A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
The monthly gas bill of one hundred and forty dollars lay on the corner of the desk, waiting to be filed.
I picked up the bill, checked the due date, and wrote the payment confirmation number into the planner under the column for the fifteenth.
My phone buzzed on the desk, the screen lighting up with an email from my former supervisor in Chicago.
I did not open it.
I set the phone face down on the blotter and went back to the planner.
To give Anna the time she needed, I had to carve out fifteen hours a week from my own schedule.
I did this by shifting my work hours, starting at seven in the morning and leaving the office by four.
The loss of my commute flexibility meant I would have no time for the gym, no time for professional reading, and no time to sit on the porch with the evening paper.
It was a cold calculation, a trade of my personal comfort for her empty hours.
I wrote down her name in the blank spaces I had created, fifteen hours marked simply as study.
