“I DON’T LIKE PEOPLE BEING DEAD,” DARNELL announced in the kitchen the next day. “You can’t talk to them.”

Conrad was working to open a can of peaches.

“You can talk to someone who’s gone,” he told Darnell in a soft voice. “Just talk to them in your heart. They’ll hear you.”

“You want to say something to Laurence?” asked Tony.

“I want to tell him, ‘Stop taking my socks!’” said Darnell.

“He won’t take your socks if he’s dead,” said Mary. Darnell looked to Conrad.

“Mary Berry has a point there, Darnell.”

“But you said he’s over everything. I bet he tells Tony to take my socks.”

Tony put his hands up to his ears.

“I hear you, Laurence! I hear you!” he said.

“You ain’t fooling me, Laurence,” Darnell said, looking up into the sky.

A man in brown pants, a smudged white shirt, and a rumpled black jacket was in the hallway outside the kitchen and the room where we ate when I went out to go to the bathroom. He looked at me and opened his mouth to talk before I could say hello.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said. “I’m the guy here to repair the printer in the office. I went out to the washroom and got lost.”

“Washroom” sounded like “bathroom” to me, so I asked, “You were in the bathroom?”

He smiled.

“I didn’t want to say it like that. But yes. Now I don’t know how to get back. To the office.”

“Oh,” I told him, and held out a finger. “Walk right there,” I said. “It’s a brown door.”

“Thanks so much,” he said, then took a step closer and spoke a little softer.

“May I ask—what kind of place is this?”

“Sunnyside.”

“Yes, Sunnyside Plaza. Is it a hotel?”

“We live here.”

“All the time?”

“Sometimes people go out,” I told him. “We went to a fair. Shaaran went to the dentist.”

“You’re pretty funny,” he said. Then the man in brown pants and a smudged white shirt got a step closer. He asked, “So… are the people here… sick?”

“Well,” I told him, “Tony sneezed at breakfast.”

“That’s a good one.” He laughed. “I mean, are the people…”

The man held a finger up to his head and wiggled it in a circle 1, 2, then 3 times.

I laughed, too, then I held my finger up to my head and wiggled my finger, too.

“Oh, I figured that,” he said. He laughed, loud by now, as he walked down the hall toward the office.

Mrs. Byrne had come out of a bathroom and saw the man in brown pants and a rumpled black jacket walk away. She heard him laugh and saw him wiggle a finger next to his head.

Mrs. Byrne just stopped.

“He shouldn’t do that,” she said. “Don’t pay attention to him, Sal Gal.”

“It’s okay,” I told Mrs. Byrne. “He’s lost.”

“I’ll say,” said Mrs. Byrne.

The can of peaches was so big and heavy that Darnell had to hold it with his big hands while Tony held on to Darnell, and Conrad picked at the top with a can opener. Mary and I got out the spoons with holes and a stack of paper bowls. We waited for them to lift up the lid.

Mrs. Byrne came around the corner into the kitchen.

“Conrad, we have a visitor. Can I have a couple of cups of coffee?”

Conrad nodded at me.

“This may take a while. Sal Gal, you figure you and Mary Berry can help out Mrs. B?”

I held 2 cups while Mary poured, and then turned around to take them out to the dining room because Mary is shy. The lady who smelled like roses sat at the table.

“Ms. Miyake, right?”

I felt my face get warm again.

“Lon will be sorry that he missed you. I just came by to fill in Mrs. Byrne on a few things. Nice to see you. I’m Esther.”

“I know.”

“Think you can find some milk for us back there, too, Sal?” asked Mrs. Byrne, and I listened to them as I turned around for the kitchen.

“The medical examiner found nothing surprising, really,” I heard Esther say. “Laurence had a stroke, like it seemed. They did some blood work, of course. Was Laurence on a special diet?”

I turned the corner and held still in front of the refrigerator.

“Everyone here is,” she said. “Because of their limited mobility. We try to keep things low calorie, low fat, low sugar. Without cutting out all the fun.”

“Cookies, I saw,” I heard Esther say.

“Yes, for fun. And ice cream sometimes. And cereal in the morning, or else they’d never eat breakfast. But we count calories and fats. The chicken is usually skinless. The hot dogs are usually chicken. One dessert a day, except birthdays. It would be a good diet for you and me,” said Mrs. Byrne.

I heard Esther’s light laugh.

“I could use it,” she agreed.

