By the time the sun started to drop, they’d reached the edge of downtown. The part of the city most people drove through without looking.
An old bus depot, a shuttered laundromat, a parking structure with half its lights burned out.
Corey stopped outside the parking structure.
“Third level,” he said. “It’s dry. Warmer than the street.”
Jade nodded like this was normal.
They found a corner spot behind a concrete pillar. Corey had a sleeping bag. He gave it to her.
She started to protest. He shook his head once and sat down with his back against the pillar and his jacket pulled tight.
In the dark, he said, “What was it like before she got like that?”
Jade thought about it.
“I don’t think there was a before,” she said. “I think I just kept hoping I was wrong about her.”
Corey nodded slowly.
“I used to do that, too,” he said.
She looked at him.
“With who?”
“My uncle. Took me in after my parents were gone. I thought at least I had somebody. Then one day I came home and the locks were changed and my stuff was in a trash bag on the porch.”
Silence.
A car moved somewhere far below them. A pigeon shifted on a beam.
“Why were you begging on that street?” Jade asked. “Specifically that street.”
“Random,” he said. “I walk until I find somewhere that doesn’t feel hostile.”
He paused.
“Your porch had flowers.”
Jade almost laughed. It came out strange, cracked in surprise, because she hadn’t laughed in so long she’d almost forgotten what it felt like.
“I planted those,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “Nobody who hated that house would have planted flowers.”
She looked at him for a long moment.
