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Previous Chapter: Somebody's Sons, Somebody's Daughters
“I’ve had trouble with the lock at the studio since the first day,” Dave said to Lacey before work one day when he’d found her at Dunkin’ Donuts, staring idly out the window with her thin arms crossed on her knees and making a small coffee last as long as possible. He bought them both an avocado toast and sat down across from her. “I don’t worry about it before nine or so, when my last class ends. But after that, I worry a little bit at night.” He looked at her; did she catch his drift? She wasn’t too well today. “If you give it a solid pull, it still locks behind you when you close it. You can get out, but people can’t get in. But it’s really hard for me to do from the outside when I leave.”
She didn’t answer, was looking past him, picking at the skin of her wrist.
“There’s a shift change at 11, then it’s pretty quiet for a while.” He was getting desperate, sounding too obvious even to himself.
“Dave,” Lacey said, softly, “why are you being so nice to me?”
“I like you.”
“There’s nothing to like about me. What could you like about me?” Her voice was almost emotionless, except for a note of wistful sadness; not grief, perhaps resignation and maybe even some kind of pity towards him. “I think when I was a kid I liked things, had interests, did things. But that’s all gone; there’s just nothing left. Dave,” she paused to smile wanly at a little girl in a purple snowsuit who had just sat at a nearby table with a rainbow jimmie donut, “I’m an animal.”
“Don’t say that,” Dave said quietly, intensely. “That’s a wicked thing to say.”
“So? I am wicked. It’s ok. I know it. All I will ever have is hunger until I die. Like an animal.” The little girl had dug a piece out of the middle of her donut and was offering it to them. Lacey smiled and accepted it, eating it with an audible “mmmm” so the child would hear.
“But it’s not true that that’s all you are. I don’t know how you can think so.”
Lacey shifted her eyes back to Dave and shrugged. “I’m inside me. I know what I am.”
Dave just shook his head, no, no. His phone vibrated. As he was reading the text, the little girl handed Lacey a pink poodle sticker and she stuck it to her dingy hoodie; he whipped open the camera and caught them smiling at each other. He would show her who she was, someday; he would collect the evidence.
“I think someone was sleeping on the floor where the studio is now before I moved in,” he said, looking at her intently. “Wish they could see it now.”
Lacey smiled a tiny, rueful smile.
Dave stacked blankets and a pillow by the studio door before he went home that night; he left a toothbrush and toothpaste beside them, some antibacterial wipes, and a washcloth. He kept thinking of more things to do. He put the teakettle and some tea bags in a mug beside the blankets, along with a packet of honey, and a granola bar. When he left, he kept a lamp on and wedged a wooden doorstop in the door.
In the morning, it was all untouched. Every night, he checked to make sure it was still in order, and every morning, it was still untouched.
But one morning, five or six days later, the doorstop was gone, and the door was locked. Everything was the same, except the toothbrush was out of its package. That night, Dave left an apple and a package of microwave popcorn in a plastic tote to deter the rats, although it was impossible to keep them out entirely, even with traps in all the dark corners.
For three or four more nights, the pile was untouched, but on the fourth, he found an apple core and empty popcorn bag in the trash. “Yes!” he whispered to himself.
When he arrived to prepare for class the day after that, Lacey was asleep on a yoga mat in the middle of the room, all of the blankets piled on top of her, a tatty stuffed rabbit by her cheek. She lifted her head blearily when he came in, confused at first, then scared and embarrassed. “Oh no,” she said, “I’m sorry.”
He smiled and plugged in the teakettle. “Don’t be. Tea?”
“You don’t have coffee, do you . . . oh my gawd, I’m sorry. What am I thinking?” She wiped back the strands of hair that were stuck to her cheek.
“Haha, no worries. I’ll get some.” He grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door.
“Oh no, please don’t. Tea is good.” She sounded almost afraid of him leaving, so he hung the coat back up.
“Ok. Honey?”
