I try to sneak in the cafe through the alley. Yesterday was payday and I forgot to grab my envelope. I won’t be able to cash the check. I always signed them over to Adam and had him do it for me. But I can at least get my share of the tip jar for the week. It’s something.

Bodie is in the alley, wearing a Santa hat, smoking.

“Pilgrim,” he says in his slow, dazed voice, “you’re like a work addict or something. I thought it was your day off.” He closes his eyes and smiles like he has a pretty picture in his head.

“Came for my paycheck,” I say.

When he hears my voice, he looks at me. “Dude,” he says, and I know he can tell I’ve been crying. I know I’m probably a wreck and a half.

“Can you sneak in and get it?” I ask, and start tearing up again.

“Sure,” he says. “Anything for you, Pilgrim.” He taps my shoulder with his palm before he walks back inside. I wait, studying the alley. I want to be able to remember everything about it: the smell of wet leaves and soggy cigarette butts, the echo of the water dripping off the fire escape. I wish I could keep it. All of it. I wish I could stay. I pull a wrinkled napkin from my purse and press it to my knee, carving into it with a dying ballpoint pen: I, April, will miss you.

“Got it,” Bodie says in a loud whisper when he comes back outside. “Figured you didn’t want anyone to know, so I snagged it while Carly was helping a customer.”

“Thank you.” I hand him the napkin, folded in four. “Can you leave this for Carly? On the bulletin board. Maybe like in an hour or so?”

“April,” Bodie says, and I think it might be the first time he’s called me anything other than Pilgrim. “Are you okay?”

“Sure.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“You’re a really good guy,” I say, and hug him before I even know what I’m doing.

“Can I help?”