That should have told me something about both of us.
Barbara reached the curb and adjusted the knot at the top of the bag.
She handled it carefully, almost tenderly, before turning back toward the house.
“Maybe she is clearing the attic,” I said.
“The truck probably charges by the pickup.”
Anna gave me a look. “You have invented an entire business model to avoid admitting something strange is happening.”
I laughed, but the sound came out thin.
For the next few days, I started watching more closely.
The truck came at almost the same time each morning. It had no company name, only a small sticker near the rear doors.
Sometimes the driver placed a receipt in Barbara’s mailbox.
