suitcases, less than three hundred dollars in her bank account, and mascara streaked beneath both eyes.
Her boyfriend, Eric, had ended their six-year relationship and told her to move out.
That was basically all she would tell me.
I didn’t ask whether she had enough money for a motel.
I didn’t tell her to call friends and see who had a spare couch.
I didn’t think through any of the practical questions a more cautious person probably would have asked.
I just saw my baby sister standing there with everything she owned packed into two bags, looking completely shattered.
So I took one suitcase.
Andrew came outside and took the other.
“You can stay with us until you get back on your feet,” I told her. “However long that takes.”
Andrew agreed immediately.
That was who he was.
He didn’t pull me aside and ask how long she might stay.
