“You’re standing like someone who thinks the whole neighborhood just witnessed her being discarded.”
That word struck too accurately.
I stepped aside.
Gertrude entered without another question.
We sat at my kitchen table.
The counters were strangely empty because nearly everything I had cooked was now somewhere on the Garden State Parkway.
Gertrude looked around.
“You spent all yesterday cooking, didn’t you?”
“Most of it.”
“For them.”
“I like cooking.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
I poured coffee for both of us.
We had known each other twenty-six years. There are people who earn the right to ask questions you would resent from anyone else.
“I called a real-estate agent,” I said.
Her eyebrows rose.
“For here?”
“For Cape May.”
She put her cup down.
“That’s a large decision for eight-fifteen in the morning.”
“Ellen said something similar.”
“Smart woman.”
“I own the house.”
“I know.”
“They act as though it belongs to everyone.”
