
That was one of the reasons I loved her.
She knew silence could be more respectful than instant advice.
Finally she asked, “Where are you now?”
“Following a moving truck.”
“A moving truck?”
“I moved out.”
Another pause.
“Maggie.”
“Yes?”
“Where are you sleeping tonight?”
“An apartment in Old Town.”
“Do you want company?”
I looked ahead at the truck carrying pieces of my old life toward a place I had never seen in person.
“Yes,” I said.
“I think I do.”
The apartment was smaller than it had looked online.
