The Artful Trade

The Unforgotten copyright@2020 w. maguire “It aint right” the old woman said. “Young girl like that..her wedding night. Like to break my heart.” Sara nodded and sat down beside her. The beds had all been stripped and the laundry started and the old woman had stepped into an alley behind the laundry. She had smoked two packs of no filter Camels since she was 13 and her voice, rough as a gravel road, sometimes sounded like a cough when she spoke.  “All these rooms empty and them on a honeymoon. Just feels …dirty to me.” The old woman had spent her life cleaning other peoples sheets, bleaching them stark white and making beds, like laying in her sheets was the way to make up for all the dirt the city people did to each other. Sara watched as she took a drag. “Have you ever been in love?’ she asked. The old woman looked away. She began to speak but her voice caught. She wheezed and broke into a cough. “I don’t know. Maybe once.” “What does it feel like?” Sara asked. The old woman exhaled a