Good People
The night we met Love, I was planning on telling Nancy I was moving out. Scott and I were cleaning up at The Beast and the clock showed that it was past two as we wiped down the bar, which wasn’t usually a two-person job.
“I sorta noticed you were avoiding her,” Scott said, leaving his rag on the counter and taking a seat on a stool. “I didn’t realize it was actually going that bad.”
Both his feet touched the floor even when he crossed his legs, his work pants riding halfway up his calf and exposing a line of pale skin above his socks. I focused on scrubbing at a fake stain on the counter.
“It’s not going bad,” I sighed, wiping my hands on my apron. “That’s a lie. I don’t know what we’re doing anymore.”
“But you’ve been together for years. You don’t think this is just a lull in—” Scott jumped off his stool, and I turned my head to Candace, standing at the end of the bar.
“Have you taken the trash out, Scott?” she asked, looking ridiculous in her embroidered polo shirt and khaki pants. Scott and I had the same uniform on, but Candace wore it like she thought it looked good. Maybe wearing it for ten years did that to a person.
“I’ll do it now,” Scott said, disappearing through the back door.
Candace pointed to an abandoned mop. “The till’s done so I’m leaving. Lock the door when you’re done.” She rolled the bucket closer to me and slung her bag over her shoulder. The bell jingled and the door slammed behind her.
The water swished gray and foggy in the bucket. I dragged it back and forth across the floor, drawing figure eights with mop water. How would I bring it up to Nancy? I want to move out, so you’re going to have to get a new lamp because I was the one who bought that one two years ago at that flea market. Mop water dripped down the side of the bucket when I dunked the head back in. The stick got caught in between the legs of a stool and it clattered to the floor.
The tiles looked dirtier than when I started; there was a streaky film over half the floor. Maybe Nancy would just move; she’d talked about that before. New York or San Francisco, I don’t remember which one, maybe neither. Any place is better than Elmira. And why did I really want to move? Because I was bored? Should I give it more time, let it simmer for a few more months until it just boils over and becomes a real mess? I slammed the mop into the bucket, splashing water over my shoes. My head was swimming. I blinked hard and pushed my fingers into my eyes; I’d been in this stupid bar since four.
“Louise?” Scott tapped on my shoulder. His eyes were huge and he pointed to the back door.
“What?” I asked, smacking his hand away and mopping over his shoes.
“I think there’s a person in the dumpster.” He was shaking.
“Maybe invite him in so he can walk all over the clean floors with you.” I wanted to laugh at him, but I was too tired. “Did you take out the trash?”
He avoided my eyes. “I left it near the stairs. I didn’t want to go near the dumpster.”
There wasn’t really a person in the dumpster. Candace had told us stories of desperate alcoholics who go diving for half-full bottles, but I’d been working at The Beast for a year and never seen anyone. It’s a good thing Candace left; I’d just begged the owner to hire Scott. If she told him that Scott couldn’t even take out the trash, he’d be fired before the weekend was over.
“Jesus, it’s probably a raccoon. Just go throw it in,” I said.
I’d seen plenty of raccoons. Huge ones the size of small bears tearing into trash bags and leaving their scraps all over the alley. When it rained, I’d go outside on my break and watch them wash their hands in the puddle by the stairs before jumping into the stinking piles of garbage.
“Come with me.” He towered over me and somehow still looked pathetic. “I’ll finish mopping if you come with me.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I leaned the mop against a stool and slid the bucket under the bar.
He followed me out back, looking over my shoulder as I opened the back door. Lying on the ground beside the dumpster—covered in garbage and blood—was a girl.
“Holy shit.” I froze, wondering if she would disappear as my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the alley.
She looked up at us, her eyes catching the dull alley light like a deer in a headlight. Then the smell hit, nasty wafts of alcohol and rot and garbage. There were stray bags littered beside the dumpster she must have crawled out of. One of the bags was leaking a mystery fluid that matched the stains on her clothes. She looked young, a teenager. She might have been crying, but it was too dark to tell.
“She’s bleeding,” Scott said.
The girl groaned and curled into herself. I rushed down the stairs, bent down to her then regretted it—the smell. She gagged and I backed away.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Nancy would have been perfect for this. She was a vet, she didn’t care about blood or smells. She had a stomach of steel. I could barely handle the dishes and the mushy food that got stuck in the sink drainer.
