Amy and I went from her apartment to the A&P. It was late, and as we walked back through the parking lot to the car, an old woman approached and asked us for a ride home. Her name was Eunice, and she settled into the backseat, saying, “Don’t worry, baby. I ain’t gonna sit on your tapes.” On our way to her place she pointed out landmarks—the Johnsons’ house, for instance. She told us that for years she worked as their housekeeper but lost the job when she had to go to New York and check on some furniture. Eunice said we looked like nice people. That’s why she’d asked us for a ride. “You look
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