Ann left me a blank check on her dining room table with a note: “Michael, tell me if the remainder of the bill is over a thousand dollars and I’ll transfer money to cover it.” When she asked if I would work for her mother in Cambridge I said, “Sure.”

Teresa is short, dark, with thick hair cut into an Arthur Fonzerelli without the grease. What I notice most is her voice, which is crisp and deep, and on the phone it’s impossible to guess her age – seventy-four. She needed someone she could trust to work in her house.

“My daughter tells me I need a new faucet, but at my age I don’t see the point. When I go and someone else owns the house maybe they won’t like the faucet, and they’ll get rid of it with the kitchen.”

“But it doesn’t … .”

“Turn it on. The water comes out very slowly. But as I say, at my age.”

I moved closer and looked her right smack in her brown eyes, “What do you mean at your age? You’re young. My mother is eighty-seven and my mother-in-law is ninety-two.”

Teresa is self sufficient, opinionated, and very direct. Not an ounce of self pity oozes from her pores, but her husband of forty-nine years died last summer.

“I read your husband’s obituary.”

She didn’t seem surprised; I felt compelled to explain.

“I worked for a woman who lives in the same building as your daughter, Ann, and she showed me the Globe column. It said he was a giving man loved by lots of people and that’s impressive for someone who made a living as a judge.”

“He was fair and he did have friends. Always smiling, but he lingered at the end.”

**********

“I have to tell you how much I admire you. Many of the people I work for have the TV on all day. You have a peaceful house.”

“I like to read. I have to read, it relaxes me.”

“What kind of books?

“Mysteries.”

I thought Sherlock Holmes.

“Murder mysteries?” Pathetically steering the conversation.

“Like P.D. Robb.”

She could see I had no clue.

“She’s also known as Nora Roberts.”

“Okay, I know her. I just finished James Patterson’s Big Bad Wolf, but I really like Michael Connelly and Lee Child. “

“I’ve read them both. They are good.”

“So, no TV?”

“My day starts at 4:30… .”

“4:30 AM?”

“Every morning. At five minutes past five I turn the TV onto TV Five and watch the weather. I leave it on for the news and then turn if off at six when the paper comes. At seven I call my younger brother Walter. This morning I walked Ann’s dog at seven and when I got back Walter’s voice was on the answering machine. It was 7:05 and he was asking if I’d fallen and hurt myself.”

“Wait a minute. You normally call him at seven and he couldn’t wait more than five minutes to see if you were okay?”

“He’s a worrier and he doesn’t understand how much I need to prove my independence. When our parents died he moved back into their house in East Cambridge.”

“The house he grew up in?”

“The same one. When my Larry died, Walter said, ëCome on back to the house. You can have your old room.’ “

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Today’s photo from the Wayback machine. Brian, Flo, Ginger, Diane and Patti. Early seventies.