Louise set down the roasting pan she’d been holding since we walked in.
It made a small sound against the counter. Not a slam. Just a sound.
“We’ve been doing the seven in the morning for thirty years, Tamra,” Louise said. “None of us minded.”
“I know,” Tamra said. And she did sound like she meant it kindly. “That’s exactly why it’s time. You’ve all given so much. Now you can come sit with everybody else at the service. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Nobody answered her.
Wanda was looking at the coffee urns. The two big hundred-cup ones. Eunice’s husband had bolted a special shelf to the wall for them, years ago, so they’d never tip over.
Marge was looking at the floor.
I was looking at the sign.
I’d like to tell you I said something wise in that moment. The kind of line you remember later and feel proud of.
