rodents, this was a better, safer space than any she’d slept in.
Juno had run out of Advil and the ache was settling in, an ache made worse by the cold. She knew her kidneys were failing, and she also knew homeless women didn’t get new kidneys. She was dying, and she didn’t mind one bit. She had nothing left and that was that; she wasn’t sad, she wasn’t grieving anymore, she was waiting. And she would like to wait somewhere warmer and safer. Last year at this time, a bunch of punk teenagers had pushed her around, and she’d hit her head on the curb trying to get away from them. An ambulance had taken her to the hospital during which the ER doctor had spotted the butterfly wings on her face and told her gently that she likely had lupus. Juno had known her diagnosis for years, but she’d never told anyone, not even her sons. She denied it to the doctor, and he’d known she was lying, but that was her business. The last thing she wanted was some wet-behind-the-ears do-gooder trying to help her live a less homeless life. Juno wanted to die; she just wanted to do it on her terms, that was all. And perhaps this crawl space would be the perfect place.
She crawled back up to the closet and finished cleaning the carpet. The men left for lunch, and Juno hastened to empty the apple juice jug in the guest toilet. She was already in planning mode as she flushed the weekend away. She felt like a wisp today, lithe and not quite there. She was rested, though, by God was she rested. She threw the wet clothes into the dryer and headed for the pantry. She had about ten minutes before the first of the Crouches would start showing up.
The pantry door was already propped open and Juno slipped inside, her eyes moving across the shelves. She took one of Winnie’s reusable grocery bags, a deep canvas tote with the words Fat Mousie on the front, and, shaking it open, she began to put things inside. She looked for multiples, boxes of individually bagged snacks, and took inventory as she went: one sleeve of Ritz crackers, one sleeve of garlic Triscuits, a can of corn, a can of creamed corn, a two-liter jug of water, two bags of fruit snacks, a pouch of Tasty Bites. She eyed a can of chili, but it lacked the pull tab that she would need in place of a can opener.
She knew she was running out of time. She stepped over to the fridge, her breathing loud to her own ears. Yogurt, eggs, butter—things Juno missed. Her stomach grumbled. She searched the vegetable bin and found two wrinkled apples and a green pepper long forgotten, stuffing those into the bag, too, as she reached for the freezer door. The freezer was stocked to overflowing. Juno found a bag of frozen peas and tossed that in. She stopped by the silverware drawer and took a butter knife to unscrew the latches on the trapdoor more easily. That would have to do for now. Her heart was pelting in rabbit time against her ribs. Was she really doing this? She was. Fear and adrenaline were racing at a breakneck pace; she’d spent her first year in prison with the same jacked-up awareness. And your first year on the street, she reminded herself. But nerves eventually went away as you adapted to a new norm.
Back in the laundry room, she grabbed her still-damp clothes from the dryer, snatching a single toilet paper roll from the shelf. Her head jerked toward the direction of the back door—men’s voices. Before they’d even picked up their tools, Juno was inching through the crawl space with the first of her supplies.
Part Three
14
WINNIE
Winnie had pins and needles in her limbs; she’d been sitting for too long on the sofa, staring at the blank TV, her legs curled underneath her. When she stood up, her heart felt heavy, like it wanted to be left on the couch. Heart down, Winnie thought. Sometimes she felt ashamed of her own thoughts because she knew what Nigel would say about them: “So dramatic!”
Nigel was in his den; that’s where he always was nowadays. Lying on his precious Lovesac couch, looking quite happy with himself and his situation. She hobbled over toward the bookshelves, not intending to read a book but to walk out the prickly feeling in