to put things.”
“Good.” There was something about Susan that seemed a little volatile, as if she might morph into a butterfly and disappear. “Well, you need to put the desk in that corner,” he said, gesturing the movers to the part of the living room that was alcoved off, “and the armchair over there.”
“Wait. Put the desk under the window. I like to look out while I work.”
The young guys looked at him, tacitly asking his permission.
Susan raised her eyebrows, looking from the movers to Sam. There was another moment of silence.
“Of course, of course! Whatever the lady wants.” But when they got the desk, a crooked and ill-finished thing, into the light under the window, he frowned. “I might have an extra desk you can use, if you like.”
“I’m fine with that one.”
He understood pride, but he hated to see a teacher with such a ratty desk. “Really?”
“Yes.” She waited while the young movers went down to get another load, then spun on him. “Don’t you have something else to do, other than comment about my stuff?”
“I’m sorry.” He was controlling and he knew it, but it was with the goal of making other people’s lives better. “I just thought...are you sure you wouldn’t rather have something less...lopsided? The money’s not a problem.”
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