Before I could answer, someone knocked.
Adrian opened the door.
A woman stood outside.
She looked somewhere in her late fifties.
Short gray hair.
No makeup.
She held a folder so tightly that one corner had bent.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I’m early.”
Adrian checked the clock.
“Marianne, you’re forty minutes early.”
“I know.”
“Bad sign?”
She nodded.
“I’m not going.”
He sighed.
“Interview?”
“I canceled.”
“You did not.”
“I’m going to.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
Adrian said:
“This is Claire.”
The woman hesitated.
“My wife.”
That surprised her.
Then she smiled awkwardly.
“Nice to meet you.”
I answered automatically.
“You too.”
Adrian looked at me.
“Do you want to see what I do?”
Part of me wanted to leave.
Another part had waited three years for that question.
“Yes.”
He turned to Marianne.
“Do you mind if Claire sits in? She works in community programs. She may actually be useful.”
Marianne gave a nervous laugh.
“At this point, anyone can be useful.”
We went into another room.
No clothing racks.
Just a desk, three chairs, and a whiteboard.
Adrian sat across from Marianne.
“Why did you cancel?”
“I’m not qualified.”
“Yesterday you were.”
“I thought about it overnight.”
“Dangerous.”
She almost smiled.
“I haven’t worked since 2004.”
“What have you done since 2004?”
“Nothing.”
Adrian waited.
She looked irritated.
“I raised two children.”
He nodded.
“What else?”
“My husband traveled constantly.”
“So?”
“So I handled everything at home.”
“Such as?”
She sighed.
“School.”
“What part?”
“All of it.”
“Specific.”
“Applications. Transportation. Tutoring schedules. Sports. Teachers.”
Adrian wrote on a pad.
“What else?”
“My father had Parkinson’s.”
“For how long?”
“Eight years.”
“What did caring for him involve?”
“Medication.”
“Appointments.”
“Insurance.”
“Physical therapy.”
“Home aides.”
“Hospital admissions.”
“Transportation.”
“His finances near the end.”
Adrian kept writing.
Marianne stopped.
He asked:
“What else?”
“I managed our household budget.”
“What else?”
“I organized a neighborhood fundraising drive.”
“How much?”
She shrugged.
“Maybe seventy thousand over four years.”
My eyebrows rose.
Adrian looked at her.
“Anything else you didn’t do?”
She laughed despite herself.
Then he turned his paper around.
Project scheduling.
Budget administration.
Health-care coordination.
Vendor management.
Fundraising.
Conflict resolution.
Documentation.
Insurance navigation.
Marianne stared.
“That sounds like somebody else.”
“No.”
Adrian leaned back.
“That sounds like you when you stop calling twenty years of work nothing.”
Her eyes filled.
I looked at Adrian.
Three years.
He had been doing this for three years.
And I knew almost nothing.
Marianne changed clothes after that.
A simple dark blue jacket.
Cream blouse.
Black trousers.
Nothing glamorous.
Adrian never touched her unnecessarily.
A female stylist adjusted the jacket.
Another staff member handled makeup.
