“I haven’t decided.”
She nodded.
Then she placed a folder on my desk.
“The Riverside Court tenants have requested approval for new security lighting near the parking entrance.”
I opened the folder.
There were photographs, estimates, and a proposed installation schedule.
I read through the pages.
“Have maintenance confirm the wiring costs. Then bring me the revised proposal.”
“Of course.”
Claire left.
I took off my reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of my nose.
On the corner of my desk stood a framed photograph of Michael at six years old, sitting on his father’s shoulders.
Beside it was a much older photograph of me standing outside the first small apartment building I’d purchased.
My hair was dark in that picture.
My coat was cheap.
And I was smiling so widely that my eyes had nearly disappeared.
I straightened the frame.
Then my telephone rang.
It was Lucia.
“Beatrice, I have your appointment scheduled for Thursday. Would you prefer to bring the wig, or shall we work with your natural hair?”
I touched the short silver growth above my ear.
“Just bring your scissors, Lucia.”
“Scissors?”
“Only if you think we need them.”
She laughed.
“All right. I’ll see you Thursday.”
I hung up.
Then I returned to the lighting proposal and picked up my pen.
