“Well,” David said, in a voice that wasn’t quite steady. “Who’s that handsome devil?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “He’s far too young to be my father.”
He laughed until he wiped his eyes.
I put the picture in a walnut frame on the windowsill above the sink, where the morning sun hits it.
Sometimes, when I stand there with my hands in the dishwater, I think about the last thing Carl said to me, and the word he chose.
Housekeeper.
He wasn’t entirely wrong.
I do keep a house.
It turns out it has room for far more people than I ever knew.
THE END
