“They’re my dad’s.”
Josh frowned.
“Your dad’s?”
Vanessa sat on the edge of the chair I’d pulled out earlier.
“He moved three weeks ago.”
“Moved where?”
She looked at him.
“To an assisted-living apartment.”
Josh stared at her.
“What?”
“He didn’t want anyone knowing yet.”
“You didn’t tell me?”
“He made me promise.”
The room went quiet.
I knew Vanessa’s father lived alone, but I hadn’t realized anything had changed.
She briefly buried her face in her hands.
“He was having trouble managing the house. Nothing dramatic happened. It just got harder. The stairs were difficult. He forgot meals sometimes. Laundry piled up because carrying baskets was hard for him.”
She nodded toward the fourth basket.
“I’ve been stopping by after work. I get groceries, check his mail, help with whatever he needs. When he moved, I started clearing out his old place too.”
Josh lifted one of the shirts.
“And these?”
“From his closet. Some things needed washing before I packed them. The shirts with the dry-cleaning tags were already clean, but I’d scooped them up with everything else when I emptied his closet and hadn’t realized they were in the bags.”
I looked at the fourth basket.
So that explained why there was even more laundry than usual that weekend.
