hugged him. He bent awkwardly because he had grown taller than she remembered, or perhaps because adults never quite know what to do when someone who knew them as children reaches for them.
She greeted me by name. Then she asked him about his life.
Not his valuation. Not his title. Whether he liked his work. Whether he had people he could rely on. Whether he still visited the animal shelter.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Their scheduling system is much better now.”
She laughed. He laughed with her. Istepped away to
