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asked when he came out.
    He shook his head.
    “They have Sonny’s keys,” he said. “The lease is in his name.”
    “What about the furniture?”
    We watched them carry the geometrical print down the driveway and slide it into the truck.
    “It’s all Sonny’s,” he said. “What kind of a man would take away a woman’s furniture?”
    The younger man carried the afghan that Sandy kept on the back of the couch and the wicker fan that had hung over the television. I knew for a fact that one of the residents in the nursing home had crocheted the blanket for her.
    “That’s Sandy’s,” I said.
    He stopped and turned his head.
    “It’s on the list,” he said flatly.
    “Well it’s not Sonny’s,” I said, grabbing it out of his hands.
    “Hey,” he said, “give that back.”
    “It’s OK,” the older guy said, coming up behind us carrying a lamp in each hand. “Let her keep it.”
    Mr. Ananais pulled me away.
    “You have to calm down, koukla ,” he said. “The ladies in Bent Tree are sometimes a little crazy. I had a girl come out of her unit naked and go around door to door asking for a cheese sandwich. These ladies will have arguments about anything, how to cook a chicken, or if rain is rain or if it’s drizzle.”
    We watched the movers pull the metal door of the truck shut. I copied the number off the license plate and Mr. Ananais went down to his duplex to call Sandy at work. He promised me he wouldn’t evict her, that he’d give Sandy a chance to pay her rent herself. After the movers drove off, I sat on the curb in front of her duplex under my black umbrella with the blanket over my lap. The light faded like a lamp being dimmed by slow degrees. The sky was green,then white, the air smoky with raindrops and the trees on the mountains darkening. When the rain stopped, steam came up off the asphalt and the cicadas started to pulse.
    My dad came out to talk to me. I could tell my mom had sent him. His beard had grown in and he’d lost weight; his hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Before we got kicked out of the rectory my dad would have told me not to worry, Sandy was a child of God. He’d insist that all people and animals, even snakes and crocodiles, were connected at the root, a solid blob of life. At the end too, when we died, we’d be connected once again. It was only in life that we seemed like separate beings.
    But now he wasn’t sure what to say.
    “I guess you’re not hungry?”
    “No.”
    I thought he might point to the trees swaying in the soft wind and expect me to get all goose-pimply, because the Holy Spirit was moving in the world. He used to do it all the time, and while now it was rare, he sometimes still held his hand up, out of habit, to show that the spirits’ enchantments were not completely dead.
    Instead he pulled a cookie wrapped in a napkin out of his pocket.
    “Just in case,” he said, setting it beside me on the curb.
    I watched him walk back into the duplex. I was mad at him. Without God to protect us, I had to watch overSandy and help her the best I could. I saw my mother doing the dishes at the sink through the kitchen window and I knew Phillip and Eddie were inside watching television. It got darker. The streetlight came on and moths beat against the glass. Clouds blew sideways and a few stars came out. I was afraid that when Sandy came back, she’d see her empty apartment and swallow a whole jar of aspirin. If I didn’t wait up for her, she might not make it through the night.

CHAPTER TWO
    JILL
    On my first day of seventh grade, I waited for the junior high bus by the row of mailboxes down on the main road. I had chosen my outfit only after setting all my options out on my bed and trying on each one. I went through various movements in front of the bathroom mirror before settling on the wide-wale corduroys and the green blouse with the large pointy collar.
    I crossed my arms in front of my chest and angled my head. From practicing, I knew the pose I