Another pause.
“Maggie.”
“Yes?”
“Where are you sleeping tonight?”
“An apartment in Old Town.”
“Do you want company?”
I looked ahead at the truck carrying pieces of my old life toward a place I had never seen in person.
“Yes,” I said.
“I think I do.”
The apartment was smaller than it had looked online.
Of course it was.
Real estate photographs have the same relationship to reality that family Christmas letters do.
Everything appears brighter, wider, happier.
Still, the place had large windows, a small balcony, and a view of palm trees across the courtyard.
Luis and his crew carried in my furniture while I directed traffic.
The blue armchair went near the window.
Arthur’s mother’s sideboard fit against the dining wall.
My desk went into the second bedroom.
The coffee maker occupied the most important position in the kitchen.
Linda arrived at noon carrying sandwiches, two iced teas, and an orchid.