“In the summer, we get some donations of fresh vegetables and fruits from farmers. But usually only what they haven’t been able to sell, so it’s not a lot. Most everything here has to be canned, frozen, or come out of a box,” said Mrs. Byrne. “Taxpayers don’t want to pay for first-class meals here.”

I turned the corner with a carton of milk, half-full.

“Yes,” said Esther Rivas. “They like to get their cops at low cost, too.”

I put the milk between the 2 ladies and began to turn, but Mrs. Byrne asked a question.

“You like the food here, Sal?”

“Oh yes.”

“Sally helps Conrad in the kitchen. He loves our folks and does a great job. They rinse and wash and bring things out. Sally here even gets to chop. You have a good time in there, don’t you, Sally? You and Darnell. Mary and Tony?”

“We like to help. It’s fun.”

“Well, Sunnyside is a happy place, I can see that,” said Detective Rivas. She reached up and brushed a lock of her hair back from her eyes.

“I wish I could do that,” I told her.

“What?” she asked nicely.

“Pull hair from over my eyes.” My hair is short.

“We try to keep hair pretty short here,” said Mrs. Byrne. “Easiest for everyone.”

“I like your hair, Sal,” said Esther. “Short and chic. French.”

“Like french fries?” I asked, and we all laughed.

“Much prettier,” said Esther.

The top of the peaches can was open, and Mary and I began to fish in the orange syrup of the big can with our slotted spoons. We brought up peaches, 2 or 3 slices at a time, like Conrad wanted, let syrup drip back into the can, then plunked the peach slices into bowls. We liked to watch the syrup drip, fast like a river at first, then long, slow drips that held up in little balls before they went plunk.

I heard Mrs. Byrne tell Esther, “Dr. Maddux comes every Wednesday morning. He re-ups prescriptions before they run out.”

“Does he ever not re-up a prescription?” Esther asked, and I heard a pause that went on long enough to stop my fishing in the peach syrup. I wanted to hear the answer.

“You have to understand something, Detective,” said Mrs. Byrne. “The folks here—our folks—don’t get better. They don’t get over it. They don’t have something. It’s who they are. There’s no cure and nothing to get over. It’s their lives. They have a right to be happy, and we help them.”

“Well, that’s important work,” I heard Esther Rivas say.

Mary and I fished for peaches and plopped them into bowls for lunch.

A lot of us drew and colored in the afternoon, around the large table with a brown top on the top floor of Sunnyside Plaza. Raymond drew more cats, with round brown faces and red triangle ears. “This one is named Peewee,” he said. “He’s small and cute. This one is named Biggy—he’s big. And this one is named Brownie, because he looks like a brownie with red ears.”

“Your cats always smile,” Julius told him. “But cats don’t smile.”

“Mine do,” said Ray. “They’re happy. They’re my cats at home, with my mother.”

Pilar had drawn a park with slides and swings and a dog in a swing.

“His ears look like wings, don’t they?” she asked us all. “He can fly away. But he comes back, my dog.”

Jimmy sat at the table and didn’t draw. Matt didn’t draw but kept a blue crayon in his fingers. Keesha sat in the corner and slept.

I heard steps and turned my head.

“Ms. Miyake.” It was London Bridges.

I moved back my chair to face him and said, “Hi,” very softly.

Mrs. Byrne came in alongside.

“We call this the community room,” she said. “Painting, drawing.”

“I’m Julius,” said Julius. He had on his gray sweater and put the green crayon in his pocket. Detective Bridges lowered his hand to shake Julius’s.

“I’m Lon. Lon Bridges. Just taking a look around.”

“He’s a detective,” I told the table.

“Oh, Ms. Miyake, you gave away my secret!” he said, and my face felt warm again.

“Detective Bridges wanted to see again where Laurence was,” said Mrs. Byrne.

“Nice, comfortable rooms you got here,” he said.

“My picture!” said Pilar, and she held it up so Lon Bridges could give it a good look. He looked at it from side to side and smiled.

“That’s sure enough beautiful,” he said. “That a dog in that swing?”

“Yes! Yes! I call him Rusty—that’s how it sounds when it swings!”

“Well, Rusty is a fine-looking pooch,” said Lon. “Brown spots, it looks like. He’s a cocker spaniel?”

“I guess. I suppose.”

“Lookit my cats!” said Raymond. “The brown one with red ears!”

“Never, ever seen such a fine feline,” said Lon Bridges.

