“I hear what you’re saying,” I say and suddenly it’s desperately important that Debbi believes me
I’m deep in a bowl of oatmeal sprinkled with brown sugar when the doorbell rings. Since Libby is engaged, not incapacitated, I allow her the great pleasure of answering. I’d hate to have to guilt her about cold oatmeal.
“Knock knock.”
I almost choke on a blueberry as Debbi sits down across from me.
“Libby let me in,” she says.
I nod, coughing.
She pours me a cup of water. “Thanks,” I say hoarsely.
She nods.
We sit in silence and then, “I got your letter.”
Create a free account to keep reading.