“Scott, help me.” I crouched down again. “We’re going to help you up, okay?”
She pushed herself onto her elbows, groaning out what could have been a no, but Scott must not have heard her because he lifted her by the armpits. She struggled weakly and whimpered as he half-dragged, half-carried her to the bottom stair. He stepped away from her, and covered his nose with his hand. I could feel the bile rise into my throat. My mouth was full of stones; my limbs felt full of sand. Nancy would’ve known what to do.
“Go inside and get a clean rag,” I stammered.
“Why me? You’re the one who’s about to yack.”
“Just go, Scott,” I snapped.
He glared at me but disappeared into the bar anyway. Something in me tugged when I looked down at her. She was staring at her hand, coated in blood. There was a deep gash in the middle of her palm, oozing and oozing. I dug into my apron for napkins. The ones I pulled out were crumpled and half damp from when I spilled glasses of water halfway through my shift.
“Here, love,” I said, handing them to her.
“Thank you,” she whispered, pressing them into her palm. Her voice was dull, tired, and colorless.
We watched the bleached white fibers of the napkin turn red. I looked around the alley but saw nothing except a bloody handprint on the side of the dumpster. Her handprint? Did she have a knife? Did she leave it in the dumpster? The girl curved into her knees, cradling her bloody hand and the napkin. Even if she did have a knife, she wasn’t acting like much of a threat. Strands of her hair were caked to the side of her face. She gagged again, and I leaned away. Her small body convulsed as she dry-heaved, and I had to close my eyes to keep from doing the same thing. I could hear Nancy call me a wimp in the back of my mind.
When the girl was done, I asked, “What’s your name?”
She stared at her hand and tossed the dirty napkin away from her. The gash kept bleeding; the napkin had stopped doing any good.
Her eyes flicked to mine and away. She pressed her fingers into her palm, pushing fresh blood out of the wound. She looked at me again before murmuring, “Love.”
She shifted and the light hit the side of her head. The hair on the side of her face was dark red. Half of her cheek was coated in a thin layer of blood.
“Jesus,” I said, mostly by accident. “Did you hit your head?”
She brought her good hand up, touched her hair and stared at the blood that it left on her fingertips. She opened her mouth, but snapped it shut when the door swung open behind us.
“I found the first aid kit, too,” Scott said. His eyes caught the blood on her head. “Holy shit. Should we call the cops?”
Love shot up and stumbled off the step, regaining her balance with her nonbleeding hand on the stair railing. “Don’t call the police.”
“Okay. Don’t freak out,” Scott said. He handed me the clean rag. “Just assessing the situation.”
“Don’t call the police,” she repeated, her voice catching.
I thought she might just take off, but when she tried to let go of the railing she stumbled. My hand reached out to steady her without my telling it to. A line of blood ran down the side of her jaw next to her ear.
“If that cut doesn’t get clean soon, it’ll get infected,” Scott said.
He searched around in the kit, stray Band-Aids scattering onto the ground until he pulled out a pack of disinfectant wipes. He handed them to Love, who studied the package before tearing it open. I handed her the rag. Her eyes flicked between me and Scott, her body tense. She put less weight on the railing, testing her balance.
“Let us drive you to the hospital,” I said, surprising myself.
Scott and I stared at each other. He was trying to communicate something silently, but my head was throbbing now, and I couldn’t tell what he was trying to say.
Love’s breathing picked up. “I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’m okay.” She let go of the railing and stumbled again. When I went to catch her, she leaned away, sending herself back onto the ground.
“Louise, can I talk to you quick?” Scott asked.
I ignored him. Where was her mother? Her father? What had happened that this girl was with us, lying on the ground in the middle of the night? I wanted to know it all, and I wanted to know none of it. I didn’t want to know that she had nowhere to go because then I’d take her home, and I had enough to deal with already. I wanted Nancy to tell us what to do next. Jesus, maybe I shouldn’t move out.
“Go get your car, Scott.”
“Louise, that’s not a good idea.”
“And I don’t give a shit. Go get the car.” I stared him down until he turned and marched away.
I slumped back onto the stairs and closed my eyes. My head had a heartbeat that was trying to break through my skull. I got up and paced back and forth, tracing the crack in the pavement between the stairs and the opposite brick wall.
“I’m not a crazy person,” Love murmured.
