39

Whamwhamwhamwham.

I wake pretty fast when someone kicks at the front door. Even without coffee, I’m unfolding myself from the crescent shape I’ve crunched into all night on the little bed. Where’s Agatha?

Out the window I see a young girl standing on the front step, looking up at me through bangs that hang in long sticky strings. She’s wearing thick work boots several sizes too big, the long laces wrapped round and round at the top near her shins. She holds a box covered with a faded towel.

“The Crow Lady, is she here?” the girl asks when I open the door. She looks behind her, then back at me.

I don’t know who she means. “Who?”

“The lady that lives here. Is she here?”

You mean Agatha? I’ve been left with a woman people call the Crow Lady?

“My mother made this for her.” The girl hands the box to me. She looks behind her again. I take the box and look under the towel, where two loaves of homemade bread lie nested close.

“My ma is thankin’ the Crow Lady for the potatoes.” The girl hands me a letter. “You’re not scared of her or nothing?”

I’m not sure what to say to that, so I just stare at the bread. The Crow Lady?

“Lots of kids hold their breath when they walk past here. They say she’s loony.” The girl pushes her bangs away from her face. “But I don’t think so. She brings us stuff.”

The girl looks out at the road. “I been here too long. My pa will whip me real bad if he knows I’m here. My ma has to sneak sometimes.” She turns to go. “Don’t tell nobody it was me that brought it. You won’t, will you?”

“I d-d-d-d-don’t even kn-kn-kn-know who you are.”

She looks at me for several seconds. “Don’t say nothing. My pa’s gonna beat my tail if you tell.”

She turns and runs down the steps and off toward the road.