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“Hey!”
Her skin stiffened. Scout turned and saw Dugan coming after her. She pivoted and ran.
Her legs pumped hard over the pavement. Ripping around a corner, she ducked into an alley. Her heart raced and she waited, too afraid to peek behind her. Heavy footsteps fell and a flash of black leather ran by. Waiting a few seconds, looking to see Dugan running in the direction she had led him, Scout pulled up her hood and went the other way.
Her cheeks were frozen when she got to the tracks. Slipping under the open garage door, she moved quickly to the hall where she’d find Pearl. The mill smelled of burning leaves, and there were many more residents now that winter had fully arrived. Scout passed a man tying off his arm as his companion pulled the end of a dirty needle over a battered spoon. She cringed and kept walking.
As she turned the corner into Pearl’s hall, there was a soft flickering glow seeping from her door, and she was glad her mother had the sense to make herself a fire. She slowed her steps so as not to startle her. She turned the corner and found her hunched over a mirror sifting through a fresh batch of H with a razor.
When she heard her she turned, her weathered, emaciated face vicious. Pearl shot her arm holding the razor out, as if to ward off a thief, and cradled her supply with her other arm. Scout stilled by the door and gave her a moment to recognize her.
“Go way,” she mumbled.
“Momma, it’s me, Scout.”
Pearl narrowed her eyes and glared at her. “You’re too fat to be Scout. She just a lil’ thing.”
“Pearl, it’s me.” Scout stepped forward slowly and lowered herself to her knees. “See?” She pulled her drawing of them out of her bag. Pearl stilled and stared at it.
“Where you get tha’?” she slurred. It was obvious she was already high.
“It’s us. I got it from the man who drew it. Do you remember?”
Her mother’s brittle laugh was slow and then too enthusiastic. “Scout hated that hat.”
She smiled. “Yes, I did.”
Pearl’s dirty fingers went back to separating her stash. Her movements were painfully slow and unsteady. Dried blood crusted with the filth already clogging the little canyons of wrinkles on her brown fingers. Scout looked to the corner and saw the soaps she’d brought her a few days ago.
Once her mother had her supply in order and tucked away on her person, she found a bowl in the pushcart. It was dirty, but would have to do. She reached into her bag for a washcloth and poured some rainwater Pearl had collected into the bowl.
She scooted as close as Pearl would let her and drew her attention. “You makin’ som’in?”
“I’m going to help you wash your hands.”
“My baby does that when she visits.”
“Does she?” Scout’s throat tightened.
She carefully bathed her mother’s fingers, hands, and arms. Pearl chatted about a man she met by the water that Scout assumed was a figment of her imagination, and she also told Scout about how she was mad her daughter didn’t visit anymore. She assured her mother that her daughter loved her and fought back her emotions. Life was quite unfair at times.
By the time she finished with Pearl’s arms she was on her fourth bowl of water, and the little bar of soap was merely a sliver of black. Scout didn’t want to use all Pearl’s water, so she rinsed the cloth and washed her mother’s face. Enough.
When she left, Pearl waved her away as if she were a stranger or a pesky stray dog. She didn’t thank Scout and Scout didn’t expect her to. Her mother had begun to nod out toward the end of her visit, and she promised herself she’d stay away, for her own good, for at least four days this time.
Looking into her mother’s lifeless eyes and seeing not a speck of recognition was agony. She didn’t know how many more visits like that she could take.
It was still light out when Scout arrived at St. Christopher’s. There were cars in the parking lot of the old school, which was unusual, but not unheard of. The shelter had a board of trustees that kept it operating and dissuaded the township when they tried to close the shelter’s doors permanently.
It was an ongoing battle for those who ran St. Christopher’s to keep its doors open. Last winter had been a nightmare, never knowing if one day they’d return only to find the doors locked and the fancy billboard of a strip mall coming soon.
Seeing the cars there made her anxious. Winter was here. If they were going to shut the shelter down, they could at least wait until spring. She waited on the abandoned brick flowerbed beside the steps of the school. The cars parked along the dilapidated chain-link fence were all new and shiny. She was certain there was a meeting going on with the board.
