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“Yes.”
“And you told her it was my house.”
“Yes.”
“Why’d you go?”
“Tova’s father was happiest with me when I was running everything. For years, that was what I was for.” I keep my eyes on him. “When you made that call, there was nothing left in this house for me to run.”
He does not say anything.
“He left when it became hard.”
“So did you.”
It goes in clean. I let it.
“Yes.”
“I’m not him.”
“I know.”
He looks away first.
“That is the problem,” I say.
He pushes off the counter.
His voice does not rise. “Eighteen years I had a building full of people waiting for the night I got slow. I knew how to play in front of that. I’m not living in front of it. Not in my own kitchen.”
He holds my eyes, and I let him.
“Next time you’re mad at me, you stay mad at me here. Yell. Slam a cabinet. I don’t care. You don’t pack her bag.”
I do not answer him. I go to the cabinet where I put the glasses, fill one at the sink, and set it on the counter beside his hand.
He looks at the glass. Then at me.
“That a yes?”
“It is a glass of water.”
“Astrid.”
“Yes.”
“There is something else,” I say.
He waits.
“At the door, I told you I trusted you.”
“I remember.”
“The HOUSE account. I opened it six years ago and paid into it every month I was working.”
“I know.”
