"Thank you." She stared at the money, then up at me. "You don't have to—"
"I want to."
Poppy dug into her backpack and added the two dollars she'd brought for vending machine snacks. "You're really good. Like, professional good."
A small smile touched Marilyn's lips. "That's kind of you to say."
An awkward silence stretched between us. I wanted to ask so many questions—where she'd gone, why she'd left, if she was okay—but they all felt too invasive.
"I'm living in a shelter," Marilyn said quietly, as if reading my thoughts. "Over on Jefferson Street. They have a program that helps people get back on their feet. I'm working on getting my GED."
"That's great," I said, meaning it. "Really great."
"I wanted to apologize." Her fingers plucked nervously at the guitar strings, creating soft discordant notes. "For everything. For the tea that made you sick—I didn't know Teddy had put anything in it, I swear. And about your mother's things."
"I know you didn't mean to poison me. And I'm just happy to have my mother's things back."
"Teddy took them," Marilyn said quickly. "He showed them to me, bragged about how he'd gotten into your van. I convinced him I could sell them, but I always meant to return them. It was the least I could do after what happened with the tea."
Relief washed through me at the confirmation. "I'm grateful you did."
"Is Teddy—" She hesitated. "Is he still at the campground?"
"He's in jail," I said. "For attacking me—he thought I knew where you were. And for all the things he stole."
The tension drained from Marilyn's shoulders so dramatically I thought she might collapse. "Good. That's—I'm so glad you're okay." She shook her head. "He scared me. That's why I left."
"You were smart to go."
Poppy shifted beside me, clearly fascinated by this adult drama. "I never liked him," she declared, crossing her arms.
"What do you need?" I asked Marilyn. "To help you get back on your feet?"
She gave a little laugh. "A job would be nice."
An idea sparked in my mind. "Can you talk to groups of people, tell stories, keep them entertained?"
"I—I don't know. Maybe?"
"Call Marv Birdwhistle at Birdwhistle Bourbon Tours." I pulled out my phone and wrote down his number to pass to her. "Tell him I referred you."
Marilyn stared at the number like I'd just handed her a winning lottery ticket. "You're serious?"
"Completely serious. Marv's a good guy. He'll give you a fair shot." I paused. "Just show up on time, work hard, and don't steal anything."
"I won't. I swear." She gave me a wistful smile. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
As Poppy and I walked toward the library, I heard Marilyn's voice rise behind us, singing "Silent Night" with a clarity that made people on the sidewalk pause and listen.
"That was nice of you," Poppy said. "Helping her like that."
"She's trying to turn things around. That's worth supporting."
"Yeah." Poppy smiled up at me.
"Besides, it helped me, too." I realized that extending a small kindness to Marilyn had untangled something inside me. For too long I'd been focused on my own problems.
