Right foot settled, weight shifted, hands ready for less than a second. Then she stopped herself. Mason saw it. A flicker of surprise passed across his face. Maya relaxed her hands.
Don't do that again. Evan laughed. What are you going to do? Ma Maya kept walking behind her. Mason said, "That's what I thought."
The third cut. By 5:30, Richmond had turned cold and wet. Rain swept through Jefferson Heights in silver sheets, gathering in gutters and shining beneath orange street lights. Maya got off the bus two blocks from Ruth's kitchen. Her phone buzzed.
Another notification. Another comment. She didn't open it. She shoved the phone into her coat pocket. Near the rear alley behind Ruth's, a delivery truck sat crooked beside the loading door.
Several cardboard crates had spilled across the wet pavement. A man was kneeling beside them. Maya recognized him from the restaurant. Leon Harris, 66, gray beard, heavy work jacket, usually carrying himself with the steady patience of someone who had spent most of his life lifting things other people never noticed. Tonight, he was holding one wrist against his chest.
You okay? Leon looked up. Fine. Maya almost smiled. Everybody in Jefferson Heights says that when they're not.
He tried to stand, his face tightened. Maya stepped closer. What happened? Slipped. Hit your head?
No. Dizzy? No. Can you move your fingers? Leon flexed them carefully. Yeah. Good.
Rain drumed against the metal awning. A crate of canned tomatoes had burst open near the curb. Maya began gathering them. Leon frowned. You don't work deliveries.
I know. You're getting soaked. I noticed. You should go home. Maya lifted the first crate.
So should you. Leon laughed despite the pain. Together they moved what they could beneath the awning. Ruth came running from the back door with a towel and a look of alarm. Leon, I'm fine.
Maya and Ruth said together, "You're not." For the first time all day, Maya laughed. It surprised her. Ruth wrapped Leon's wrist and called a friend to drive him to urgent care. When the last crate was stacked inside, Mia's coat was soaked through.
Ruth handed her a towel. Something happened. Maya dried her face. Leon fell. I mean to you.
Mia looked toward the kitchen. Warm yellow light reflected off stainless steel. Coffee cups clinkedked in the dining room. Someone had put an old soul record on low enough that the singer sounded far away. School's just school.