Iola was sitting out in front of the trailer in one of the lawn chairs. Nod was curled up in her lap.

When Beverly came outside, Iola said, “There’s coffee in the percolator,” but she didn’t get up out of the chair.

Mist covered the bushes and the trees. Everything was muffled. But underneath the silence, there was the low, insistent mutter of the ocean.

“I get blue spells,” said Iola without looking at Beverly. “You ever get them?”

“No,” said Beverly.

“It’s like somebody is setting right on top of my chest, to where I can’t breathe or hope.” Iola put a hand over her heart. “And then, after a time, it passes. It always does. I just have to wait it out.”

Beverly nodded.

“I’m glad you’re here,” said Iola. “But I worry about you. You’re too young to be away from home — I know you are. Surely someone is looking for you. But you give me comfort, and I can’t help it — I’m glad you’re here.”

“No one’s looking for me,” said Beverly. “I’m going to get some coffee.”

She went into the trailer and poured a cup of coffee and stood and stared out the little window, past the yellow curtains, and thought about how much she did not want to be a comfort to someone.

She went back outside with her cup of coffee.

A woman was standing in front of the trailer, talking to Iola.

“I see you got some company,” said the woman, nodding in Beverly’s direction.

“I do,” said Iola.

“Now, who are you?” said the woman to Beverly.

The woman’s hair was dyed bright red. She had on a green pantsuit, and she was smiling in a fake way.

“She’s my niece,” said Iola.

“I didn’t know you had a niece,” said the woman.

“Well, I do. And she is visiting me.”

“Her hair is so dark. Is she some kind of Italian?”

“She’s my niece,” said Iola again.

“I’m her niece,” said Beverly.

“All right. If you say so. The two of you don’t look related at all. But there’s no explaining some things, is there?” She smiled her fake smile. “Now, Iola, I’m heading out on a little walk. You let me know if you want to go to church this Sunday, and when it is that you want to go grocery shopping.”

“My niece will take me grocery shopping, thank you very much.”

“If that’s how you want it,” said the lady.

“That’s how I want it,” said Iola.

The woman walked away. Iola said, “That’s Maureen. She’s the one who’s been taking me grocery shopping since I can’t drive the Pontiac. But she won’t ever take me to bingo. She says that bingo is corrupt. Corrupt and immoral! Have you ever in your life?”

“I don’t like her,” said Beverly.

“Me, neither,” said Iola. “I never have. But lying to her about you being my niece cheered me up some. And it was nice to tell her ‘no, thank you’ for the grocery shopping. I hate grocery shopping with her. She won’t buy one ding-danging thing unless she has some kind of coupon for it. She’s cheap is what she is. My Tommy would have called her ‘stingy of soul.’ And that’s exactly what she is. Stingy of soul.”

“Her hair sure is red,” said Beverly.

“She dyes it every week. The hair dye comes in a little box. She buys it at the store. With a coupon, of course. Do you want me to make you some eggs, honey?”

Even though Beverly wanted to say no, she said yes.

There was something about sitting at the tiny table in the tiny kitchen in the tiny trailer and having Iola slide a plate of food in front of her that made Beverly feel like a little kid might feel — happy, taken care of.

Maybe in her letter to Raymie she would describe Iola’s kitchen — the yellow curtains and the tiny table and the blue plates and the clock that was in the shape of a cat, and how the real cat, Nod, sat on top of the refrigerator with his tail hanging down.

“Do you have a piece of paper and an envelope?” Beverly asked Iola.

“I do.”

“I need to write somebody a letter,” said Beverly.

“I figured,” said Iola. “That’s what them things usually add up to. Are you going to write home and tell them where you are?”

Beverly said nothing.

“Never mind,” said Iola. “It ain’t my business.” She pushed herself up from the lawn chair. She made it halfway up and then sank back down. “That old arthritis is in my knees, too,” she said. “Some days, everything hurts.”

Beverly stepped closer. She reached out and took hold of Iola’s hand. It was bony and small.

Beverly pulled, and, slowly, Iola rose to a standing position.

“Oof,” said Iola.

“Okay?” said Beverly.

“Okay,” said Iola. She squeezed Beverly’s hand. And then she kept hold of it as the two of them walked up the stairs and into the trailer.