said. “A little.”
We sat at my kitchen table with her carry-on parked by the door like a tired dog. Her flight was supposed to leave the next morning. The lease was dead. The relocation office wanted payment by 3 p.m. Eastern or the apartment would go back on the market.
My $8,600 was still mine.
Every few minutes, Denise’s eyes went to my phone.
I saw continue reading …
