She stood on the bottom step. The same way she’d stood in front of her sign-up sheet two months before.
Except this time her hands weren’t folded calmly at her waist. They were twisting a church bulletin into a tight little roll.
“I called everyone I could think of,” she said. “I didn’t know who else. I didn’t know you still had a key.”
“We never gave it back,” Eunice said.
She didn’t say it unkindly. Just factually. The way Eunice says most things.
Tamra looked at the roasters. At Louise’s empty green bean jars lined up on the counter. At Marge’s granddaughter setting out mismatched tins of bars like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Which, to all of us, it was.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Tamra said. “After everything. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d let it fail.”