“Yes, please.” Lacey sat up and pulled the blanket around her shoulders.
“You know . . . you’d probably be warmer if you slept in the changing room.”
“It’s so nice in there. I peeked. But I don’t want to mess up your fluffy white rug.” Lacey yawned, still waking up.
“It would survive.” Dave looked up from the tea and smiled.
“I . . . I don’t like the mirror. I don’t like to wake up and see myself. It’s like someone’s watching me.”
“Ah, I see.” Dave swirled honey into the cup with a teaspoon.
“Anyway . . . I’m far more comfortable than I used to be . . . than I used to be . . . in here.”
“Good.” He smiled at her admission and handed her a mug. “I thought I recognized someone.” He gestured at the rabbit and Lacey pulled it closer to her, protectively. He sat down on the floor beside her and wrapped his hands around his own warm cup.
“How soon is class?” Lacey looked around for a clock anxiously.
“About an hour. I like to get here early, set things up, get in the right mindset.”
“How many people come?”
“That one’s fairly well attended . . . there’s three.”
“They say it’s a crowd . . .” Lacey’s jaw dropped, then she laughed. “That’s funny! That’s the first time I’ve told a joke in months, no lie!”
Dave smiled, chuckled slightly, his mild eyes crinkling at the corners just a little bit. Lacey stood up and started folding the blankets. She’d slept in her clothes. “Let me help you set up.”
Dave was about to tell her she didn’t need to, but then, perhaps she needed the dignity of doing something for him. “Ok . . . just lay out some mats over here. You want to choose some music?”
She left about 15 minutes before class started. He’d tried to tell her she could stay, but they knew it wasn’t true. It would be hard to explain her presence in a way that the chair yoga ladies would find plausible or acceptable.
There was a lag between that class and the next, if you call six hours a lag. Usually, he spent that time promoting the studio, but today he couldn’t wait until his one daytime class was finished so he could scoot out to Walmart and buy a can of instant coffee, some powdered creamer, and the warmest pair of pajamas he could find—fleece-lined flannel, women’s extra small. Should he wrap them? Christmas was next week. No, it was too much. Maybe this was too much, period. He just didn’t want her to be cold, and he wanted her to have something special.
“Got anything good?” Isla peeked in his bag when he got back to the studio. So, somebody else knew about his open-door policy. She’d been waiting at his desk, reading his yoga magazine. He felt a little uneasy when he saw her; they hadn’t talked since he left their Monday coffee three weeks ago.
“Haha, nothing much,” he said, as he twisted the reusable sack closed and set it aside. Isla didn’t move from his desk, so he sat on a beanbag chair nearby. Since she didn’t say anything right away, he asked, “How did you get in?” even though he knew.
“You really should make sure that door is closed properly.” She gave him a sharp look.
“Um, I know, I know. I’ve always had trouble with that lock . . . anyway . . . how have you been?” Dave played with a shoelace.
“Pretty good. Had that trip to Boston a couple weeks ago. That went . . . well, it went ok. Now I’m just helping Mum and Dad get ready for Christmas. We have the big family Christmas party. Are you going to your dad’s for the holidays? You should stop by if you’re not.”
“Oh, ah . . . thanks. That would be nice. I’m not sure yet if I’m going to Dad’s or not. I haven’t seen him for a while, though.” Dave resolved to call Dad when Isla left. He’d been more preoccupied than he realized with Lacey, not that she demanded much of his time. But the friendship demanded a dangerous amount of his heart, maybe.
Did Isla read his mind? “Have you seen much of that girl? Your new friend?” Isla was approaching cautiously, as if carefully holding back judgment from her voice.
“Not much, really, no.”
“I see her outside the building some.”
“Well, I think she lived here until I moved in. Did you know there were squatters?”
