“Your family’s real nice,” she continues, looking down at her new supplies. “They gave me the money for all of this and a good meal too. I ate at Red Lobster last night. I just walked right in and ordered up a four-course feast! And all they wanted in return was my help in getting you to talk to them. Did you talk to them?” she asks as she opens up a coloring book filled with images of Dora the Explorer. “You should always talk to family, you know. I would have helped them even without the money. But the money, that was real nice. Been a long time since I’ve had lobster.”

I think about the Clif Bars in my purse and suddenly feel ashamed. I’ve been treating Mary like she’s a dog, not a person. Giving her the occasional treat or toy. Micah and Javier were able to buy Mary’s trust simply by offering her the means to feel human for a night.

“Maybe someday we should go to a better lobster restaurant,” I say, thinking about the duffel bag full of money still in my apartment. “Maybe Ed’s Lobster Bar in Soho.”

Mary shakes her head. “I don’t like that part of town. I like it right here in Harlem where my people are.” She looks at me suspiciously, seeming to notice my tailored attire for the first time. “Are you sure you’re from around here?”

“Yes,” I say with a sigh and take a seat next to her on the curb. “I’m your people.”

“And did you talk to your family?”

“I spoke to the men who gave you all this, but they’re not family.”

“You can’t disown family,” Mary says, shaking her head so hard a green pencil she had in her hair comes flying out. She picks it up primly and uses it to color the clouds of Dora’s world. “You can’t pretend you don’t belong to them and they don’t belong to you. You share the blood, that’s what matters. Can’t pretend you don’t.”

“I don’t share their blood,” I say softly, not sure if I can convince her of that or even sure if it’s worth my while to try. “The only family I ever had was my mom.”

“Huh.” Mary’s pencil is working furiously now as she makes green drip from Dora’s mouth so it looks like she’s been eating this artificial sky Mary’s creating for her. “So where’s your mama now?”

“She’s dead.”

Mary looks up, startled. I’m a little startled myself. I’ve never said those words aloud in quite that way, without poetry or venom. Just stating it as a fact the way you might tell someone that you didn’t win the lottery, the disappointment so expected it’s barely worth noting.

“You alone in the world?”

“Yes.”