48 - Kathleen
Sasha helped Esmee get into a 2003 ash-gray Volvo, the arrogant arrow hood logo shining as an ironic counterpoint to the woman’s work. Sasha would drive the young woman to a safe house near Portland that only she (and her group of caregiver friends) knew of. As for Maeve, Stanley called a taxi and got her back to my house, with stern orders not to let her sand my floor or pull weeds for the rest of the day.
Ziad and I stood on the porch, looking as the Volvo departed.
“Kathleen,” he said. “I want you to see something.”
His invitation was so awkward, after the heady day, that I let go the first words that passed through my head.
“What, your collection of Japanese prints?”
He looked at me with mingled horror and surprise, then caught the cultural reference and snorted.
“
