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orange stitches appeared on the needles.
    â€œAre you married, dear?”
    â€œYes” was waiting in her mouth to slip out, but she caught it in time. “No,” she said. Her reflection in the bus window watched her, a stranger with brown hair and the stranger’s mouth moved to make a slight smile. She was unmarried, she was alive. Each breath brought air into her lungs and pumped blood through her veins.
    The woman looked at her like she might be doubting what Cary had said, and the smile dried at the edges and the air stopped going in. When the woman went back to her knitting, the breathing started again.
    â€œI was married once,” the woman said. A keen glance came Cary’s way.
    Cary was startled at the sharp pointedness of it. Fear crept up to sit on her shoulder and whisper in her ear. Don’t take anything at face value . Then the woman smiled. The sharpness melted and she was just a dithery, elderly lady again.
    â€œI’m Amelia.”
    I’m missing.
    Amelia waited for Cary to supply a name, but her mind blanked over. This woman was going to think she was defective, or mentally ill. “Kelby,” Cary blurted the first name that came to her. She must make up a name for herself, one that sounded enough like her own so she would respond if anyone spoke to her. Her last name should be Fox. A hunted creature, running and hiding, always being chased, looking over its shoulder. Maybe she could be sly and cunning, darting into safe burrows as the hound sniffed her tracks. Cary Black, a.k.a. Something Fox. On the other hand, maybe it should be Something Chicken, that being more her nature.
    Aware of her shoulders hunching, Cary deliberately took in a deep breath and forced them to relax. Mitch wasn’t watching, there was no way he could know what she was doing, and it didn’t matter anyway. He couldn’t yell at her, question why she was talking to that woman, who was she, what did you say to her.
    â€œA friend fell and broke her leg,” Amelia said cheerfully. “I’m going to go take care of her until she can cope with things.”
    â€œA friend of mine was always having accidents.” Out the window, the sun was shining.
    Amelia peered over her glasses.
    Cary rubbed her right wrist, the one he’d broken. It still ached sometimes, in painful memory. I should have fought back, told him I wanted to keep my job, what does it matter if the laundry isn’t done today, I’ll do it tomorrow. “And afterwards her husband was so sweet and brought flowers and candy.”
    â€œThey’re like that, these men, bring flowers, but useless in the sick room.” Under Amelia’s hands, the knitting grew as the bus rolled back the way Cary had come.
    For the ten-minute wait in Oakland, Cary was terrified, frozen still, watching, waiting, expecting a cop to board the bus and haul her away. Relief when they were moving made her babble. “And she tried, my friend—well, she quit her job. And then she—” I changed, I started to lie and say what I thought he wanted, to keep from being hit.
    Words spilled on and on, about her job and about her friend, sounding like she actually was talking about someone else, and making it seem like that other person was dead. She clenched her fist, digging her nails into her palms to make herself stop.
    The needles made a soft clicking sound and Amelia looked at her with interest. Cary felt a jolt of fear. She was talking too much. Mitch always said she talked too much. Be careful . If Mitch found Amelia … If he questioned her … Her fingertips felt icy. From now on, no talking, not to anybody, and for God’s sake, don’t yak about a battered friend. Might as well wear a sign.
    Amelia stopped knitting and peered closely at Cary’s face. Cary shrank back, afraid Amelia was seeing the bruises under the makeup. “You seem nervous. You’re too young to be so tense. How