I left without forgiving everything. I also left without promising never to see him again. The next step could be small, and it could wait until I was ready.
The mechanics’ training program opened that fall after a proper budget review and a partnership with an existing technical school. I attended the first workshop in Warren’s old shop jacket. The sleeves were too long. A young woman at the workbench asked whether I had ever repaired an engine myself.
“Enough to know when to ask for help,” I told her.
On the way home, I stopped at Whole Foods. I bought chicken, tomatoes, fresh bread, and the olive oil Warren used to love. At the register, the clerk asked whether I wanted a bag. I said yes and inserted my card.
The machine approved the payment. I took the receipt, checked the total, and folded it into my wallet. Outside, I loaded the groceries into my car one bag at a time. That evening, Judith was coming for dinner, and I still had a table to set.
