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on a small waterfall. “This is a shower,” she explained, then her look turned stern. “No more baths in the river. Someone might see you and think you’re… weird.”
    “You want me to bath in that tight space?”
    “Yes. And it’s not so tight inside, see?”
    I peeked behind the curtain she held open, into the water room, encased in square, blue tiles. The space was larger than I originally thought.
    “Everything you need is in here,” she said opening a floor-to-ceiling cabinet. There were towels and washcloths in every color, a few bars of wrapped soap, and shampoo left behind by the last tenants. “This is cleaner for the toilet, sink, and shower. And this is toilet paper.”
    She turned toward the door. “Well, I think that’s everything you need to know for one night. Enjoy your shower; this one has a rainwater faucet.”
    “I think I shall find the river more to my liking.”
    Melba looked at me intently, her gaze searching mine. A smile formed on her face. “You just reminded me of my grandfather, old Rasmus Smith. He lived in a shanty a ways up the river, and when he grew too old to be by himself, my mother brought him here, well, not to this house, but to the old farmhouse I grew up in, that stood across the road from here.
    “I haven’t thought of him in ages. He, too, would rather have bathed in the river than learn modern ways.” Her smile seemed perpetual as she walked out of the room. “Well, I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”
    “Thank you, Melba. I shall attempt a shower tomorrow… maybe.”
    As we returned to the living room, the front door to the apartment squeaked open.



ear of the unexpected startled me. I spun toward the door to see who or what the disturbance was. Melba, clutching her chest, turned also. But when I saw a young girl backing into the living room, dragging large bags with her, a new awareness sprouted inside me. Excitement and curiosity bloomed, replacing the fear. Her legs, long and tan, were bare almost to her hips, where short pants and a sleeveless T-shirt molded to her curvy upper half. Her purple shoes loaned her an extra four to five inches of height.
    She turned with a start at the same time as Melba burst out, “Desiree! What on Earth are you doing here this time of night?”
    Long, thick, persimmon curls cascaded over one shoulder and halfway down her back, ending at the arch. The redness enhanced the stunning grassy green of her eyes, and the soft rose of her cheeks against the warmth of her light brown skin.
    A set of keys hit the floor in front of her, breaking the silence.
    Melba’s hands flew to her hips and her gaze narrowed on the girl. “And why are you sneaking into my apartment?”
    But the beauty she called Desiree stood motionless, casting a look of shock at Melba, as if she wasn’t expecting the woman. Then her doe-eyed gaze flicked to me.
    “Child, you had better answer me!” Melba continued her interrogation.
    The girl put on a white-toothed smile that held me entranced. So many emotions embraced me in that moment; my heart didn’t know how to beat. Then she turned her attention back to Melba, her hands still clutching her bags.
    “Auntie Mel, I-I kinda need a place to crash for a couple nights.” She chewed on her bottom lip, moistening it, looking nervous—and desirable all at the same time.
    Melba took a few steps toward her, half blocking my view of this beautiful creature she called Desiree.
    “And what about school? It’s long past spring break, so don’t lay that one on me.”
    Desiree, being taller than Melba, flashed a glance my way over the woman’s shoulder, and then she raised her thin eyebrows at Melba. She cocked her head, as if waiting for her own answers to unspoken questions.
    “Oh, ah, this is… my cousin from South Carolina,” Melba said to the girl, surprising me.
    “A white boy?” A playful grin stretched Desiree’s plump lips across her flawless face.
    “Desi, that’s not nice.”
    Melba