“You’re doing well with the classifieds.” She tried to make her voice sound warm.
“Just doin’ my job.”
“No, really, Millie. You’re doing great. I appreciate it.” Rebecca took her seat again, sipped at the too-hot coffee.
Millie sniffed. “So’re you. I’m liking that James Watkins series.”
“Thanks.”
Millie opened her mouth like she was going to say something more, then seemed to think better of it. A minute passed, then another. Finally, Rebecca turned back to her laptop, and the research.
But when Rebecca left for her weekly Devon interview, Millie passed her a slip of folded pale-blue paper. Rebecca opened it in the car.
“I can do all things through him who strengthens me—Philippians 4:13,” Millie had written, then added, “You’re doing a good job.”
Rebecca kept the blue paper open on her passenger seat, read it again as she pulled up to the school. Millie’s compliment surprised her; the woman hadn’t exactly been friendly with her, thoughthey’d formed a loose bond in the couple months since Rebecca had come to Dahlia. But like almost everything else she’d experienced since she’d moved here, Millie had a way of surprising her. Deep down, she suspected her gruff demeanor hid a kind heart.
She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Devon walking toward her from the school, big blue backpack on. He had on one of those thin nylon hoodies in spite of the heat, and he seemed extra pensive today—none of the lightness she saw last week was evident. Her heart sagged. She couldn’t imagine what it might be like for him at home, whether he’d even had enough to eat today. She wished she could ask him.
Why not ask?
The thought caught her off-guard. Why not, indeed? Out of fear of offending him, for one thing, though if he were truly hungry, she imagined being offended wouldn’t be an issue. Or maybe out of a worry that she was being too pushy or nosy, or worse, judgmental. The kid had enough problems without worrying whether his weekly diner pal thought he was a poster child for the needy.
But as Devon slid into the car, the words tumbled out. “You doing okay?” she asked, eyes soft.
“I’m fine.” He smiled at her, and she wasn’t entirely sure but thought it didn’t quite meet his eyes. In fact, his eyes looked sunken today, like he hadn’t slept a wink. But she shifted the car into gear, tossed him a smile, and headed for Harold’s.
At the diner, Rebecca made sure to order an extra burger—“just in case,” she told him—and some fried cheese sticks.
“You know,” the waitress, Louanne, said to her, one hip jutted out as she peered beneath her eyeglasses, “that story you did on the anniversary of the mill closing was real nice. And those kid stories, too—even though summer’s winding down, I hope you keep ’em going when school starts back. They’re good. My Leroy says they’re his favorite part of the paper, and I don’t even argue.”
“Thanks, Louanne.”
Louanne set down a basket of cornbread in front of them, along with a handful of those little packets of butter.
“They do this town some real good, you ask me,” Louanne said, then clicked her pen and winked at Devon. “Keep it up. I can see a nice change in the paper since you’ve been here.”
“She likes you,” Devon said behind a mouthful of cornbread after Louanne walked off.
Rebecca looked at him, surprised.
“What makes you say that?”
“Dunno. You can just tell.”
Their talk today was quieter, and she remembered Tamika right as Louanne delivered their food.
“Do you know I talked to a kid in your school yesterday who lives in a car? Actually lives in a car.”
Devon shrugged like Tamika had. “Yeah.”
“Isn’t anybody doing anything about this? Like, the teachers? The school staff?”
Devon gave her a look. “If they know about it, sure. But Miss Becca, most ’a the kids don’t want people to know they’re living in a car. That’s like asking to become a foster kid.”
“You know more than one kid who lives in a car?”
“I guess. A couple. Another girl in the grade below me, for sure.” He shrugged again. “They don’t live there all the time or anything.”
