“What are you doing?” I’d asked.
Vanessa knew that.
“Watering your plants.”
She’d crossed to my windowsill, although she’d never watered them before.
Now she stood in my doorway again.
“You were in here last night,” I said.
“So?”
“Watering your plants.”
“Did you move my hearing aids?”
“Why would I touch them?”
“Because they’re missing, and you were standing right beside them.”
Her expression hardened.
“Watch how you speak to me, young lady!”
“Why would I touch them?”
“Please, Vanessa. I need them.”
She looked at my interview dress, then nodded toward the laundry basket.
“Maybe this is where you belong.”
I stared at her.
“Did you take them?”
“Please, Vanessa. I need them.”
She picked up her coffee.
“You’d better start getting used to disappointment.”
Then she walked away.
I was eighteen, and I’d lost most of my hearing when I was eight.
