SOON AS I get to the car, the window roll down. He don’t smile or even say hi. He leans over, opens the glove compartment, and takes out money. A thick yellow rubber band holds it all together. “Three hundred enough?”

“You can do that?”

“You want it or not?”

I look at the hotel, then at him. “Did he tell you—”

“He said that you’re a nice girl. That if you show up, I should use my discretion. Help you out.”

“I—can’t—pay him back yet.”

“He doesn’t need your money. Here.” He peels off three one-hundred-dollar bills, then sits ’em in my hand.

I stand up straight, look up at the hotel. “Why he wanna give me money anyhow?”

“Some girls he just likes. Treats ’em like daughters. Don’t worry.”

“I ain’t worried. I can take care of myself.” I back up before he change his mind.

“No worries.” He starts the engine. “He helps kids like you all the time.”

I think about April. Ask if Anthony got children. He puts on the blinker. “You’re lucky. He don’t take to everyone.” Up goes the window.

I slide the money in my back pocket, waving while he driving off.