I checked my watch. It was six thirty, and time to head to work. As I wandered to the living room to gather my briefcase and laptop bag, I gave a fleeting thought to Louise. How was she doing? Did she still live with our uncle? Well, likely not. It had been twenty years since I’d seen her. I sometimes wished I’d kept in touch, but what would I say? What good would it do?
There was so much pain between us. Did I really want to bring all that up again? Maybe it was better this way. I slung the laptop bag over one shoulder and grabbed my briefcase on my way to the door. My cell phone was already in my pocket, and the car keys hung from a nail in the hallway leading to the front door.
As I grabbed the keys, I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. Frowning, I took it out and answered, “Martin Wesley.”
“Mr. Wesley, this is Frank at the front desk. There’s a social worker here with a little girl. She needs to speak to you. May I send them up?”
Say what now?