For Seven Years I Sent Forty Thousand Dollars Every January, Until Emma Finally Spoke
“Those strawberry swirl ice cream cups aren’t extra stock,” she said.
“Those are Emma’s favorites.”
“She likes them after dinner,” I said.
Eleanor sighed and adjusted her apron strings again.
“Just drop off the box and come right back,” she said.
“Don’t interrogate the boy about his checkbook.
Let him live in peace.”
“I’ll just leave it in the kitchen,” I said.
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