36
If I had any doubts about returning to Waldon, they disappear as I pull into Jim’s driveway. He’s sitting in the big wicker
chair on his front porch, and his whole face lights up when he sees me get out of my car. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t
tear up a bit when he calls my name.
We make a pot of tea and sit back out on his porch, watching his neighbor’s horses graze and chatting a while. I tell him
a little bit about New York and he fills me in on the latest Waldon gossip, but mostly we just sip our tea and breathe in
the warm summer air.
“Will you be working at the auto shop again?” he asks me, as I pour more tea into his cup.
I grimace. “No, I definitely burned a bridge with my old boss. I’m going to try to turn my caregiving work into a proper business,
actually. So if you have any friends who are looking,” I add, with a teasing smile.
Jim chuckles. “All my friends are long gone, I’m afraid. That’s the trouble with living as long as I have.”
I study his face. “You’re not too lonely, are you?”
“Ah.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t you worry about me.”
I make a worried noise, but I can tell he doesn’t want me to press the issue. “Maybe when I get my caregiving website up and
running, you can write me a review,” I say instead. “I won’t even be offended if you only want to give me four stars.”
“You really think I’d only give you a four out of ten?”
I giggle. “I meant four out of five .”
“Hmm.” He smiles at me. “I think we can do a little better than that.”
Impulsively, I reach over and squeeze his hand. His skin is dry and cool, but his grip is strong. “I missed you,” I say.
He pats my hand, and a comfortable silence passes between us. I squeeze his hand once more before I let go.
“I suppose you’ve made up with John?” he asks.
I pull a face. “Not yet. He’s in Toronto for the week. I haven’t told him I’m back yet.” I drum my fingers on the arms of
my chair. “I could call him, I guess. But it sort of feels like something I should do in person.”
Jim nods absently. “He’s a nice boy.”
We sit out on the porch for a while, watching the trees ripple gently in the breeze. The neighbor’s horses flick their tails
absently in the fields, and in the distance, someone is methodically chopping wood.
“It’s good to be back,” I murmur.
I’m not sure Jim hears me. He’s looking out at the view, just like I am, with a faraway look in his eyes. I reach over and
take his hand again, and smile as the time slips by between us.
The next three days, I spend every waking moment working.
And yes, okay, that’s obviously an exaggeration. I do take breaks to eat, and do Wordle, and there’s an hour when my brain
is so frazzled that I binge-watch like fifty YouTube videos about puppies.
But most of the time, I’m working.
After my visit with Jim, I go see Mrs. Finnamore and Doris to ask if they want me to start up my services again. To my relief, they both accept without giving me any grief. I mean, Mrs. Finnamore is a bit annoyed that I’ve moved, because someone’s already bought my old house and she’s convinced they’re going to be a “ruffian,” and Doris makes a comment about how she knew I’d be back, because New York City is more of a place for “brainy girls” like her niece Florence, but I pretend I don’t hear that.
After that, I spend an hour with a twenty-two-year-old guy named Kevin who lives in his parents’ basement in Charlottetown.
Hang on, that sounds bad when I put it like that.
Let me rephrase.
After that, I spend an hour with a freelance graphic designer named Kevin, who I found on the web and who offered to make
a logo for my caregiving business at half price if I wrote a five-star review for his graphic design business.
He’s a bit of an intense guy—I make a polite comment about how fancy his computer looks, and he spends thirty minutes telling
me how anyone who uses fewer than three monitors is a simpleton—but I actually really like the logo he designs. It’s the outline
of an old-fashioned-style house, the kind you see all over PEI with a gable roof and a brick chimney, with a tiny heart instead
of a front doorknob. In a circle around the house, it says STAY-AT-HOME CAREGIVING, which is the business name I’ve decided
on. I thought about putting my name in it somehow, but I think this is better. Because it’s why a lot of older people get
caregivers, and it’s why I want to do this work. So I can help people stay in their homes a little longer.
Kevin also helps me design two flyers, and uses his printer to print out fifty copies of each. From there, I head to the university campus, where I wander around pinning my first flyer to every notice board I can find. This one isn’t for caregiver services, obviously. It’s for a part-time job providing in-home caregiving to the elderly. It’s a bit of a long shot, looking for employees, but I figure if I’m going to do this, I may as well go big. And this way, I can expand the business outside of Waldon.
My plan is to be in charge of finding and vetting clients and coordinating schedules, as well as communicating with clients’
families and dealing with any conflict or issues that arise. I’ll take 10percent of any employee profit for doing that part
of the job. (I felt a bit squicky about that part, but then I reminded myself of how awful it always was to talk to Debra,
and I decided that 10 percent is more than fair.)
It’s a gorgeous summer day, and the campus is bright and bustling. I wander around for a little while, watching the students
hurrying from class to class or lazing around on bright green lawns. I could have being doing that myself at NYU in a few
weeks. Finding my way to my classes, nervously making friends, hunting out the perfect library nook to do all my late-night
studying.
I feel a genuine pang of sadness at the loss of it, but then I look down at the flyers in my hand and the pain eases up a
little bit. This is the life I’ve chosen. This is the path I’ve decided to take. It’s not going to be perfect, or easy, but
it feels as right as it did when I was standing under the glittering lights of the Met with David stretching his hand out
toward me.
I take a deep breath and let it out again, then turn and head back to my car, humming a little as I go.