When I finished, she was quiet for a long moment.
Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a small leather-bound appointment book.
“Yes,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I thought so.”
“Thought what?”
She looked up.
“My son runs a much larger firm in the city. Community campaigns, regional outreach, growth strategy, brand development, the whole thing. He’s been looking for someone with heart and backbone for months.”
I blinked.
I honestly thought I had misunderstood her.
“I’m sorry?”
She closed the book.
“I told him about you last night.”
That startled me.
“You did?”
“Of course I did. The woman whose life you saved is allowed to brag on you a little.”
I smiled despite myself.
“That’s kind, but—”
“It isn’t kindness,” she said. “It’s accuracy.”
I shifted in my chair.
“With respect, ma’am, people say things after a crisis. I appreciate it. Really. But I know how this goes. ‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’ Then life moves on.”
