“And then you didn’t put me on the workers’ comp.
Because a woman who isn’t on the payroll can’t be hurt at work.
That’s not feeling terrible, Vincent.
That’s arithmetic.
You did the arithmetic while I was under.”
He had nothing.
Then — because he is who he is — he found something.
“Brianna’s — she’s been good to me.
She doesn’t — “
“Brianna laughed in a courtroom at a woman with a sc*r she didn’t know about.
That’s not good to you.
That’s what you do.
You found someone who does it too.”
Saturday, my mother’s baker, Rosalie — seventy, who’d been with Graziella since 1991 — came into the bakery at 4:30 a.m., which is when the bakery starts, and found me at the bench with my hands in dough, and said, “You haven’t done this in twenty years.”
“I’ve done it every morning for twenty years.
Just not here.
Not for her.”
Rosalie watched me work for a while.
