He came out to my porch that Friday evening and stood on my one step with his cap in his hand. Men of that age out here do all their important talking with their cap in their hand.
“I’d like you to do that every Friday,” he said. “I can’t pay what it’s worth. But I can knock the rent down to four hundred, if that’d be agreeable.”
“That would be agreeable.”
“It isn’t a favor, Judy. I want you to understand that. You’d be saving my hide.”
“I understand it,” I said. “That’s why I’m saying yes.”
After he left, I sat on the swing a while longer.
There’s a difference. I could feel it, plain as the swing chain in my hand.
Mr. Brandt had come to my door. He’d asked me for what I was good at, and he’d offered what he could. Nobody told me I’d be earning my keep. He told me I’d be saving his hide.
