She flattens her mouth into the sheepish kind of look I remember seeing on kids’ faces when they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t. “Yeah, well, this building is creepy, but it’s all alone and I think that’s kinda sad ’cause nobody wants it, you know?”

“Yeah, actually, I do know. I think the same thing.” I smile at the girl’s insight.

“See? So we should go inside together. Can we? Please?”

I’m already shaking my head no when my phone buzzes. You are taking a walk. “Trust me; it’s too dangerous inside.”

Her eyes widen. “Do you know that ’cause you’ve been inside?”

“Yes—I mean no. It was built a long time ago, so we have no idea what kind of bad materials could be inside.”

“Like what?” She’s a curious one.

“Like asbestos, which is really bad for our lungs.”

“Like you can’t breathe in there or you’ll die?” Her voice is awed.

I smile. “Not exactly, but it’s a good idea to stay out.” I hold up my buzzing phone. “I need to get back and so should you. The bears are still out, and they love this building. You shouldn’t be outside alone, okay? Walk back with me.”

I start to walk and realize the little girl isn’t beside me; I stop and turn to find her where we’d been standing.

“It seemed like you remembered, but you didn’t,” she says. “You’re good at pretending, aren’t you?”

Her words are spot on, and I wonder how many times we’ve interacted. I don’t have to wait, though, because the girl has started counting off.

“I’ve seen you lots since I moved here.” She holds up a finger. “I helped you in the gardens once.” Raises a second finger. “I read you my story during quiet activity time at school.” And a third. “Last Wednesday you caught me trying to grab Oreos out of the vending machine, ’cept my arm is too short, and anyways you told me it was stealing.” A pinkie finger. “Once I brought up a basket of your laundry ’cause you forgot what you were doing and started to go back upstairs without your basket, so I followed you and gave it to you at your apartment. It was heavy.” She stands taller, obviously proud of herself. “You gave me a dollar and said it was a very nice thing for me to do.” She raises her thumb. “And now this time.” She purses her lips, scrunches her nose. “But you don’t remember me, do you? I’m Maree, like Mary with a y ’cept with two e’s ’cause I love Anne of Green Gables, and she put an e at the end of her name, and I think that’s really cool.”