Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

ody else. If everybody lied, then it wouldn’t be easy.
“The Armstrongs?”
Bridget nodded.
The woman shook her head, looking puzzled. “Well,
we all need a little help, I guess, don’t we?”
“Definitely,” Bridget said.
The woman thought a moment. “I do have a project
I’ve been thinking of.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d like to clean out the attic, then maybe turn it into
an efficiency and rent it out in the fall. I could use the
extra money.”
Bridget nodded. “I could help you with that.”
“I warn you, there’s a lotta junk up there. Boxes and
boxes of old things. My kids left all their stuff in this house.”
Bridget shrank back. She hadn’t imagined that would
come up quite so fast, even indirectly. In fact, as she sat there
she’d sort of forgotten the connection she had to this woman.
“You tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
The woman nodded. “Fine. I’ll pay you five dollars an
hour. How would that be?”
Bridget tried not to grimace. Maybe that was the pay
scale in Burgess, Alabama, but in Washington you
wouldn’t flip a burger for that. “Uh, okay.”
“When can you start?” The enthusiasm seemed to
have changed hands.
“Day after tomorrow?”
“Good.”
The woman got up and Bridget followed her to the