night then find a piece of an old box near the dumpster and drag it over to where she is. Setting it down, I plop down on it. My back leans against the building.
“Nah, I don’t do scary. Die Hard, now that’s his best,” she replies. “If you could kindly bring him with you next time, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll call his agent first thing tomorrow. How’s it going?”
She eases out farther and throws me a wary glance. She’s in her sixties, I think, has a small pixie face, brown eyes, and wears an Atlanta Falcons beanie on her head. Her pale face is surprisingly clean, and I wonder if she has a place where she washes up. Maybe a gas station?
There’s a heavy coat and a fuzzy blanket around her shoulders, and she tugs them closer. “Cut the small talk. What you got?” she asks.
I grin widely and hand over the first bag, a baked potato and fried chicken from the bar. It’s not the healthiest meal, but she won’t eat salads. I’ve tried. I hand over two bottles of water and a container of Gatorade I grabbed at the gas station. “There are chips, some baby wipes, dog food, and a few candy bars in the bag. Snickers and Heath.”
“I hate Heath bars.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. She reminds me of the cantankerous grandmother I never had. “I can see you from my den window, you know. You devoured the last one.”
“You imagined that. And stop spying on me. Weirdo.” She props the takeout box in her lap and eats the food slowly, almost delicately. She’s not starving, that’s clear. She isn’t an alcoholic or a druggie either. I’ve looked for the signs, bloodshot eyes and shakes. Her voice is always clear and steady, her thoughts sharp.
I gaze up at the stars. I don’t know June’s story or why she’s here, but my protective instincts are high. My heart squeezes every time I see her here.
I find the Orion constellation, see his belt then the hazy glow of the Milky Way behind him. I glance back at her. “It’s going to get down to forty tonight and the wind is cold. The shelter is ten minutes from here. Just saying,” I murmur casually.
She glares at me, and I glare right back. I’m used to her little dirty looks. There’s no menace in them. Maybe confusion at my nightly appearances.
Perhaps relief.
Is she lonely?
“No shelters.” Her voice is husky and gravelly with a slight Southern accent. She’s from the area, I suspect. “I hate crowds. Plus, they come in while you’re sleeping and put tracking devices in your ears. They won’t let Oscar in, and it’s not that cold. I grew up playing outside all the time. We didn’t come home until we wanted to.”
I start at the tidbit of personal information she’s given me.
She swallows down a bite. “Don’t get excited. I don’t want you in my business.”
“Too late. You can’t get rid of me.”
“Maybe I’ll move to another apartment building.”
“You better not. I sort of like you.”
She stands and stretches, then tosses her trash in the dumpster a few feet away. She gets around well, and I’m thankful she seems to be in good health.
I ease up. “Let me see that scrape on your arm. Does it hurt?” Last night, she had blood on her sweatshirt, a cut she got from a lamppost she walked by.
She huffs. “Will you go away if I show it to you?”
“Swear. Let me have a peek, check it out, and I’m gone.”
She takes off her coat, pulls up her sleeve, and exposes the two-inch gash above her elbow. Dousing my hands in sanitizer, I remove the bandage I put on last night.
“Well, doc? Is it terminal?”
“You may not recover,” I deadpan.
“Knew it. I’m dying.” She places a hand over her brow and wilts.
My lips twitch. She’s in a good mood. “Let’s do more antibiotic ointment and a new covering. I bought Garfield Band-Aids.” I pat my backpack.
“Pain in my ass. Fine.” She pauses and says softly, “Thank you, Ana.”
I smile. “How was your day?”
She purses her lips. “Same. Walked to Walmart. Walked to Big Star. Some guy gave me twenty bucks and I didn’t even ask for it. Went to the park. Ate. Took a nap. Oscar chased a squirrel. You?”
“I went to class. Saw a boy.” I pause on the memory of River, my hands stopping for a moment as I work on her arm. He’s under my skin, always has