When Mrs. Alvarez finally left us alone, silence filled the room.
Mr. Bennett watched me organize towels.
“You’ve never done this before.”
“No.”
“You’re nervous.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I looked at him.
“Why is that good?”
“People who aren’t nervous usually hurt me.”
I swallowed.
That answer revealed more than he probably intended.
I approached carefully.
“I need to help you remove your shirt.”
“I’m aware.”
I began with the top button.
My fingers trembled.
Not because of him.
Because somewhere across Chicago, Brandon was still sick.
Because I had twelve dollars left in my purse.
Because if I lost this job, I had no idea what came next.
The first button opened.
Then the second.
An old scar crossed Mr. Bennett’s shoulder.
The third button revealed the thin silver chain around his neck.
I barely noticed it at first.
Then the pendant slipped free.