I looked down at her. She wore tattered jeans with unintentional rips and stains, a tattered sweatshirt covered in holes and hair that looked like it hadn’t been brushed in at least a week. She was lying in the alleyway of a bar and she looked about sixteen. I’d seen my fair share of people down on their luck and I’d never seen anyone like her.
“I’m not here to judge,” I told her.
She pushed her face into the concrete. “You’re not going to call the police?” She sounded drowsy, her eyes were starting to close.
“Try to stay awake.” I nudged her shoulder. “Scott’ll be back soon, and we’ll take you to the hospital.”
“Will they call the police?” she asked, her voice muffled. Her lips smeared against the pavement when she opened her mouth. “I’m not going if they’re going to call the police.” She struggled to stand.
Before I could answer, Scott came jogging down the alley.
“I’m double parked, let’s go.”
“I have to lock the door.” I pointed to Love on the ground. “Take her to the car, I’ll meet you there,” I said, earning another glare.
I watched Love through the rearview mirror. Her head lolled to the side when Scott turned the car, blood staining the headrest.
“Scott, drive faster,” I said.
He slammed the breaks to stop at a red light. Love’s head fell forward, jerking her awake. The rag she tied around her hand had gone from its regular dull gray to dirty brown with blood.
“We’re dropping her off, Louise. We’re not staying. I’m drawing the line there.” The light changed and Scott stepped on the gas. “We can be good Samaritans, but we’re not great ones. I don’t want to be there all night, and I don’t want to get involved in whatever she has going on.”
Love was staring straight at me when I looked into the mirror. Her eyes weren’t focused.
“You’re a dick,” I whispered, unsure if Love could hear us. “She needs help.”
“This is a lot, Louise.” He stopped at a yellow light even though he usually blasts through them. He turned his body to me. “You don’t have to do all of this to avoid Nancy.”
“This isn’t about avoiding her,” I argued. “This is about helping someone who needs help.”
Scott laughed at me. “Like you actually care.” He made the final turn and pulled in front of the emergency room door. “Go take her in. I’ll wait here.”
Before I could get out to help, Love opened the door and eased herself out. She walked slowly towards the automatic doors. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t wave goodbye. Get out. Go with her. My body wouldn’t move. The doors opened and shut behind her. Get out, Louise. I couldn’t shake the guilt already bubbling in my stomach. Scott put the car back into drive and pulled away. He turned left at the red light and sped away.
I wondered if they’d made her sit in the waiting room or if they’d take her back right away. I pictured her collapsing dramatically on the tile, picked up by the nurses and taken into a room on a gurney. Scott clicked on the radio. I closed my eyes. The shapes behind my eyelids mirrored Love curled on the pavement. I hoped Nancy would be asleep when we got back.
We tried to move quietly, but even the walls creaked when we moved past them. The digital clock we kept by the TV read that it was almost four.
The stairs creaked. I turned around to tell Scott to shut up, but it was Nancy, her hair down and flowing past her shoulders, a little tangled from sleep. She was wearing one of my T-shirts and it reached her midthigh.
“Why are you guys so late?” Her widening eyes flicked from me to Scott. “Is that blood?”
I looked down. The logo on my work shirt was red; my pants looked like a crime scene. Scott’s arms were spotted with dried blood and the thighs of his pants were dark.
“Yes, but wait,” I started.
“What happened?” Nancy was down the rest of the stairs and pulling at my shirt, inspecting the stains.
I took her wrists in my hands, easing them away. “There was this girl; we had to take her to the hospital—”
“Where is she?”
“The emergency room,” I said. “I just said that.”
“You left her there?” she asked, her tone accusing and my shirt wrapped in her fist.
“Yes, we didn’t want to get involved—”
Scott laughed but didn’t speak up, abandoning me and going up the stairs.
“Is anyone with her? Candace?” Nancy’s eyes were frantic, searching the bloodstains for the answers.
“No, Candace left. I want to get changed—”
“So she’s alone? How old was she? Was she drunk?”
“She wasn’t drunk. I think she hit her head; she was bleeding—”
Nancy whirled away from me, snatching her keys off their hook by the door. “We have to go back.”
“To the hospital?” I took her by the shoulders, bringing her away from the door.
“She’s by herself. Did she say anything about her parents?” Nancy slipped out of my grip and grabbed her coat.
