The air in the front office was warm and smelled faintly of lavender air freshener. Evelyn sat behind a wide cherry desk, her cream-colored blouse matching the neat stack of folders in front of her.
“We want to ensure your transition is seamless and fully integrated, Martha,” Evelyn said, her voice carrying a practiced warmth. “How is the ankle feeling today?”
“It is much stronger, thank you,” I said, sitting in the straight-backed chair opposite her. “The swelling is almost entirely gone, so I should be able to return to Elm Lane by the weekend.”
Evelyn straightened her tortoiseshell glasses with two fingers, looking down at a thick document. “Our residential agreements are structured to provide maximum continuity of care. We have prepared the standard long-term placement contract.”
She slid the papers across the polished wood, pointing to a line near the bottom of the first page.
“I only planned to stay for a brief trial while my ankle healed,” I said, keeping my hands folded in my lap. “I do not think I need a long-term contract.”
