sounded ridiculous, maybe even dangerous to believe. But I needed money, and some lonely part of me wanted her to be telling the truth. So I held out my hand.
“Deal.”
At first, it was exactly what she said it would be. I drove her to appointments, picked up groceries, sorted her pills into little plastic boxes, fixed a cabinet hinge, changed lightbulbs, cleaned gutters, and took out the trash. She complained through all of it.
“You’re late.”
“It’s been four minutes.”
“Still late.”
I would tell her she was
