There were no tears running down her cheeks, but she felt a cloud of sadness blocking the radiant San Francisco sunshine.
“Of course, Miss Burton, we would be proud and happy to host you in the hotel.” Yeruchum allowed himself a smile. “Mrs. Schwartz has missed you terribly.”
A flood of images and memories: Mrs. S. peeling potatoes. Mrs. L. surrounded by her children. Artie throwing a frisbee, singing a little song.
And then a piercing thought: Did they really care about me? Did they miss me? Have they changed?
Have I?
“Okay, that’s settled.” Fred Burton’s voice — confident, almost commanding — had returned; the tears had vanished. “We’ll catch the first flight out.”
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