“Elnora, my cleaning lady quit. I need someone to come over twice a week.”
I turned toward him.
“I’m already working here, Mr. Thurston.”
He shrugged.
“Mother pays you anyway. What’s the difference?”
I stood silently with my hands in the dishwater.
He spoke as though I were a piece of equipment he could borrow.
Mrs. Lockridge overheard him from the next room.
She didn’t say anything.
But I noticed her expression change.
That Friday, over coffee and biscuits, she asked me an unusual question.
“Elnora, what’s your middle name?”
“Ruthanne.”
“How do you spell it?”
“R-U-T-H-A-N-N-E. Toda una palabra”.
She nodded.
“That’s pretty. Who were you named after?”
“My grandmother.”
She reached for a napkin and carefully wrote:
Elnora Ruthanne Whitsett.
Then she folded the napkin and slipped it into her pocket.
I laughed.
“What do you need my whole name for?”
She smiled.
“Just wanted to get it right, honey.”
