“You live nearby, James?”
I stopped. “Couple houses down.”
She looked me over. “Hmm. You want to make some decent money, son?”
I stopped dead. “Doing what?”
She opened her front door and beckoned to me. “Come help me. We’ll agree on a price. I’ll explain everything over some tea.”
She called to me from behind her fence.
Inside, she poured me tea that tasted like boiled weeds and got straight to it.
“I’m dying,” she said.
I choked on my tea.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic! I’m 85, not 12. The doctor says maybe a few years, maybe less. I need help. Groceries, medication, rides, small repairs. I don’t have anybody reliable.”
“And in return?”
She watched me for a second. “When I’m gone, what’s mine becomes yours. I’ll leave everything to you.”
I choked on my tea.
“Are you for real, Mrs. Rhode? You barely know me.”
