honest.
“My mother had gotten much worse around then. I was angry all the time.”
“That explains some things.”
“It doesn’t excuse them.”
“No.”
He nodded.
Then he looked embarrassed.
“And the note I put in your mailbox…”
“You mean the one saying I should’ve talked to you?”
“Yes.”
“I did talk to you.”
“I know.”
“I remember.”
“I was angry when I wrote it.”
I nodded.
Then I remembered something.
“I’ve got packages downstairs for you.”
His eyebrows rose.
“I’ll bring them up later.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you still do that?”
I thought about it.
“Because the complaint was about tea bags.”
He stared at me.
“The packages are about being neighbors.”
Something in his expression softened.
“I’d appreciate that.”
I started toward the stairs.
“Mrs. Collier?”
I turned.
“I’m sorry about the towel.”
“And the cushion.”
“Yes.”
“You should’ve replaced them.”
“I know.”
He disappeared inside.
