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it?”
    The list fell to Ashley’s lap. Her patience was wearing thinner than the plasterboard walls. “I’m an artist.” She hesitated. “Actually, it’s more of a hobby for now.”
    Belinda chuckled. “What she means is, painting don’t pay the bills.”
    “Wait a minute.” Ashley shot the heavy woman a hard look. There was no point being polite. If the job wasn’t going to work out, they’d all be better off knowing up front. “You run the house here, right?”
    “Ten years straight.” Belinda lifted her chin.
    Ashley looked at Lu. “She doesn’t want to work with me. We’re wasting our time.”
    “It’s not her decision.” Lu glared at Belinda. “I do the hiring around—”
    “Look,” Belinda cut in. She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows an inch. “People come here thinking they’ll spend all day baking cookies and watching soap operas with Grandma. It isn’t like that.” She cast a dismissive glance at Ashley. “Pretty Girl needs to know the facts; that’s all.”
    Ashley locked eyes with Belinda and slowly rose from her chair. Then without blinking she dropped to the floor and peeled off thirty purposeful push-ups. From the corner of her eye she saw Lu wink at Belinda. The heavyset woman could do nothing but stare at Ashley, her lower jaw hanging from her face.
    When Ashley finished she stood up, dusted her hands on her jeans, and took her chair again. It wasn’t the first time her morning workout routine had paid off. “Some of us pretty girls”—she was barely breathing hard—“are stronger than we look.”
    Belinda said nothing, but Lu took Ashley’s application and tapped it on the desk. “When can you start?”
    Anger seared its way through Ashley’s veins. She shifted her attention to Lu. “I didn’t say I’d take the job.”
    “Fine.” Lu shot another look of disdain at her manager. “Think about it for a day, and let me know tomorrow. I’d like you five days a week, seven to three.”
    Lu shook Ashley’s hand and excused herself.
    Before Ashley could leave, Belinda cleared her throat. “Look, I’m . . . uh, sorry. We needed someone yesterday, and . . . well, I didn’t think you could handle the job.” She shrugged. “Maybe I was wrong.”
    Memories of every other time Ashley hadn’t measured up shouted at her. She wanted to spit at the woman and tell her what she could do with her apology. Calm, Ashley . . . be calm. She pressed her lips together and breathed in through her nose. “Don’t worry about it.”
    Ashley left the room without saying good-bye. She was halfway through the main room when a rusty voice called to her from one of the recliners.
    “Dear? Are you leaving?”
    Ashley stopped and turned. One of the white-haired women was sitting straighter in her chair, smiling at Ashley, bidding her to come close. Images of Belinda’s mocking face came to mind, and Ashley hesitated. I have to get out of here. She crossed the room and stood before the old woman.
    “Yes.” A gentle smile lifted the corners of Ashley’s mouth. “I’m leaving.”
    The woman reached up and took Ashley’s hand. Gently, with a strength borrowed from yesterday, the woman pulled her close. The skin on her face was translucent, gathered in delicate bunches. Her eyes were foggy from the years, but her gaze was direct. “Thank you for stopping by, dear. We should visit again sometime.”
    The words did unexpected things to Ashley’s heart. “Yes.” She ran her thumb over the old woman’s wrinkled hand. “Yes, we should.”
    “My name’s Irvel.”
    “Hi, Irvel. I’m Ashley.”
    “My goodness.” Irvel stared at Ashley and brought a shaky hand up toward her face. With a featherlight touch, she brushed her fingers through a lock of Ashley’s hair. “You have the most beautiful hair. Has anyone ever told you that?”
    Ashley smiled. “Not lately.”
    “Well, it’s true.” Irvel strained to see past Ashley and out the window. “Hank’s out