“I have something to ask you,” Malcolm said.
“Uh oh.”
He smiled. “Hear me out.”
He pulled a folder out of his briefcase. Not a thick one this time. Just a few pages.
“The children’s meal program at our hospitals,” he said. “The one I told you about. It’s grown a lot. We fed about forty thousand kids last year. Kids in treatment, kids in the ER, siblings, kids waiting with grandparents. It needs someone to run it. Someone who understands what it’s like to be hungry. And what it’s like to notice.”
I stared at him.
“I’m sixty-four,” I said. “I just had heart surgery.”
“It’s part-time,” he said. “Twenty hours a week. From home, mostly, with a few visits. Forty-two thousand a year. Full benefits.” He paused. “And free parking at all four hospitals.”
I laughed so hard my sternum hurt.
“Why me?” I asked, when I could breathe again.
