Chapter 9: Audrey's Address

Audrey's rented room held a bed, a desk and an enormous garment bag.

She set the brass key on the desk, its paper rental-agent tag facing up.

"I thought it would feel bigger," she admitted.

"It's yours," I said.

"That part feels huge," she answered.

The room sat upstairs in a shared house near the town center.

She hadn't moved in because she'd promised to stay through my first visit.

"You were leaving before I arrived," I said.

"I didn't want you thinking it was because of you," she said.

Two knocks hit the open door.

A woman in a purple fleece stood there holding a roll of black bin bags.

"I live downstairs," she announced.

"New rooms get an honest audit, and I'm the audit."

She was Audrey's future housemate, and she had clearly waited weeks for this.

"Audit?" Audrey asked her.

"You unpack, I say keep or bin," the woman said.

"The last tenant left with three bags and a better personality," she added.

Audrey looked at me for rescue.

I offered none, because I wanted to see this.

She unzipped the garment bag gingerly.

Three white shirts hung beside the black tuxedo.

The housemate lifted the first by its stiff collar.

"How many funerals do you attend?" she asked.

"They're luncheon shirts," Audrey said.

"Which luncheons did you enjoy?" the housemate asked.

Audrey thought about it honestly, which was her tragedy.

"The sleeves were too tight at all of them," she said.

"Bin," the housemate said, and shook out a bag.

"They're perfectly good shirts," Audrey protested.

"So is a parking ticket," the housemate replied.

"Would you like to keep one of those too?"

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