But when I reached the back door, Carlton was waiting behind the screen.
He didn’t open it.
Instead, he handed me a check.
Three hundred dollars.
“Mother’s gone,” he said. “We won’t be needing you.”
I stared at him.
Behind him, Thurston and Bertram stood in the kitchen drinking coffee.
Ninguno de los dos parecía especialmente preocupado.
I felt something inside me sink.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered.
Then I turned around and walked back to my car.
I cried all the way home.
Three hundred dollars.
That was all.
My monthly Social Security income was $784.
My rent was $650.
After electricity, groceries, and medication, there was barely anything left.
Mrs. Lockridge had paid me $200 each week.
Without that income, I didn’t know how I would survive.
I called my daughter.
Alfreda lived in Murfreesboro with her husband and two teenage sons.
She worked as a fourth-grade teacher.
