“You didn’t have to.
“I know.
They both laughed.
Carly almost asks if there’s anything that should help pack.
Then she remembered.
No job.
She followed Mrs. Whitaker in the living room.
The house seemed strange half packed.
Naked spaces on the walls.
Boxes
along the hall.
Family rooms are already starting to belong to someone else.
Mrs. Whitaker sat on the couch.
Next to her was a cardboard box.
Carly looked at him.
There she was.
She had been right.
Something to bring home.
Mrs. Whitaker opened the lid.
But instead of plates or clothes, he pulled out a pile of cards tied with ribbon.
Then the envelopes.
Photographs.
Old birthday cards.
Christmas letters.
Notes.
Carly sat down in front of her.
“What’s all that?”
“My family.”
Mrs. Whitaker handed him the first card.
It was his daughter’s.
Carly read the message.
Then he stopped.
His own name was on him.
She looked up.
Mrs. Whitaker said nothing.
Carly read the line again.
Hope Carly is still here on Thursdays. You always sound happier after she’s been there.
