mean little dollops. Drown those suckers.”
Still looking doubtful, Robert followed her lead, pouring until his biscuit halves were swimming in the creamy sausage and gravy mixture. “Now what?”
“Now eat it and thank God you’re a country boy,” she told him, grinning at the John Denver reference that she was pretty sure went straight over that city boy’s head.
He took a tentative bite and swallowed. “Not bad.” And then, while Darla watched in amusement, he went on to polish off four biscuits topped with gravy, most of the scrambled eggs and bacon, and half the carton of juice.
They weren’t kidding about a teenaged boy’s appetite, she thought, suddenly understanding why her contemporaries with high school–aged children were always complaining about their grocery bills. Her amusement faded, however, when it occurred to her that in addition to lacking a regular place to sleep, Robert might be missing a few meals as well.
Finishing off her own two biscuits, and vowing to have nothing but salad for lunch and supper as penance, she settled back in her chair and fixed him with a serious look. “All right, that’s taken care of. Now, do you feel like telling me how you’ve been getting along these past few months? You said you stay with your cousin sometimes?”
“Yeah, except when he, you know, has a girl over. Or when he lets some other friend stay there. He’s only got, like, one room, so I can’t live with him permanently.”
“So what do you do when you can’t stay with him?”
“I stay with a friend, sometimes, or else in the park. And this girl I know who works at a gym, she sneaks me in some mornings so I can use their shower and washing machine. And I can lock one of the dressing rooms and sleep in there for a while, too.”
He paused and took another swallow of orange juice. “Oh, I almost forgot. A couple of weeks before he fired me, Bill found out I needed a place and let me stay in his basement. He only charged me, like, a week’s salary. I mean, there was a cot and a dresser and this old TV, and except one time when it leaked after it rained real hard, it wasn’t too bad. But after what happened, I had to pack up again.”
She wanted to ask him if he’d considered finding someplace where he could split the rent with a friend. But then it occurred to her that in this part of town it would probably take four or five friends to afford anything that wasn’t another Bill’s basement.
“I tried a homeless shelter one time,” he went on, “but it was, like, kind of sad. Old dudes and ladies with kids, mostly. I figured they needed the space more than me, so I didn’t go back. I mean, I’d feel bad if some five-year-old little dude had to sleep on the sidewalk because of me.”
“But aren’t you ever scared out there alone?” Darla persisted, recalling horror stories she’d heard about life on the streets.
He shrugged. “It’s okay. Except one time two guys jumped me and, you know, stole my phone. Oh, and my shoes. But nothing, like, bad ever happened. I can take care of myself.”
His tone as he related all this had been matter-of-fact, but now Darla saw a brief flicker of uncertainty in his expression that belied his air of unconcern. By her calculations, he’d been homeless for maybe six months, long enough that any feeling of adventure at fending for himself had likely been replaced by a growing sense of hopelessness. But if she had anything to say about it, last night’s courtyard campout would be his last night on the streets.
Not wanting to push the subject, however, she turned the conversation back to southern cooking while they drank their coffee. Finally, glancing at her watch, she told him, “It’s almost ten. Go ahead and stack all these dishes in the picnic basket while I get the register set up. If you think you can hold down the fort by yourself for a bit, I need to run down and visit with Jake.”
She’d had a text message from the ex-cop waiting for her when she got up that morning: the words cryptic much followed by several question marks. She’d grinned a little at that virtual jab and texted back half a dozen exclamation points followed by will stop by @ 10. After all, given the number of times that Jake had left her hanging, a