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 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.

I gaze into Oscar’s big brown eyes, but my words are directed to her. “They have private rooms at the shelter for women.”

Part of me wonders if she’s been harassed at shelters before or if she really believes they put tracking devices in her head. I believe she just says that stuff because she wants me to shut up about it. But, if there are mental issues going on, she needs help I can’t give. “They serve three meals a day and have counseling services, a staff of nurses and doctors. This boy I was telling you about? His frat just donated a lot of money to one and—”

“You can go now.”

A long sigh comes from me as I set the dog down. Maybe I pushed too hard this time. “You know I’m in 3B if you need anything. My roommates are a handful, but sweet. I’ve talked to them and you’re welcome to stay on the couch until I can find you a place—”

Her voice rises. “This is my place. It’s home.”

I stand my ground. “The weather’s going to get colder. It’s December.”

“The heat from the furnace works.”

But being out here…it can’t be good for her. It just can’t. “June…”

She ducks back into her tent, and Oscar follows.