We both looked over when the restaurant’s back door opened and an older guy walked out with both hands full of garbage bags. He headed to the dumpster and flung them in and I spotted the resolution on Lilah’s face as she watched.
Before she could move I grabbed her arm. “I amnotso desperate I’m willing to scrounge in a dumpster. Yet.”
“No,” she said. “But restaurants usually need people to do grunt work.” She left her stuff with me and darted over to the restaurant’s rear stoop just as the screen door swung shut behind the guy.
I huddled there in the dark, trying to stay dry, and couldn’t hear what she said.
But then she smiled and waved me over, so I joined her.
The older man was probably in his early sixties and scowled at us, taking in our bags and backpack. “Why aren’t you two at home?”
Lilah was the communicator, the bullshit artist, the one who could win anyone over no matter the circumstances. Within minutes I was curled up with our stuff in the back of the tiny storeroom and reading pre-assigned books for my summer classes on my cheap-ass tablet while Lilah worked in the kitchen. Washing dishes, bussing, prep—she’d done it all apparently.
I stayed out of the way and took time to charge our phones. We’d acquired them and our tablets during our last stint in the shelter when we had access to some of our monthly funds. They were pre-paid phones, but it wasn’t like either of us had anyone to call but each other.
Mr. Francese, the restaurant’s owner, fed us pizza and sodas and for the first time in several days I actually felt full. At the end of the night, he called both of us into his tiny office and had us sit in the folding chairs on the other side of his desk. “How old are you two? Really?”
I looked at Lilah and let her do the talking. “Old enough,” she said. “She starts summer school for extra credit in a couple of weeks, and we’ll both be seniors next year.”
“And why aren’t you home tonight?” he asked.
“We have alternative living arrangements,” she said.
He sat back in his chair, slowly rocking. “I know runaways when I see them.”
“We aren’t in trouble with the law, and we aren’t truant in school.” She hooked a thumb at me. “Em’s guaranteed a full academic scholarship, as long as she keeps her GPA up. Hence summer school. She’s going for pre-med and was already accepted.”
He nodded, still studying us before finally handing Lilah two twenties, of which she immediately passed me one of them.
“We open at 10am tomorrow,” he said, then pointed at me. “You’re not just playing games on that tablet?”
I shook my head. “No, sir.” I opened the reading app and showed him. “The syllabus listed these as pre-reads. One of the classes I’m taking is English, so I can take two science credits next year.”
He slowly nodded again, looking thoughtful, and I got the opinion he probably wasn’t much of a screamer. “It’s supposed to rain all tonight and tomorrow, too,” he said. “Am I going to find two drowned rats on the back stoop in the morning?”
We shared a glance but I let Lilah do the talking. “We’ve been doing good so far,” she said. “At least this way we’re safe.”
He arched an eyebrow at us. “You must’ve been in hell if you think sleeping on the streets is safer.”
She shrugged.
He held up a finger and made a phone call. That’s how, an hour later, we were set up on camping cots in his garage with his wife bringing us towels and stuff for a tiny bathroom tucked into the corner of the space. He pointed at the door leading to the outside. “I’ll get you a key made for that tomorrow. Breakfast is at 7am and this isn’t a hotel, so you clean up after yourselves. No offense, but I’m locking the door from the garage into the house, for now. You earn our trust and you can keep getting more of it.” He then pointed at the washer and dryer. “You two know how to use those?”
We both nodded.
“Then help yourselves to those, too.”
I wasn’t sure we hadn’t just been dropped into a dream. There was a fridge in the garage, too, where they put extra bottled waters and sodas and a few snacks for us.
Once we were alone, with the sound of the door locking after them, I slumped onto my cot and started quietly crying. In relief, because we were relatively safe—I hoped—and dry and warm.
Lilah never cried. Not that I saw, anyway. She knelt in front of me and took my hands in hers. “We’ll be okay, sis,” she said, squeezing my hands. “I get a good vibe from him. You can take the bus to summer school every morning because the stop’s only a block away. Then when school’s in again, we’ll both take the bus.”
“If we’re here that long,” I whispered, unsure if we could be heard from the house.
“Doesn’t matter. If he lets us eat at the restaurant, I can save up our money and then we can move to that motel near school and get free breakfast and lunch again once school starts.”
She sounded so sure of herself.
