“You’re serious about this boundaries thing,” he said afterward.
“Very.”
“Dad would have laughed.”
“Your father respected locked doors.”
“He also picked locks.”
“Only once.”
“Twice.”
We both smiled.
The business improved.
Not dramatically.
Gradually.
Marcus and Daniel landed two long-term clients.
Then another.
Daniel stopped asking whether I needed anything from Costco every three days.
He began calling to ask ordinary questions.
Had I watched the baseball game?
Did I remember the name of his fifth-grade teacher?
Would I like to come for dinner Sunday?
Come for dinner.
Not cook dinner.
The distinction pleased me more than it should have.
Rebecca changed in quieter ways.
One afternoon, about four months after I moved, she visited alone.
We sat on the patio drinking iced tea.
She looked tired.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“How did you know when you were doing too much for everyone?”
I smiled.
“I didn’t.”
She frowned.
“I thought you might have wisdom.”
“I have age. People confuse the two.”
She laughed.
Then became thoughtful.
“I signed up for a photography class.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“It’s Thursday nights.”
“So?”
“Thursday was always one of the nights you watched the kids.”
I heard what she was not saying.
