"Thank the tomato," Hank said.
"You got people, Danny?" Hank said to the grill.
"Sort of."
"That word's doing a lot of work tonight."
"It's the one I got."
"You go to school?"
"Jefferson."
"You live with these sort-of people?"
A longer pause. "Yeah."
Hank waited, but Danny had gone back to eating, and Hank knew when a door was shut.
The plate emptied. The bowl emptied. The milk glass emptied again, and Marge, still without a word, filled it one more time. Danny caught her eye and gave her a small serious nod, and she nodded back.
"Thanks," Danny said to the counter.
"You say thanks to people, not counters," Hank said. "Look at me."
Danny looked up.
"Thanks," he said.
"You're welcome." Hank jerked his chin at the back door. "You get hungry tomorrow, that door's here. You hear me?"
Danny slid off the stool. He stood for a second, dripping less now.
"Why?" he said.
"Why what?"
"Why'd you feed me?"
Hank crossed his arms. "Because you were hungry. Now get."
Danny went to the back door and pulled it open. Rain roared in. He stepped out under the awning, and the dark and the rain took him, and he was gone except for the wet footprints on the kitchen tile.
Hank stood there a moment. Then he reached up and slid the deadbolt home.
He left his hand on the bolt a long time. Then, slow, he slid it back.
The door stayed unlocked.
"Soft as a dinner roll," Marge said from the doorway, "and twice as sweet."
"Mind the register," Hank said.
"Register's closed, sugar. See you tomorrow, kid," she said, picking up his empty plate.
Chapter 2: Seconds
The next night the rain was still falling, a thin gray drizzle over the alley behind the Blue Plate. Hank was locking up the front when he heard it: three soft taps on the back door. Not rattling this time. Knocking.
Hank turned the key and opened the door, and there was the boy, rain dripping off his hair onto a jacket two sizes too big.
"You came back," Hank said.
Danny shrugged. "The door was locked last night."
"Last night I was asleep."
"You're not asleep now."
Hank studied him a second. "Sit down, kid," he said.
Danny came in, shaking water off his shoes. Marge looked at him, then at Hank, and set a clean plate on the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Well, well," she said. "Back again, sugar?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Ma'am?" Marge grinned. "Honey, save the ma'am for my funeral. Marge'll do."
"Okay," Danny said, and almost smiled.
Hank was already at the grill. He cracked two eggs and laid down bacon, and Danny watched him from the stool.
The eggs came up sizzling. Hank slid the plate in front of Danny, and the boy ate like a kid who hadn't eaten since yesterday, because he hadn't.
Marge poured him chocolate milk without being asked. She leaned on the counter, her voice a little softer.
"Where do you live, sugar?"
Danny didn't look up. "The Barkers'. On Elm."
"That's a foster home," Marge said.
Danny's fork stopped for half a second. "Yeah."
"You eat there?"
"Sometimes."
Hank didn't turn around from the grill. "When was the last time?"
Danny shrugged. "Yesterday. Before yesterday. Lunch, I think."
Marge let out a breath like she'd been punched. Hank's spatula paused midair, then went back to work.
"What's a kid your age doin' out at midnight?" Hank asked.
"Sneakin'."