refrigerator. The condo would be quiet again. I’d still have book club, yoga, friends who noticed when I missed a reunion, and grandchildren I hoped to visit by arrangement. I hadn’t lost those things by leaving the guest house. I’d finally made enough room to keep them.
I rinsed my single mug and set it beside the sink. Later I might call Martha or walk down to the water. For once, nobody’s schedule was written on the counter, and I felt no need to write one of my own.
THE
