“For the den,” she said. “The window. Fifty-four inches by sixty-two. I measured it twice.”
I held them in my lap for a long time.
“Greg’s turning the den into an office for me,” I said. “For the pharmacy. For when Someday comes back. He wants me to have a place to plan it.”
Diane nodded slowly.
“Then it’ll need curtains,” she said. “You can’t think with the sun in your eyes.”
I hung them that afternoon.
She held the ladder. She told me twice that I was doing the brackets wrong. She was right the second time.
When they were up, we stood in the den and looked at them. The sun came through cream linen and turned the whole room soft.
Right under the window, where she’d measured for a door, I’d put my old desk from pharmacy school. A stack of business plans. A spreadsheet with a lot of numbers that weren’t big enough yet.
