“The wind is coming out of the north tonight,” Mrs. Bell said, pulling her gray cardigan tighter around her neck.
“Mrs. Bell, did you see who brought them?” I asked.
“Your mother says many things to keep the peace,” she said, her voice dropping lower.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“We are going to get a heavy freeze before midnight,” Mrs. Bell said, stepping back toward her door.
She turned and went inside, her front door clicking shut before I could say another word.
I stood on the porch for a minute, looking toward the dark alley where the plywood shelter stood behind our fence.
A thin wisp of gray smoke was rising from the small tin pipe Victor had rigged back there.
When I went back inside, the kitchen had grown warmer, but the air felt heavy with the scent of boiling broth.
My mother was at the stove, spooning thick soup into the green plastic container we used for Victor’s dinner.
