“Never. There is always space for us.
I turned to see my daughter as the door shut behind her.
“Sam.” I said softly. “You can’t simply take someone home without their consent. This week, we’re barely getting by.
Sam remained still. She gave me the look that had been growing on her over the last few years, one that was both my intransigence and her father’s.
“Mom, she didn’t eat all day. How could I have disregarded that?
“That doesn’t—”
“She nearly passed out in the gym.” Sam’s voice was forceful but not loud. “Her father works two shifts.” Last week, their electricity was turned off. We can afford to feed someone dinner, even though I am aware that we are not wealthy.
I was staring at my thirteen-year-old daughter as I stood in my kitchen.
Dan shifted to the shoulder of Sam. “Sammie, is that accurate? Everything?
She gave a nod. She spent a minute sitting on the gym floor throughout the mile today. The instructor advised her to improve her diet. Sam gave me a steady stare. When the school lunch program pays for it, she eats it there. That doesn’t happen every day.
The room leaned a little.
I reflected on the dinner I had just served, Lizie’s meticulous portion control, and the way she drank two full glasses of water.
I apologized to Sam. “I shouldn’t have approached you in that manner.”
Sam’s face relaxed a little. “I instructed her to return tomorrow.”
“All right,” I replied. “Take her.”
She returned the following night and the night after that, and by Friday she was humming at the kitchen sink while doing dishes.
The following evening, I made additional spaghetti, flavoring the sauce with the unique anxiousness of someone who is attempting to do the right thing and hoped that the shopping budget would let it.
Lizie returned, embracing her backpack. Before anyone could ask her to, she cleaned her plate and then gently wiped her area of the table.
She had become a quiet staple by the end of the week. At the counter, she and Sam completed their schoolwork. She did the dishwashing without being asked. She dozed off while seated at the counter one evening, woke up abruptly, and apologized three times.
In the corridor, Dan grabbed my arm.
“Should we give someone a call? She really needs assistance, doesn’t she?
“And say what?” I muttered. “That she’s worn out and her dad is broke? Dan, I have no idea how to deal with this. Really, I don’t.
“It appears that she hasn’t slept.”
“I am aware. I’ll speak with her. Gently.
I made an effort to learn more from Sam during the weekend.
Sam gave a shrug. She doesn’t talk much about her house. Her dad works a lot, that’s all. Occasionally, the electricity is turned off for a few days. Mom, she acts as like it’s not a huge concern, but she’s constantly exhausted. and perpetually hungry.
Lizie looked paler than usual when she arrived on Monday. The rucksack fell off the chair and onto the floor as she took out her homework from the kitchen counter.
I saw what she had been carrying as I knelt down to assist after the backpack burst apart and the papers scattered across the linoleum.
There are papers everywhere. I noticed it when I moved to gather them.
crumpled banknotes. A coin-filled envelope. FINAL WARNING was written in red ink on a cutoff notification. And a worn notebook with meticulous calligraphy on a page that had fallen open.
At the top was the word EVICTION.
A list lies beneath it. If we must depart, what do we take first?
