GLORIA

Two things happened at once. Canary growled deep and guttural, and someone knocked on the driver’s side window.

Gloria used the small peek-hole in the cardboard. It was an old woman with flyaway white hair, just like the picture on the leaflet. The missing woman with Alzheimer’s. Gloria shook her head, her brain jumping ahead to the potential consequences of getting involved with this woman, no doubt the subject of a police search right now.

Such a bad idea.

Canary growled again. This time it sounded accusing rather than warning. How could you not at least talk to her, the cat seemed to be saying. You’re not the only person with problems.

“If I get in trouble,” Gloria said to the cat, “it’s going to be your fault. You know that, right?”

The woman knocked again.

Gloria opened the front door and peered out. “What do you want?”

“My name is Iris,” the old woman spoke quickly. “May I come in?”

“People are looking for you,” Gloria said. “Why?”

“I ran away from home. From my husband. Please help me.”

Gloria held her breath. How could she turn this woman away? “Get in,” she said.

Iris settled herself in the passenger seat, shaking. Gloria couldn’t tell if she was shivering or trembling. “Are you cold?” Without waiting for her answer, Gloria transferred the cat to Iris’s lap and pulled a comforter from the back seat. Tucking it around Iris’s shoulders, she asked, “What do you need?”

“To get away from here,” she said. “I heard that they’re looking for me with dogs.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just away from here, at least until the dogs are gone.”

Gloria rubbed her face with both hands. This was such a bad idea. What would the cops do if they thought a homeless woman was hiding an old lady who was missing, who ran away from a husband? The woman didn’t look abused but you couldn’t always tell. The cops would probably accuse her of kidnapping, or worse. Gloria looked at Iris, trying to weigh options, trying not to think about her own mother, about the kind people who had helped their family when her parents were old and sick. That was different, wasn’t it?

“I don’t know,” Gloria said. “That’s not a good idea for me.”

“Please,” Iris said. “I have money. I can pay.” She opened her pocketbook to display a thick stack of twenties in a nest of pill bottles, a comb, and a clear bag with shampoo, toothpaste, and toothbrush. Canary’s head disappeared into the bag.

Gloria glanced at the jumble of pill bottles. “Are you sick?”

“No. I’m fine. I’ll explain once we’re away from here. I don’t want them to find me and take me back.”

Canary jumped off Iris’s lap and snarled her deep-throat warning.

“Oh,” Gloria said, looking out. “Two cops heading this way.” She turned to Iris. “You’ve got to get onto the floor, quickly, and I’ll cover you up.”

“I’m eighty-eight years old. I don’t move quickly,” Iris said. But she slid off the seat and curled up on the floor. Gloria covered her with the comforter and put the cat on top. “Stay there, Canary.”

When the cops knocked on the driver’s side window, Gloria pulled aside the fabric and rolled it down.

“We’re looking for this woman,” the policewoman said, handing Gloria a photocopied picture of Iris. “She was seen around here about an hour ago. She has dementia and wandered off from her home. Have you seen her?”

“No, but I just got here myself a few minutes ago.” Gloria handed the paper back. “I’ll sure keep my eyes open for her.”

When the cops were gone, Gloria spoke to the comforter on the floor. “Okay. You stay down there, and we’ll take a little drive. Get you away from cops and dogs. Then we can figure out what to do next.”