For several seconds, I cried against her shoulder, the way I used to when we were girls and the world seemed too complicated for us to handle alone.
Margaret held me without speaking.
She didn’t tell me everything would be fine.
She didn’t tell me to be strong.
She simply stayed there until I could breathe again.
When I finally stepped back, she wiped a tear from my cheek.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
I told her about the perfume, the strange calls, the restaurant charge, and Rachel’s visit.
I repeated every word I could remember, including the part about giving up the house.
Margaret’s face grew darker with each sentence.
“She came here and demanded your home?”
“She said it would be practical.”
“Practical?”
Margaret dropped her bag onto the kitchen table.
“I would like to have a conversation with this woman about the meaning of that word.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
