Coffee
I felt something shift in my chest.
Not relief exactly.
Something quieter than that.
“Saturday,” I said.
“Thank you, Diane.”
After I hung up, I sat for a long time without moving.
Then Ruth knocked on the front door.
Doors & Windows
I could see her through the glass panel — her coat, her grey hair, the way she was holding herself very still the way people do when they’re not sure of their welcome.
I opened the door.
“I’m not ready to forgive you,” I said.
“But come in.”
She came in.
She didn’t say anything.
She sat down at the kitchen table and folded her hands and waited.
That was the right thing to do.
It didn’t fix anything.
But it was the right thing.
