* * *

At three-thirty, she carried a bag of cereal she bought at the Dollar Tree to a bench by the water. Pulling open the plastic, she sprinkled a handful across the dirt and in two seconds she was surrounded by the blue-barred chests of a dozen pigeons. They pecked away, stoic, their amber eyes casting Juno sidelong glances. She didn’t prefer these little rats with wings, but they were always the first to come.

“There are usually three turtles over here.”

Juno jumped, almost dropping the bag. The sun was out—a rare moment—and it was shining directly into her eyes, temporarily blinding her. But she knew that voice, she knew it well.

Samuel was standing close to the water, right where the dirt dipped into the lake at a sharp angle. He was wearing a green hoodie and a ratty pair of jeans, and a backpack much like Nigel’s was slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t looking at her; his eyes were focused on the lily pads a few feet beyond the mud. Juno knew that’s where the turtles usually rested, craving sun like the rest of the folks in Washington.

“Yes. They were out earlier.”

“I’m offended that they didn’t wait for me.”

She glanced over at him and saw that he was joking, so she offered a smile back. Juno sprinkled the last of the Fiber One on the ground for the birds and dusted her hands.

“What are you giving them?”

“Old cereal gone stale.”

He took a step forward, examining the ground as the birds jackrabbited around his shoes; Vans, Juno knew. Her sons used to wear them. Sam toed one of the little pieces until a crow stole it away, hopping out of reach.

“It looks like hamster pellets. No wonder you didn’t eat it.”

Juno laughed. “Yeah, it was pretty bad. Fiber stuff.”

“Breakfast should be fun. If you have a bad breakfast, you have a bad day.”

“You sound like a commercial!” Juno exclaimed. “What cereal are you trying to sell me?”

“Froot Loops, definitely.” He grinned, enjoying the joke. And then, “Hey, you’re wearing a Landman shirt! I used to have one just like that.”

“I got it at Goodwill.” She shrugged. “I thought it was a green bean.”

Sam found this hilarious. He laughed hard enough to make Juno smile, too.

“It was probably mine,” he joked. “My mom gives all my stuff away.”

“Well, if it was,” Juno said, “it would be tiny on you now.” She thought wanly of the giveaway bags.

Sam shrugged, his smile lingering.

“He’s from a video game. Landman can morph from a man into anything that grows out of the earth. So basically, he has to defeat his enemies, the Gorgs and Spawns, by trapping them in, like, volcanos and rivers.”

Juno listened raptly, nodding when he made references he clearly expected her to know. She imagined his parents’ eyes glazed like doughnuts as they half listened to everything he said, nodding and mmming dutifully until it was time to talk about them. Kids needed to talk; they needed to empty themselves of their experiences so they could process them properly. And, more importantly, they needed to have someone who wanted to listen and who could gently guide. That’s what Juno did. She listened.

Sam, finished discussing his video games, slid his arms through the straps of his backpack until it was hanging on his front. He wore a plastic bracelet on his wrist, the stretchy kind that had a little motto on it. A little dog on one of those retractable leashes skittered into the clearing, sniffing at Sam’s sneakers before darting off at the sound of “Klipper!” Sam bent down to pet Klipper, but it was too late, his little hind legs were working hard to get back to his owner.

“Anyway, my uncle broke my system and I couldn’t play anymore.”

Juno’s ears pricked to attention. Could be talking about Dakota? It hadn’t happened during Datoka’s last stay; Juno knew that for sure.

“How did your uncle break your game?” she asked.

“He’s an alcoholic.” So matter-of-fact about it, too, Juno thought. She studied him with the eyes of her old profession.

Sam was a small kid, scrappy-looking, with bandy, muscular arms and a boxer’s set to his chin. She’d never heard him complain to his parents about the kids at school bothering him, but that didn’t mean anything. Some kids shared that stuff and others bottled it up. Who are you, kid...the bully...or the bystander? Juno watched as he cocked his head and then, almost as suddenly, his eyes returned to the water. He watched a couple of teenagers in a kayak with interest for a few seconds before turning back to her. He regarded her like he was seeing her for the first time, and Juno began to sweat beneath the Landman sweatshirt. She searched his face, though for what, she didn’t fully know; a little bit of Winnie or Nigel, maybe. But in this moment, she couldn’t see a trace. With a quick dart of his hand, his phone materialized from his pocket, and he checked the screen.

“Want a puppy dog? That’s what my dad calls a hot dog.” He kicked the toe of his trainer into the dirt, but then squinted at her. “I always bring money on Thursdays so I can get two before I go home, but we had a class party with pizza today so I’m still pretty full. I have to eat this stuff out here where my mom can’t see.” He grinned.

“Health nut?” Juno knew that Winnie was more akin to control nut than health nut, but Sam nodded. The kid wasn’t allowed sugar, processed carbohydrates, soda, meat, or pizza unless it was a special occasion. As much as Winnie tried to control what he ate, Samuel worked equally hard to assert rights over his own choices by disobeying her. It would be an ongoing battle until someone yielded, and by the looks of the scrappy little boy in front of her, Winnie was in for a long, hard fight.

Before she could give him an answer, he was running toward the kiosk. Juno had ordered from it many times before; it was just a little metal-roofed shack that sold cold beverages and turned hot dogs slowly for hours on a greasy machine.

“You’re fast,” she said, when he came back a few minutes later carrying two paper boats, one in each hand. His backpack, sticking out like a turtle shell in front of him, had a stray blob of mustard on it. Juno took the meal without looking at Sam. When she raised her eyes to his face, he was already eating and staring at the lake where the teenagers had been floating earlier. The birds, which had forsaken their foraging for Juno’s cereal, were starting to peck at Sam’s feet for new crumbs. He consumed his food so quickly, never taking his eyes from the water, she was unsure how he could have tasted it.

She finally remembered her manners. “Thank you, Samuel.”

He turned the full beam of his smile on her. And then just as suddenly it fell away. “Please, call me Sam,” he said. “I hate my full name.”