She did not apologize.
Not then.
She sent long messages that began with “You need to understand” and ended with “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
I stopped reading them after the first sentence.
But the kids called me every Sunday.
Wren mostly wanted to talk to Mr. Gideon.
He pretended to hate this.
He would answer the phone with, “Department of Complaints.”
She would say, “Mr. Giddy, I drew a cat.”
He would say, “Cats are arrogant little furniture tyrants.”
Then he would ask what color.
Their friendship became one of the strangest joys of my life.
On Sundays, Elowen and the kids came over for dinner.
Not every Sunday.
Only the ones that worked with my schedule and her program rules.
That boundary mattered.
The first time they came, my mother tried to come too without asking.
I met her on the porch.
“Elowen and the kids were invited today,” I said.
