The Color Of Light. Emilie Richards

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      Shiloh changed the subject. “If we stay, may we use the stove and cook?”

      “Absolutely. I didn’t get as far as cleaning the inside of the cabinets. Are there pans?”

      Shiloh had checked every corner of the apartment. “A few.”

      “May I look?”

      “It’s yours, isn’t it?”

      Analiese didn’t answer. She crossed the room and peeked inside the cabinets. “I bet you couldn’t even heat the leftovers I brought up last night.”

      “It didn’t matter.”

      “We’ll get you more, and linens and towels. Dishes. Silverware.”

      “We have things in our car we can use.”

      “Why don’t you leave them packed for now and we’ll see what I can rustle up today?”

      “There’s a washer and dryer.”

      “I don’t know if they’re still functional. I’ll ask our sexton if they were working before he left. Then we’ll give them a try, and you’ll be welcome to use them.”

      Shiloh tried to imagine two weeks of clean clothes. Really clean. Not gas-station-sink-clean.

      Analiese gestured toward the pantry. “Right now I thought maybe we could run over to the grocery store and stock these shelves a bit. We can leave your parents a note and tell them we’ll be back soon.” She hesitated, as if she’d just thought of something and didn’t know how to broach it.

      Shiloh felt a surge of anger. She answered the unasked question. “Yes, they read. Both of them. My dad should have gone to college, only he had to help support my grandma after my grandpa died, so he quit high school and got a GED. But he’s smart. Really smart. And my mom reads the headlines and does the crossword puzzle every morning, or she did when we could afford the paper.”

      “I’m sorry, Shiloh. But a lot of people can’t read. I have a friend, somebody you’d like, who never learned how when she was in school. So I never take reading for granted.”

      Shiloh felt a little better. “People think just because we’re homeless, we’re stupid.”

      “I can see that’s not true.”

      Dougie came barreling out of the bedroom. “I finished!” He skidded to a stop in front of Analiese. “Hi.”

      “Hi yourself.” She held up her hand and they slapped palms. “Interested in going to the grocery store with Shiloh and me?”

      “Can we get chocolate cereal?”

      “Not on my watch.”

      Dougie pouted, but only for a moment. “Cookies?”

      “Let’s see what they have.”

      Shiloh thought going to the store was going to be interesting.

      * * *

      Analiese was no expert, but she thought if she opened a medical textbook she would find a line drawing of Dougie next to the word hyperactivity. From the moment they’d entered the grocery store, he had raced up and down the aisles, selecting food to put in the cart, then putting it back after Shiloh or Analiese told him to. Not without a fight, of course. He wasn’t passive, but he was surprisingly good-natured, even when he didn’t win, which was always.

      Shiloh was a different matter. The girl was riveted on choosing food that would fill her family’s stomachs at the cheapest price. Pasta. Potatoes. Bulk American cheese slices from the dairy case. Analiese watched the girl lift a bag of apples from an endcap, then put it back in place after she considered.

      “Okay, you’ve got some staples here,” Analiese said. “Let’s move on to the fresh fruits and vegetables.” She put the apples in the cart. “What else do you like to eat?”

      “We mostly eat canned vegetables. Whatever’s available.”

      Analiese was sure “available” meant cheap or free at whatever food bank allowed them through the door. “While you’re at the apartment you’ll have a refrigerator. Do you like salads?”

      “When we had a garden Mama made salads out of anything that was ready to harvest. Beets, squash, green beans.”

      “I dump lettuce in a bowl and maybe a tomato. Let’s get a little of everything that looks good and let her have fun.”

      “She doesn’t cook anymore. When there’s a place to cook Daddy does it.”

      Every sentence was a reminder of how drastically everything had changed for the family, and as she pushed the cart toward the center of the produce section, Analiese had to be careful not to overreact.

      “How about you? Do you like to cook?” she asked Shiloh.

      “Mama never let me in the kitchen. I’m not very good.”

      “My mother was the same. The kitchen was her domain, and we had to stay out. She still loves to bake. Now that there’s nobody at home to fatten up, she joined a church so she can bake for their Sunday social hours. I don’t think it’s a coincidence they had to start a weight loss group.”

      “My mother could use a weight loss group. She says she’s fat because she can’t smoke anymore.”

      Analiese considered how best to broach a change of diet. “Let’s get some fresh produce anyway, and I’ll show you what little I know about making a salad. Maybe your mother will help once she’s feeling better.” She stocked the cart with lettuce and other salad vegetables, adding a healthy-enough dressing she used at home.

      “Mama’s been sick on and off for a long time,” Shiloh said. “Since before we left South Carolina. After we got there, she helped Aunt Mimi make meals and clean, but she got feeling worse and worse, and pretty soon my aunt had to do everything. Aunt Mimi didn’t like that. And nobody liked Dougie, because he broke things. He’s always fooling around. He can’t sit still.”

      As if on cue Dougie arrived again, this time with graham crackers. “Good choice,” Analiese said. “Do you like peanut butter?”

      After an emphatic yes she told him which kind to buy and sent him on his way again.

      “Do you like broccoli?” Analiese looked closer at Shiloh, who was frowning, and in response she put the broccoli back. “What’s up?”

      “This isn’t right, you buying all this food for us. It’s your money, isn’t it? Even if it isn’t, it’s somebody’s money.”

      “We make money to spend it. This is the way I want to spend mine.”

      “I don’t see why.”

      “If I didn’t want to spend money on you, would that make sense? Because for some reason it always seems to. Nobody questions that.”

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