After I finished cleaning up I stood for a minute and stared back at Barrett’s small kitchen space. I wondered if Barrett knew what it felt like to be taken care of. Had anyone ever made a meal for him? I could feel my mind begin to wander into dangerous territory.
It doesn’t matter. It just doesn’t matter. I repeated to myself several times before tossing the dishrag I used to wipe the table down into the sink and turned off the light.
I looked down the hall to try to see if Barrett was in his room, but the door was closed.
It doesn’t matter Anson, it just doesn’t, I thought one last time before I headed to the door.
“I’m leaving!” I called out for no other reason except to break my thoughts and ease the ache I felt in the kitchen. I didn’t expect him to respond and he didn’t. Tomorro
