Juno would admit that she was out of touch with young people, but she was fairly certain most of them didn’t sound like young British aristocrats when they spoke.

“Okay. Sam,” Juno said slowly. “I like that better, as well.”

He grinned at her. Then, “So you’re still homeless?”

“Yeah,” Juno said. “I am.”

She watched as he kicked his legs against the brick wall, and then, all of a sudden, he spun around and sat down next to her. Juno found this almost childlike in its innocence. Most people moved away from the homeless, not toward.

“How come?”

“Life happened. It doesn’t always happen the way you want.”

He seemed to mull over this for a while before nodding. “Why’d you come to Seattle?”

“How do you know I’m not from Seattle?”

“I guess I don’t. But most of the people I know aren’t from here.”

“Well, you’re right,” Juno said. And that’s interesting, she added to herself.

“I’m from New Mexico,” she said. “I used to be tan all the time, now...” She looked up to the sky where the clouds had obscured the sun again. Sam laughed.

“What was your job, before?”

“You make a lot of assumptions, Sam.”

“That’s what my dad says.” Sam was unabashed, almost like he’d taken this as a compliment. “He says that making assumptions makes an ass out of everyone involved.”

“That right?” Juno couldn’t take her eyes off him. She’d heard Nigel say those very words in that very tone to the boy, but here she was, seeing how he interpreted them.

“I was a therapist once, a very long time ago.” Juno paused to gauge Sam’s reaction. She had his attention, his murky eyes fixed on her face. This kid ticked in a different way; she just couldn’t tell how yet. She waited for him to ask the question she could tell was perched on his tongue.

“Why did you stop?”

“You never stop being a therapist.”

He thought for a minute, sucking his cheeks in like a fish, and then reworded his question. “What was your last day at work like?”

Juno felt jarred; he’d thrown her off again. In the end, she couldn’t lie to him; there was something about him that told her he’d see right through it anyway. She’d always noticed that about him during their lakeside conversations. And really, what difference did it make? Sam knew exactly what Juno was, and yet he didn’t seem to care.

“It was sad. I didn’t want it to be my last day, but sometimes there’s no way around these things.”

Sam considered this, his forehead furrowed. “You felt out of control.”

“Yes, Sam, I did,” Juno said slowly. “Unfortunately, we aren’t the only ones in control of our story arcs. Outsiders have an influence, too.”

“But we let the outsiders have an influence.”

“Yes and no. When you’re an adult you can control who you allow into your life, but you can’t control how they’ll behave once they’re there.”

“Kids don’t get that choice.”

Sam didn’t say this bitterly; rather, he was matter-of-fact, which hurt Juno’s heart. He was so tender in this moment, so vulnerable. It was hard to learn your place in the world when so many people told you different things. She’d confused the hell out of her own kids, God forgive her. In youth, people were plenty stupid—mostly because they thought they were so smart.

“Hey, regarding our conversation earlier... I have a little something for you,” she said, reaching into the paper bag at her feet. She grunted a little as she bent over, but Sam didn’t seem to notice; his eyes were glued to the bag, curiosity on his face. Fighting her uncertainty, Juno pulled out the box of Froot Loops and presented it to him. It was a stupid gift, she was almost embarrassed—except Sam’s face lit up as soon as he saw it.

“Wow. Now that’s ironic! We were just talking about Froot Loops.”

Juno laughed at this. It wasn’t ironic, nor was it a coincidence. But she wasn’t about to confess that she knew Sam loved Froot Loops. How could she explain why she knew that about him?

“Hey, I’ve gotta go.” He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the house. Winnie would be getting home; she could tell that Sam was calculating how long it would take him to get around the lake and if he could beat his mother there. He had a dusting of cinnamon freckles across his nose that made Juno’s heart ache in a way it hadn’t in a long time. Marcus, her oldest, had freckles. It had been so many years since she’d seen him, and she had no idea if those freckles still appeared in the spring like the cherry blossoms had. Sam reached for the Froot Loops. Juno watched in amusement as he dropped to a knee and opened his backpack.

“Thanks for the snack, Juno!”

Juno thrilled. He was such a good boy.

She wanted to make the right decision. Sam did not belong to Winnie and Nigel; they’d taken him from a woman named Josalyn Russel. Her story was tragic: a runaway, young and afraid, got pregnant. She must have been terrified. But that meant Sam had a biological family somewhere: aunts and uncles and cousins, maybe even grandparents. Juno would never have the chance to be a grandmother to her grandchildren, and that cut at her heart. What these people had done was unthinkable.

In that moment, she made her decision: she would find these people, the Russels. She needed to see what type of people they were.

Running into Sam had thrown off the timing of her plan, so she spent the night on the west side of the park, too afraid to sleep, but tired all the way down to her joints. It was warmish outside, and from her bench she could see the Turlin Street house and that gave her some comfort. She considered taking something for her pain—the pills in her bag—but Juno preferred being alert in the park at night. As if emerging from some horror movie, an old drunk stumbled by. Juno knew him from the area; Vic, they called him. Angry guy, from what she recalled. She’d always steered clear. Some of them knew you were there and didn’t care to acknowledge it, but other guys—like Vic—they wanted to get right up in your face, make you uncomfortable. People were the same everywhere you went: the suburbs, prison, the gutters of Seattle: everyone was afraid of their own existence. Afraid they were getting it wrong...afraid of what would come after as a consequence. And in Juno’s opinion, that made people act like irrational assholes.

A dozen yards away, Vic tossed something into the lake. Juno thought she heard him yell “Fuck you, Howie!” What does it take to get some peace and quiet around here? she thought. There was one more anguished hail of “Howieee!” He settled down after that, probably to squirt something into his veins. Juno relaxed a little, fingering the pill in her pocket. She could think in peace. She had a view of Winnie and Nigel’s bedroom—and Sam’s, she thought, her eyes drifting to the window that belonged to the boy’s room.