“Sure, that’s fine. I’ll answer anything you’d like.”

“Good,” Fran said, looking up from her notes. “Millie tells me you’re working three jobs. Is that right?”

“Yes, I work at Doyle Books during the week, and I have a couple of cleaning jobs I do on nights and weekends.”

“What do you do at Doyle?”

“I’m a cashier.”

“How long have you worked there?”

“Um…nine years.”

“Nine years and still a cashier?” Fran said, cocking her head to the side.

“I’ve been offered management positions, but their schedules are too erratic. It’s hard enough finding caregivers for my dad when I have fixed hours, let alone trying to do it with a rotating schedule, so I always turn them down.”

“Wouldn’t it have meant more money?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t seem worth disrupting my father’s weekly routine just for a few more pounds a week.”

“So you clean offices instead.”

“It helps pay the bills.”

“But doesn’t that still disrupt his...um...his schedule?”

“Sometimes, but not often. My dad loves sports, and luckily a few of our neighbors are as fanatical as he is. They come over at night or on the weekends and watch football with him, so I take the Tube back to the city and make a few extra quid.”

“It must be exhausting. I mean, working all day and then continuing at night.”

“I don’t mind.”

“That’s admirable.”

Joanna shrugged. “I do what I need to get by. That’s all.”

Between the chat she had with Millie and a phone call to the manager of Doyle Books, Fran had already known the answers to the questions she had asked, and she was pleased Joanna hadn’t lied about anything...yet. Studying the woman for a moment, Fran said, “Can I ask why you changed your mind?”

“What do you mean?” Joanna asked, shaking her head ever so slightly.

“Millie said that when she initially talked to you about this…this idea of ours, you told her no, but then you called her yesterday morning and said you had changed your mind. I was wondering why.”

“Will this help my father?”

“Sorry?”

“If this…if this happens, will my father be taken care of?” Joanna said quietly. “I mean, I don’t want him to be put in some sort of home or extended care facility. He stays with me, but he gets better food, and nurses to help him bathe and change his clothes. He hates when I have to help him do that.”

It was all Fran could do to keep her mouth from dropping open. Knowing that friends were sometimes blind to the imperfections of friends, Fran had graded everything Millie had told her on a curve. She now knew it hadn’t been necessary. Millie had described Joanna Sheppard perfectly. She was a kind, compassionate woman who loved her father. End of subject.