Nana was waiting for me when I got there. I found her alone, reading Little Bee at the kitchen table, like a security guard.
“I need to talk to you,” she said.
“I’m not going to fight about this, Nana. We can’t help every kid on the streets of DC,” I said, and kept moving.
“Who said anything about that?” she called after me, but I was already halfway to the stairs.
I hated being cast as the bad guy. It wasn’t like I thought Nana was crazy for feeling the way she did, but I truly believed I was doing the right thing here. For everyone involved, even the girl.
At least up until what happened next.
When I got upstairs to Damon’s room, Ava was sitting on the bed reading one of his old X-Men comics.
“Ava, it’s time to go,” I said. “I’m going to bring you down to the intake center and get you settled over there, okay? Just like we talked about last night.”
She wouldn’t even look at me. She lifted and lowered one very cold shoulder and swung her feet onto the floor. Maybe she’d been getting pointers from Nana.
Then, as she got up to shuffle over to the door, I noticed something on the floor behind her. Something under the bed.
“What’s that?” I said, pointing.
“Nothin’.”
She didn’t even glance back. The girl was a terrible liar.
“Hang on a second.”
I walked over and knelt down on the rug to have a look. There, between the bed and the nightstand, was a small pile of food. I saw half a loaf of bread, some bananas, a sleeve of crackers, and a jar of peanut butter.
Honestly, I wasn’t so surprised. It’s not unusual for a kid from the streets to hoard food, given the chance. And I wasn’t even remotely mad about it, either. Ava had done this by instinct, as likely as anything. Survival instinct.
Maybe that’s why it broke my heart. Why should a thirteen-year-old kid have to think about where her next meal might be coming from?
Why should Ava? Or anyone?
Just like that, something shifted inside me. It happened the way these things do sometimes, when you least expect it — or even want it.
But that was also the moment that Ava made a break for the stairs. When I turned around, she was gone.
“Ava, wait!”
By the time I got out to the hall, she was already down by the front door, trying to get out. Our dead bolt’s a little complicated, a little tricky, and it was slowing her down.
“Ava!” I called out again.
As I came closer, she gave up and ran for the back of the house instead. She crashed right through the kitchen door and just kept going. I heard the sound of breaking glass.
Then Nana’s voice. “What in heaven’s name —?”
When I rushed into the room, Ava was still there. One of the panes in the back door was shattered, and her hand was bleeding. She stood staring at it, frozen in her tracks like a trapped animal.
I put my hands out in front of me. “It’s okay,” I said. “Really. Everything’s okay.”
Nana grabbed a dish towel to wrap the cut. She put her arm around Ava and made her sit down.
“Nothing to worry about,” she said in a soothing voice. “Just a little cut, but you go ahead and cry if you need to, sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry,” Ava said, more to Nana than to me. “I didn’t mean to …”