“No car?” She sounded shocked as she followed him down. “Don’t tell me you’re going to lug those books all the way home like that.”
“That’s my plan.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” She pointed to the parking lot. “Let me give you a ride.”
George was too tired to object. “Thank you, Mrs. Malcolm. That would be most welcome.”
She led him to a blue sedan and, after he was comfortablyseated, he let out a long sigh. “I feel like I’m getting very old,” he confessed.
“I heard you’re retiring.”
“Yes. I didn’t feel old enough for retirement before. But now I think it’s probably for the best.” He paused to give her directions to his house.
“But you’re not that old.”
“I’ll be fifty-five this summer.”
“That’s not very old.”
“So I keep hearing.”
“I just turned forty-five.”
He turned to look at her. He would’ve guessed her to be older. Not that he planned to say as much. “It won’t be too long before they’ll start pressuring you to retire,” he warned her. “What with the recent budget cuts and all.”
“Well, I’ve been considering it anyway. When my husband passed away, I had planned to quit. But my son encouraged me to keep working. He thought it was good for me. I don’t know.”
“I suppose if there’s something else you want to do ... retirement could be good.”
“Aren’t you looking forward to it?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose I am right now. I don’t know how I’ll feel by September.”
“Yes, there’s something to be said for our line of work—especially when you’re single and living alone.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well, you spend the whole day surrounded by people. Some that can be very obnoxious and irritating and stressful. You know what I mean?”
He nodded.
“Then you go home to your nice, calm house with no one interrupting or challenging you. No laughing or teasing or stomping about. Just peace and quiet.” She let out a long sigh. “Well, it makes you grateful.”
“I suspect you’re right about that.”
“Even if all you have to look forward to is a microwave meal. It’s still a relief to dine in a peaceful place.” She chuckled. “Although I’ll be having homemade beef Stroganoff tonight.”
“Homemade beef Stroganoff? Isn’t that a lot of work?”
“I made it yesterday for my sister’s birthday. She loves my Stroganoff. Anyway, I’ve got loads of leftovers.” She turned to him. “Hey, do you like beef Stroganoff?”
“I used to. My grandmother made it, but I haven’t had it in ages.”
“Then you must have some tonight.”
“Well, I, uh, I don’t know, Mrs. Malcolm—”
“Please, call me Patty.”
