We ended up back in the kitchen. She sat down at the small round table by the window. She didn’t ask me to sit. So I stood.
“I’ll pay you a hundred dollars a week,” she said. “Every Thursday, nine to two. I’ll leave a check on the counter. If you need supplies, tell me and I’ll buy them, or buy them yourself and leave me the receipt.”
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?”
