“Six and a half. My birthday is in April.” She said it the way kids do, like the half matters more than the whole.
“And your mama passed on Saturday?”
She nodded. Her chin didn’t wobble. She’d already done her crying, I could tell. She’d done it somewhere private where nobody had to feel bad watching.
“Do you have anybody at all, honey? Aunts, uncles, a friend from church?”
“My mama didn’t have a family,” she said. “She told me it was just us against the whole world. And now it’s just me.” She paused. “That’s why I was hoping about you.”
The gas pump clicked off behind me. I didn’t move.
“Why me, Ellie?”
She thought about it. Really thought. Like I’d asked her something serious, which I had.
“Because you look scary,” she said. “But you have kind eyes. My mama said that’s the best kind of person. Scary on the outside so bad people leave you alone. Kind on the inside so kids like me don’t have to be afraid.”
Behind us, Miss Karen finished her phone call. I heard her sigh, the deep kind that comes from a person who’s been carrying something too heavy for too long.
