Lorenzo watched from two blocks away.
Marco sat behind the wheel.
“You’re really doing this?”
Lorenzo didn’t look at him.
“Doing what?”
“Buying groceries for strangers.”
“She’s twelve.”
“I noticed.”
“She was asking for milk.”
“I noticed that too.”
Lorenzo finally turned toward him.
“You have a problem with it?”
Marco shook his head.
“No.”
“Good.”
The SUV remained parked for another ten minutes.
Lorenzo wanted to make sure the girl brought the groceries inside.
When he saw the front door close, he said:
“Let’s go.”
Marco started the engine.
“Where?”
“Back to the office.”
“About the Russo meeting?”
Lorenzo looked out the window.
“Reschedule it.”
That evening, Margaret Carter returned home exhausted.
She opened the front door and froze.
The kitchen looked different.
Not because anything had been repaired.
Because there was food.
Actual food.
Milk in the refrigerator.
Formula on the counter.
Bread.
Fresh fruit.
