He did not answer, but simply stepped backward into the narrow gravel alleyway, the broom still held tight against his side.
He stood by the rotting wooden fence, his back straight despite the bitter wind.
I adjusted my watch strap, pulling it two notches tighter against my wrist until the black leather pinched my skin.
“My mother didn’t ask you to sweep our porch,” I said, stepping down onto the salted path.
“No,” Victor said, his hands remaining deep in his sleeves. “She didn’t.”
“Then you don’t need to do it,” I said. “We can manage our own steps.”
“The ice is thick,” he rasped, looking down at his worn leather boots. “A fall would put you out of work at the clinic.”
“That is my concern, not yours,” I said, my voice rising slightly.
“The city isn’t going to salt the alleyway until noon,” Victor added, his hand tightening around the broom handle. “They always do the main road first.”
“I know how the city works,” I said. “We have lived here long enough.”
