the stranger does it, it’s fine. It’s like a blanket or a cloak, a kind of camouflage, despite the fact that my legs are spread and he’s between them. It gives me time to come back to myself, to study the sky, count the stars, let my heartbeat slow.
Eventually he pushes up. “You all right?”
I nod and clear my throat. “Fine.”
He pulls away, turning to tidy up, and I ease off the car on shaky legs, fixing my panties and working my skirt down over my hips. I straighten my shirt and smooth my hair, and when he turns back, I’m me again.
“Thanks,” I say.
He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “Thanks?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I pull my keys out of my pocket.
“Are you going back to that restaurant any time soon?”
“No.”
“You only ever do anything once?”
“I told you. There’s no next time.”
“Yeah, I heard you, Denise.”
“Thanks for changing the tire.”
“You’re welcome.”
There’s a four-inch scratch in the paint now, a glaring white scar. I have something similar on my right thigh, but it’s twice as long and hurt a lot more.
“Drive safe,” he says. The words are a prompt, and I stop ogling the scratch and pull open the door.
“Good night.”
I climb in and twist the key in the ignition. My hands are shaking. I’m sure it’s just the aftermath of adrenaline. I haven’t experienced a spike like this in a very long time.
He waits next to his truck until I pull onto the road. I watch him in my rearview.
He doesn’t wave goodbye.
4
I’M AT THE FOOD BANK again the following week. Today my shift is from two until eight, and by seven I’m exhausted and all my bones hurt. We received an enormous shipment of cans and I’ve been sorting and stocking all afternoon. Tuna, green beans, artichokes, fruit cocktail—if it comes in a tin, I’ve checked the expiration date and arranged accordingly.
“How you doing?” Lyla calls, clopping down the aisle in her heels. I’ve known she was coming for the past minute and a half.
“Making progress.” I gesture at the tower of empty boxes I’ve stashed in the corner to flatten later. I’ve got about twenty more to get through before the inventory is fully accounted for.
“I brought you an assistant.” Lyla drags Rodney behind her like a kid being escorted to the principal’s office. All I know about Rodney is that he’s been to prison, he’s afraid of mice, and he thinks I’m weird as fuck. I know because I heard him say so. Sound carries in the warehouse, especially when you’re listening carefully.
They stop a few feet away, and Lyla elbows Rodney in the side. Today her shirt has a giant tiger face glaring out, its green sequin eyes sparkling in the warehouse light. Duly prompted, Rodney mutters, “You need some help?” while scuffing his sneaker on the cement floor.
I don’t want help. One of the reasons volunteering here works for me is precisely because I’m left alone. But four of my fingernails have cracked, my palms are burning from the cardboard dust, and my hand slipped when slicing open one of the boxes, leaving a two-inch hole in my jeans. I need help.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Good.” Lyla glowers at Rodney. “That’s what I thought. This place’ll be empty by seven-thirty. You two lock up together and leave together. Together,” she repeats with scary emphasis. “You got me?”
“Yeah,” Rodney mumbles.
There’s a pause, then I realize she’s waiting for me to answer, too. “Got it.”
“Good.” She makes a note on her clipboard and totters away.
“What do you need me to do?” Rodney asks, hands stuffed in the front pocket of his oversized hoodie. I’m wearing a hoodie, too. Now that I think about it, Rodney and I are dressed the same: hoodie, dark jeans, sneakers and matching scowls.
“Everything’s arranged alphabetically.” I nod at the shelves. “Items with the earliest expiry dates go at the front. These boxes are totally random, so you have to go through, check each can, and find the right spot for it.”
“Okay.”
I use my foot to nudge a box in his direction and stick the box cutter on top before turning back to my work. I hear him slice open the tape and the ensuing rattle of cans, otherwise he’s quiet and so am I. When it’s quarter to eight and we’re down to four boxes, I move to the corner to start flattening the cardboard so we can get it recycled. A few minutes later Rodney tosses the last box into the