Over time, she began asking questions.
“How old are your children, Stan?”
“Seven, five, and two.”
“Do they know how hard you work?”
I laughed.
“They mostly know I’m never home.”
A shadow crossed her face.
“It’ll be worth it one day,” she said quietly.
Sometimes after our errands, she invited me inside for coffee.
I always perched nervously on the edge of expensive chairs.
“You can sit back,” she teased one afternoon. “The furniture won’t attack you.”
“Old habits.”
She chuckled.
