A hundred dollars a week. Four hundred dollars a month. I did the math in my head standing there. It wasn’t enough to live on. But it was enough to pay the electric bill and buy groceries. It was a start.
“That sounds wonderful,” I said.
“You’ll have a key. I’m often out on Thursdays. I play bridge. I volunteer at the hospital gift shop.” She reached into a drawer and took out a single brass key on a plain ring. She held it out to me.
“Don’t lose it.”
I took it. It felt heavy in my hand. Heavier than a key should feel.
“You don’t know me,” I said before I could stop myself. “You’re just giving me a key?”
She looked at me over her reading glasses.
“I called your references,” she said. “Your old boss at the dental office said you once drove forty minutes to return a patient’s wallet he’d left in the waiting room. Your neighbor said you watched her dog for two weeks and wouldn’t take any money.” She folded her hands on the table. “And