I smelled roses, with notes of jasmine, and saw Esther Rivas. She turned the corner and came into the room where we drew and colored on the big brown table.

“I know her,” I told everyone.

“Look at my dog. In the swing,” said Pilar as she held up her sheet of paper. “It’s what it looks like when I’m at home and we’re all in the park.”

Esther Rivas scrunched down and looked at Pilar’s drawing as she shook it in her hands.

“Yes. Yes, I see that,” said Esther. “His ears. There’s something about his ears.”

“Yes! Yes!” said Pilar. “Rusty, my dog—his ears are wings. He can fly away!”

“I knew I saw something. I’m a detective, after all. But why would he want to fly away if he’s with you?”

“Yes! Yes!” Pilar said. “He wants to stay. Sometimes he just flaps his ears on a hot day. Someday, he’s going to come here and take me for a ride.”

“Look at my cat Brownie!” said Raymond, and then held up his drawing. Esther Rivas leaned over and ran a finger along the paper.

“A red-eared brown cat. He’d be easy to identify in a lineup,” she said.

“Not that Brownie would ever do anything wrong,” Lon Bridges added quickly, and Mrs. Byrne put her hand lightly on London Bridges’s arm as she turned to me.

“I’m going to take our guests downstairs for a few minutes, Sal Gal. Conrad is on break. Do you think you can get them a couple of cups of coffee?”

I hadn’t drawn much—just rubbed the black crayon lightly over the bottom of the paper to make a street, with a few streaks of yellow and red, like I saw outside. Lon held out his arm for me to go down the stairs first.

Jimmy saw us go by, or maybe he didn’t, and said “birdie” again.

The coffee had been in the pot a long time and smelled strong and a little sour. But I got 2 paper cups and poured out just enough, and turned out of the kitchen to put them in front of Esther Rivas and London Bridges where they sat at the table.

“I don’t know if there’s much more,” I told Mrs. Byrne, and she smiled.

“I’m fine, Sal,” she told me. “Conrad should be back soon. Why don’t you wait in the kitchen and see if you can help him out.”

I sat on a high stool in front of a counter to wait for Conrad. And to listen.

“Well, I sure learned a lot from our time with the medical examiner,” I heard Esther Rivas say. “When someone is on medications like”—and Esther slowed down to say them—“Tri-flu-operazine and Sele-giline, certain things in the diet might help trigger what happened to Laurence.”

“And as I told you,” Mrs. Byrne said with sharp, hard words I knew meant that she was upset. “Every meal here is low calorie, low fat, low sugar. With treats to make life a little sweeter.”

“Cheese, now and then,” said Lon Bridges.

“A thin slice of cheddar, maybe once a day. We should all eat so healthy. In fact, I do—Conrad makes the same meals for me. Not even an extra bag of chips.”

“Sourdough bread? Anything with a yeast that’s aged?”

“Our food service delivers the cheapest white or brown bread,” said Mrs. Byrne. “Sometimes it’s stale, and I tell George to take it back. He groans, but I won’t stand for that. He acts like our folks can’t tell the difference.”

I could hear a smile in Lon Bridges’s voice as he asked, “Red wine? Sauerkraut? Chicken or beef liver?”

“Not even in our dreams,” Mrs. Byrne told him.

“Especially not in my dreams,” Lon Bridges told her. “Liver and sauerkraut are nasty. We ask because some foods, if they’re aged, can have something called tyramine.”

“My partner knows this kind of stuff,” Esther Rivas explained. “Tyra—the thing he said—can trigger headaches and even strokes.”

“Dr. Maddux and I spoke as soon as we found Laurence,” said Mrs. Byrne. “No headaches. His blood pressure was under control. Life—and death—happens,” she said. “Even here.”

“I’ve heard a few folks talk about going home,” said Esther. “To dogs, cats, picnics, parks. What’s that like for them?”

When Mrs. Byrne spoke after a long pause, she sounded tired.

“Detectives, most of our folks don’t go home,” she said. “It’s a dream. To get them through. You saw Ray upstairs? He’s in his fifties. His parents are long gone. Pilar? She came here as a teenager. She was in a dozen homes before that. Her parents were addicts. Do you think they’re even still alive? That they have a big house and a nice pink bedroom waiting for Pilar? Even the few parents we know about don’t come to see our folks here. They blame themselves. They don’t know how to love them. They want to forget them. I’m not in their shoes. I don’t judge. Julius? He’s in his seventies and still draws pictures of cats like a five-year-old boy. Do you think he’s going home to his parents?”

