He took the chain off its hook and flipped the four locks Reggie had installed. He opened the door and Robyn stood there in a little black dress with an ivory locket hanging from her neck. Her hair was tied back and her eyes saw things that he wanted to see.

“Hi,” she said.

Ptolemy smiled because this was the girl that didn’t look like anybody else he ever knew.

“Robyn,” he said.

“Can I come in?”

He nodded, not moving.

The child swiveled her head and moved toward him; then, just as she came close, she kissed him on the cheek. He moved backward, grinning and touching the place she had kissed.

When Robyn moved around him Ptolemy turned with her, feeling as if he were dancing with Sensia at the big band shell at Pismo Beach.

“Dog!” Robyn said as she came into the congested room. “Where do you sleep, Mr. Grey?”

He pointed at the oak table against the southern wall of the room. It was piled almost to the ceiling with brown boxes.

“In them boxes?”

“No. Under.”

She stooped down, putting her hands on her bare knees and turned her head to see the thin mattress and sheer olive blanket.

“You sleep on the floor under a table?”

He nodded, suddenly shy and ashamed.

“What about rats and roaches?” she asked.

Smiling, he was reminded of red-breasted robins singing brightly, thanking him for their breadcrumbs.

“You wanna sit down, girl?”

“Where?” she asked, her left nostril rising.

“There’s chairs everywhere,” he said. “But I gotta special one for guests that I keep in the kitchen.”

He walked there feeling but not minding the pain in his knees. He’d found the aluminum garden chair set out in front of a house with six cars parked on the lawn.

“They got so many cars, they don’t have room for no outside furniture,” he said to himself as he dragged away the lightweight chair with the threaded seat of sea-green and aqua nylon ribbons.