“I didn’t exactly know. But it’s not surprising, is it? Better these old relics keep the rain off of someone’s head than do nothing, I guess.” Dave nodded. “Speaking of ‘living here’ . . . there’s a pile of blankets and a toothbrush under the desk. Kim kick you out?” She gave him a pointed look.
“Ah . . . no.”
“I didn’t think so.” Isla hesitated, then left the desk and settled in another beanbag chair next to him, saying, “Hey, this isn’t a visit to the principal’s office.” The joke fell a little flat. Isla shifted uncomfortably, as if the chair made her feel vulnerable, like she couldn’t get up fast. “Dave . . . she’s not your pet. You can’t just bring her a bowl of water and food every night and think she’s taken care of.”
Dave flopped his head back on the beanbag and closed his eyes.
“I saw coffee and flannel pajamas in that bag. Those aren’t for you. She’s not your doll to dress up.”
“I know that.”
“She needs professional help.”
“She won’t go, though. Not now, anyway.” He spread out his hands in resignation.
“Dave, I get it. I really get it. You don’t know how well I get it.” Isla paused to hold back the emotion in her voice. She took a slow, deep breath. “I’ve loved people like that girl. It’s dangerous. It hurts. You want so much to help, and you can’t. Believe me, Dave. You can help for a day, maybe, or a year, if you’re lucky. But eventually . . . everything you meant to be helpful just ends up feeding the addiction.” Their eyes met and Isla looked away.
“I appreciate that, Isla. All of that, although I’m not willing to say it’s hopeless. Even if it is . . . isn’t one dry, warm night worth it? One clean year? One smile, one laugh, one friend? Someone who cares what happens to you?”
“You’re going to come up here one morning and find she’s stolen everything right out from under you,” Isla said flatly, though wincing a little at the harsh words that she believed necessary.
“I don’t have much of value up here. Or anywhere.” Dave shrugged.
“It will break your heart, Dave.” Her face showed true concern.
“Can you really have a heart without taking that chance?”
“So, you’re in this with open eyes?”
Dave clasped his hands over his knees and nodded soberly. “I think so, yes.” They looked at each other seriously. “Isla, she’s asked me for nothing. I’ll be very, very cautious if she does want something. I promise.”
Isla shrugged. “I can’t stop you.”
“I understand. Don’t tell Perry, though, ok?”
“Perry, ah . . . there’s another ethical dilemma. But I guess that’s on your conscience.”
“Thanks. Oh, by the way . . . her name is Lacey.”
Isla nodded. “I’m still not comfortable with this.”
“A lot of times uncomfortable is the right place to be.”
“I’ve said it before, Dave; you’re a radical.” Dave smiled and shook his head. Isla got up to go, uneasy but not sure what else to say. She rubbed her eyes, then added impulsively, “Ugh, Dave, I just . . . you seemed so wise, so even-keeled. This is rocking my world a little.”
“It isn’t my fault if you thought a broke guy who ran away from his problems to live in an attic was even-keeled.” Dave shrugged, still smiling slightly.
“Yeah, but I mean . . . in spite of that, in spite of this . . . you still seem like . . . like you know what you’re doing, like you’re . . . right. But you can’t be right. This can’t be right. I just don’t know what all of this means.”
“Maybe it means that life is happening.”
“What?” Isla shook her head in confusion.
“We can’t make sense of everything. We can’t make all the puzzle pieces fit. We can’t decide what category to put people in. We can’t make it not messy.”
“I don’t like that at all.”
“That’s because you like to know what to expect and where you stand at all times. You’re all right with me, don’t worry. Even if you don’t approve of me. Or know what box I go in.”
“You’re probably good for me,” Isla acknowledged. “Only Dave,” she bit her lip, “it can hurt you bad. Twist you all up inside. Make you sadder and angrier than you knew you could be. Make you helpless. Please, please . . . take it seriously.”
“I do,” Dave said, meeting her eyes. “It hurts already.”
Next Chapter: Maybe She Went Home
Copyright 2025 Jennie Robertson