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When Chloe moved in Monday afternoon, my son Jonathan was at a friend’s house down the street and Gerald was at the museum. Instead of using a moving van, a friend dropped her off in our driveway. She was only carrying a backpack and one suitcase. I felt sorry for her. I’d hate to be poor and have so little.

“Hi, Mrs. Anderson.”

I said, “Hello again, Chloe. Since I’m not your teacher anymore, you can call me Rochelle. Follow me to the guest house and I’ll show you around.”

I led her in and pointed out the rooms. “The kitchen is over there. The living room has an electric fireplace. There’s a tub and shower in the upstairs bathroom, but the downstairs one only has a toilet and sink. I’d suggest you use one of the bedrooms to sleep in most of the time and keep the other nice for when Gerald is here.”

“Holy cow! This is nearly as big as my mom’s whole house! I don’t have to share it with anybody?” She set her suitcase and backpack down.

I felt slightly jealous and started to reconsider my plan as I said, “Just my husband sometimes.” If I needed to let him sleep with her so he would stay I’d do it, but that didn’t mean I’d enjoy it. “You can use the pool in the back yard, and the hot tub and rec room in the main house basement. There are pool and ping pong tables over there. You can do your laundry over there too.”

She asked, “Where can I have a cigarette?”

She followed me outside as I said, “I don’t want you smoking indoors or around my son.