“Forty-seven,” she said. “Right now.”
My stomach flipped.
She listed them like facts she had repeated a thousand times:
- Veterans who had nowhere else to go
- Women escaping violent situations
- Children
- Thomas and his mother, Rose
- A family who arrived after fleeing Afghanistan
“James knew them all,” I whispered.
“He knew everyone who ever stayed here,” Maggie said. “Especially the temporary ones.”
The kitchen was industrial now: oversized stoves, enormous refrigerator, shelves stacked like a working cafeteria.
Children’s drawings covered a metal worktable.
One drawing stopped me cold.
Stick figures around a blue circle.
Childish letters above it:
Ben’s water.
“What is Ben’s water?” I asked, throat tightening.
Thomas lit up.
“The swimming place,” he said proudly. “Where kids learn not to drown.”
The room tilted.
Maggie pulled out a chair quickly.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “We should have eased you into it.”
I gripped the chair back.
“No,” I said. “Show me.”
Maggie studied my face, then nodded once.
“Before the lake,” she said, “there’s something upstairs. Something James made for you.”
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