I heard the detectives say, “Ahhh” and “Ummm,” but really make no answer.

“They talk about going home the way you or I talk about winning the lottery someday. And it’s just about as likely.”

There was a long silence—I stayed real still, so they wouldn’t hear my stool creak or my shoes scrape the floor and know I’m listening—before I heard Lon Bridges say, “Well, they’re blessed to be here, Mrs. Byrne. Anyone can see what a fine job you do here at Sunnyside Plaza.”

Then I heard Esther Rivas say, “Shoot.”

“Did something…?” asked Mrs. Byrne.

I heard chairs scratch along the floor and people start to stand.

“I’m sorry,” said Esther. “I was supposed to go to a baseball game with my family—they should be right outside—but look at this, Lon.”

“A ten-seventeen,” I heard him say. “A little overtime today.”

“My family—can they come inside for a moment?”

“Certainly,” said Mrs. Byrne, and I heard her start toward the door herself. I came around the corner from the kitchen just as I heard the door buzz, the lock turn, and new voices rattle. There was a tall man with a kind smile and dark hair that had little sprinkles of white, a dark-haired girl who was not as tall and smelled like roses, and a little boy with shiny dark hair that curled over an eye.

Esther Rivas stepped forward and put her arms around the man, put a hand out to the girl, and kissed the little boy on the top of his head.

“My family,” she said again. “My husband, Rob.
Rob Bartlestein.” The man smiled. “And our children,
Miriam and Javvy. Miriam Maria and Javier Bartlestein.”

Lon Bridges rubbed his hand on the little boy’s head.

“Names like that, they’re gonna be mayor and governor one day,” he said, and the boy smiled.

“We’re eight and twelve,” said Javvy. “I’m the eight. My sister, Miriam, is so old!”

Mrs. Byrne said, “So pleased to meet you,” and so I said, “Me too.”

Esther dropped her voice to tell her husband about the ten-seventeen.

“I remember you telling me about that call,” he said.

“Maybe it won’t take long, but…”

“Yes, you guys have got to go. And now,” said Rob Bartlestein. “Shame to have an empty seat for a game against the Cards.”

“Mrs. Byrne?” Esther asked her. “Do you like baseball? You’ve been so helpful through this sad… situation.…” But Mrs. Byrne had already begun to wave her hands like she was trying to shake water off of them.

“Oh, no, thank you. What are we—nine, ten blocks away? And I haven’t been to more than one or two. Thank you, but I’m here until six tonight.”

So then I said, “I’ve never been to a baseball game.”

Mrs. Byrne, Lon Bridges, and Esther Rivas turned around when they heard me. Rob, Miriam, and Javvy looked at me for the first time.

“Really?” asked Javvy. “Never never?”

“I see them on tee-vee all the time. They’re on every day, and I like to cheer.”

“Well then,” said Esther Rivas. “Our boys need cheers. You’ve been so helpful, too, Ms. Miyake.
Miriam, Javvy, this is Sal. Sally Miyake. She lives here at Sunnyside Plaza and works in the kitchen behind us.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I told them, and Rob Bartlestein stepped forward and held out his hand.

“I believe my wife mentioned you. You helped her a lot. I’m pleased to meet you, too.”

I shook Rob Bartlestein’s hand as he said, “So why don’t you join us?”

We all turned to look at Mrs. Byrne.

“I… I don’t see how it’s possible. There are procedures. Forms to be signed, background checks…”

Esther Rivas lifted a side of her black jacket and pointed a light pink fingernail at the gold badge she had on her belt.

“I’ll vouch for him. And that’s after fifteen years of marriage.”

“You should have seen the background check her father ran on me,” said Rob Bartlestein. “Sheesh. A prince of England couldn’t pass his test.”

Then Javvy and Miriam began to say, “Yes! Yes! Let her come!” and Mrs. Byrne smiled and shrugged.

“Okay then. A day pass. I’ll go get the paperwork and you can be on your way.”

“Yay!” said the kids, and Mrs. Byrne told me, “Sal Gal, why don’t you go upstairs and get a sweater. You’re going to have a great time with this family at the ballpark,” and I ran up the stairs, into my room, to find my pink sweater under my other pair of shoes and yesterday’s socks, and ran back down to join Esther’s family.