Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
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 been, and I don’t know what to do about it. “Went to work. Came home.”
“Is the boy nice?”
“He’s a bit of a bad boy on campus, but there’s something different about him. He likes to pretend I don’t exist, and I suspect there’s a reason why.”
She mulls that over as I help straighten her coat back around her shoulders, and she lets me. She has boundaries with people, I’ve learned. The first night I ventured into the alley to see who she was, she told me to fuck off and leave. But I know pain when I see it and couldn’t walk away. I sat down next to her and talked about books. She ignored me, refused to answer any of my questions about her, but I kept it up, and finally, on the fifth night, she was out of her tent and waiting for me. Sure, she replied in one-word answers, but she didn’t run me off. I get it. Her walls are built from self-preservation.
That way, when someone lets you down, it doesn’t hurt as much.
Been there.
Her eyes squint. “Is he handsome?”
“Crazy hot. Kind of cruel,” I murmur as I re-sanitize my hands, then pick up Oscar for snuggles. Not sure what good it does to be clean when I’m holding him. He licks my face, and I giggle.
She sips her water. “Bad boys are the devil. When I was young, that was all I wanted. I used to sing at this bar—” She abruptly stops and glares at me. “I see what you’re doing. Trying to get me to talk.”
“What was the name of the bar?”
“Never you mind.”
“Do you have any family?” I ask softly. “You know, someone who might be worried—”
“No.” She pauses, and her fingerless woolen gloves clench into fists. “I had a son, but he’s dead. Fire. They say he never woke up.”
My heart dips and tears prick in my throat. Was it her house? Is that why she’s homeless?
Oh, June. What must it feel like to be this alone? “I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine.”
She grunts and looks away, frowning.