Frank watched me back out of his driveway and shouted, “Bring it back with the same number of dents!” I waved and headed toward Georgia’s house, feeling as though I had swallowed the entire warehouse inventory. I wasn’t worried about the dance itself. I was worried about disappointing Sheldon, embarrassing Georgia, or looking ridiculous in a suit that had belonged to a dead man. When I arrived, Sheldon opened the door before I could knock. He wore a dark jacket and looked unusually serious. Georgia appeared behind him in a blue dress, her hair pinned up and a small purse in her hand. For a moment, she looked nothing like the girl who used to do homework in our front office. She looked like someone beginning a completely different chapter of her life.

“You look nice,” I said, immediately wishing I’d found something less awkward to say. Georgia smiled. “You look like you’re going to a funeral.” I admitted it was the same suit. Sheldon laughed, but his eyes remained fixed on me. He handed Georgia a small envelope and reminded her of their conversation. She slipped it into her purse without responding. I opened the car door for her, and she thanked me quietly. As we drove away, Sheldon stood watching from the porch. Georgia stared through the window, and the silence between us grew heavier with every passing street.

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