Meeting outside the store felt like a safe place to see Noah.
I didn’t want Noah anywhere near my apartment, where I would probably let him in and collapse into his arms and not say what needs to be said.
Mrs. Bristol is standing behind the front desk, like she always used to do. She waves me inside, and I go like a little lamb being called in by the shepherd.
“You’re angry with me, aren’t you, duckie?” Mrs. Bristol asks, her voice soft and gentle, and my throat tightens up with hot pain as I look at her.
“I would have just liked to be kept in the loop,” I say, clearing my throat, refusing to cry. I take a deep breath of the store, the smell of paper and floor cleaner all rolled into one. It smells like home away from home, and I’m going to have to say goodbye.
“How come you never tol
