“Meet Eddie and Christof.” Shawna adjusts Eddie’s hat, flapping up the brim. “Run along now, kids.”

Shawna watches them leave.

“Is that your son?” Carla asks, not sure which kid she’s referencing. Neither looks particularly like Shawna. But no one young would.

“Yup.” Shawna hooks her arm into Carla’s. “Shall we walk?”

“I guess.” Carla can’t say no, though Shawna scares her. Besides, if she goes the other way she has just that final block, and kids are bleeding over there.

“How does today look for you, personally?” Shawna asks.

“Okay,” says Carla. “Just going to work. I might be late, actually.” She speeds up as they cross a side street.

Shawna shakes her head. “Honey, I’m your sponsor. There is no reason at all to lie.”

Shawna can’t know Carla’s schedule at the library, which changes weekly. “I do have work.”

Shawna stops short, spins Carla around to face her. Behind Shawna’s body, a few big guys softly toss a littler kid through the air. The kid flaps his elbows like he’ll take off into the cold sky, leave this chaos behind. “Your friend had a talk with me this morning. She’s worried about you today. She said you deserve a guardian angel.”

Carla has laughed to Pooja about Shawna. Pooja agreed she sounded nuts, but Carla didn’t even share Shawna’s name. She barely knows Shawna’s phone number herself. Pooja must have done some digging. This touches Carla so deeply that she pinches her bottom lip to keep it steady. Pooja actually cares. She didn’t only come up with some half-assed, unappealing plan for Carla to travel alone to the hysterical Dells, full of foam rubber crocodiles and upside-down houses and waterslides with floating bandages. She didn’t just offer to spend all day in the Buzzman Reading Room so Carla wouldn’t have to walk down Mifflin Street. She actually bothered to get help.

“I’m okay,” Carla says. “I think I’ll go home now.” She really thinks she will, though her body is less sure, her feet aimed at an especially battered party house.

“Good idea,” says Shawna. “I’ll walk you.”

“That’s not necessary.” But Carla’s grateful, though she doesn’t enjoy Shawna’s company. She can’t imagine retreating into her quiet apartment alone, sitting back down, and doing what? Watching TV? Playing with the ferrets? The ferrets only cost her money and time. Her fingers still stink of bleach and they didn’t even appreciate her work. She should take them back to the pet store the next time she gets waxed. Maybe their friend is waiting.

When they start walking, Carla’s colder than she’s felt all day, her coat rubbing bare skin. Snow falls, gray confetti spaced far apart. Carla draws the flaps of her coat together and hunches her shoulders.

Shawna relates legends of SLAA, pat morality tales. Jenna, with her compulsion for unprotected sex, who contracted AIDS and now presents a lecture at middle schools called “Selling Your Life for a Minute of Fun.” Natalie, whose recovery was facilitated by a wise older sponsor who guided her onto the right path. Selena, whose five hundredth one-night stand was with a folk rock star who told her “You’re better than this, girly girl.”