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steadied Ms. Lucas. She wobbled and I realized that the slender heel of her shoe had caught in the space between two of the boards on the porch. She wiggled her foot loose.
    “See!” Ms. Lucas spat out the words. “She’s psycho. She could have knocked me down the steps. I’ll file an eviction notice and she’ll be out tomorrow.”
    “I beg your pardon.” I revved up a nasty tone. “But we saw Mrs. White earlier today, and she just said you were interested in the property. You can’t evict someone from a building you don’t even own yet, and when you do possess it, the legal proceedings take a lot more than a few days.”
    “You must have seen Mrs. White this morning. Just an hour ago, we set the closing with her for tomorrow at four thirty.” Ms. Lucas turned to face Jane. “I want you out of here tomorrow night. I’ll come back after the closing to see that you’re gone.” She brushed against me as she stomped down the steps, then climbed into her Lincoln Town Car and drove away. The car was the same color as her hair and suit. I wondered if her monochromatic color scheme was intentional.
    Jane seldom cries, but when she does, it just destroys me. Her eyes are useless, but her tear ducts work fine. Tears flowing from those sightless orbs have always upset me. “Did you call 911?” I asked.
    “No,” Jane sniffled. “She called out my name right after I called you. When she did that, I thought maybe she hadn’t heard me before. I opened the door. After that, we just screamed at each other until you came.”
    I put my arm around her shoulder and led her into the apartment.
    This had been the perfect home for Jane, one giant square room with a kitchen area in one corner, a bed in another, television and love seat in the third, and door to the bathroom in the fourth. It’s important for all of Jane’s belongings to have designated places. The apartment was large enough for that, but not too big for Jane to keep tidy. Pearl had worked for the Commission for the Blind, and, knowing Jane through the commission, she’d let Jane have the place for a ridiculously low rental.
    Once we were inside, Jane regained her self-control. She went to the kitchen area and washed her hands, then filled the coffeemaker and clicked it on. She tugged on a padded glove and pulled a baking sheet from the oven.
    “Have a seat,” she said and motioned toward the love seat as she set the pan on a metal trivet to cool. Then she sat in the fake La-Z-Boy.
    “I guess I’ll be moving soon.” Jane sighed.
    “No problem,” I replied. “Don’t you remember? I promised to check with my landlady. I’d really love to have you living next door to me in the duplex.”
    “Yes, that could be a cool setup.” She sat silently for a few minutes before pushing the remote control. The television clicked on and we watched Paula Deen for several minutes. Well, I watched; she listened.
    When the commercial came on, Jane went back to the counter, poured two mugs of coffee, and added cream plus three sugars in one. To avoid overfilling cups and glasses, Jane folds her index finger over the rim. When the liquid reaches her fingertip, she knows the container is full. That’s understandable, but I don’t know how she senses when my cup is empty and reaches for it to give me a refill. As I accepted my coffee, she said, “You’re gonna get diabetes if you keep using all that sugar.”
    I didn’t bother to answer her because it’s probably true. I didn’t tell her that I’d been cutting back to two sugars either. Instead, I inhaled the fragrance from my mug and said, “Cinnamon almond.”
    Jane grinned. “You’re getting really good at that. The café du jour is Almond Cinnamon. You reversed the name, but you got the flavors right.” She sipped, then continued, “I’m sorry I called you, but that woman kept walking on the steps and when I called out, she didn’t answer until after I called you. I’ll bet she heard me talking to you