I carried the baskets and set them in her trunk. I expected nothing, because expecting things was a habit I had broken on purpose.
“I’m Eleanor,” she said. “And you look hungry.”
She bought me a meal, and before I knew it, she became an important part of my life.
I carried the baskets and set them in her trunk.
The following Thursday, I fixed her porch step.
The Thursday after that, she paid me in a bowl of vegetable soup.
By Christmas, I was eating that soup in her yellow kitchen while rain tapped the windows.
“Daniel,” she said one evening, “don’t ever let other people decide who you are, or prevent you from speaking your truth.”
I didn’t know what she meant.
I nodded anyway.
“People are brave when they think they know the whole story.”
Once, her niece dropped by while I was washing dishes.
