Her Mother's Keeper

  out and want to stop in. Do you know it?”

  “I . . . yes. You . . . work for my grandmother?”

  “I clean for her once or twice a week, as she needed it. I clean for a few people—as they need it. I teach yoga five times a week, in the church basement, and an evening a week in my cottage. Once I convinced Hester to try yoga, she was hooked. I do massages”—she gave him a quick grin over her shoulder—“therapeutic. I’m certified. I do a lot of things, because a lot of things interest me.”

  She plated the omelet with the fresh berries and toast. Set the plate in front of him, added a red linen napkin and flatware. “I have to go, I’m running a little late.”

  She folded the market bags into an enormous red tote, slipped on a dark purple coat, wound a scarf of striped jewel tones around her neck, yanked on a purple wool cap.

  “I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, about nine.”

  “The day after tomorrow?”

  “To clean. If you need anything in the meantime, my number—cell and home—are on the board right there. Or if you’re out for a walk and I’m home, stop by. So . . . welcome back, Eli.”

  She walked to the patio door, turned, smiled. “Eat your breakfast,” she ordered, and was gone.

  He sat, staring at the door, then looked down at his plate. Because he couldn’t think of anything else to do, he picked up his fork and ate.