“No, and I don’t want to talk to her parents if they show up. I don’t want to have to tell them she was at a bar dumpster diving at two in the morning.”
Nancy stared at me, one arm in her sleeve. “Do you really think a girl dumpster diving at two in the morning has parents to go home to?”
“I really don’t know.” I put myself between Nancy and the front door. “Maybe she’s a rebel. We shouldn’t get involved.”
Every time Nancy tried to go around me, I blocked her. We looked ridiculous. I grabbed for the keys in her hand and missed, giving Nancy her moment to reach the door.
“We can’t just go get her, Nancy,” I said. “We’re strangers. We don’t know her.”
“Did you even ask for her name?” She opened the door, and a waft of air billowed her hair. She looked beautiful, and it made me angry.
“Love,” I said.
“Don’t call me that.” I used to find it endearing when she cut me off. “I’m mad at you right now.”
“I’m not calling you that,” I snapped. “That’s her name: Love.”
Nancy looked into my eyes, searching for something I tried not to give her. I heard the shower start to run upstairs. Scott was washing the blood from his arms. His bloody clothes were crumpled in his hamper while I was still standing in the front door, filthy and tired.
Nancy stepped outside, and I stuck my hand into the frame to stop her. She pulled the handle, crashing the door into my hand. I felt the edge of the wood on the bones of my fingers as if there wasn’t any skin between them. I yelled before the pain even hit, ripping my hand away from the frame, leaving a section of skin behind. Blood welled up and slid down onto my palm.
“Shit,” Nancy said, taking my hand in hers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I watched her turn my fingers over in her hand, inspecting them. I could almost smell the guilt in the air, mixing with the anger and the exhaustion.
“I think you broke my hand,” I said, my voice calm. A throbbing spread from my fingers all the way to my wrist.
I saw Nancy’s eyes searching mine in my periphery. Scott yelled something from upstairs, but I didn’t understand what he was saying.
She pulled me into the kitchen and filled a bowl with water and ice. She took my hand and placed it in the water.
“Do you want to go to the hospital?” she asked.
“No,” I laughed. What a disaster this was. “I really don’t. I just want to go to bed, Nance.”
“They’re broken, we shouldn’t wait until morning.” She took my hand from the bowl and inspected the swelling.
“I’m not going to the hospital.” I didn’t think my legs would let me stand, let alone walk to the car. And what if Love was still there?
“I’m not giving you a choice. You don’t have a choice.” She left the kitchen, expecting me to follow.
Out of the ice water, my hand felt like fire and it continued to swell. I put my head down on the table and closed my eyes. I hoped my body might pop apart like a cheap plastic toy, as if I taking myself apart could make everything stop feeling so terrible. I heard Scott and Nancy talking to each other through the wall. Everything went fuzzy; I don’t remember the following minutes, but I ended up in Nancy’s car as she drove me back to the emergency room.
“Put your hand above your heart,” she said.
With my eyes still closed, I placed my hand on my shoulder. I saw the streetlights pass even with my eyes shut. Nancy’s breathing was the only sound in the car; she didn’t like the radio. I laughed softly, thinking about what I would do if I saw Love. Nancy ignored me.
My mother fostered a kid when I was little because she wanted the money benefits. She lied and told the inspector that my brother’s room was set up for the kid, but kept her on the couch. She was this pathetic girl, silent and miserable. I didn’t make her feel welcome, like most kids do when someone stays in their house and touches their things. I slammed my door in her face until she finally got the courage to report us to her social worker and they took her away.
I imagined something similar happening to Love, but it’s not like we could take her. Who knows what kind of issues she had, where she even came from—I’d end up ruining another kid, and this time it would really be my fault because I was at the age where I was supposed to know better. I hadn’t thought about that foster kid in years. Where did she even end up?
“You’ve been looking for apartments,” Nancy said.
“What?” I blinked my eyes, surprised to find us parked.
“You’ve been touring apartments while I’m at work,” she said. She stared through the front window and turned off the car.
“How did you find out?” I asked.
“They sent something to my email.” She didn’t unbuckle. “But it was addressed to your name.”
There are few things quieter than the inside of a car with the engine turned off.
“The house is yours and Scott’s,” she said, her eyes shifting to my face. “You two were there first. Why are you looking for apartments?”
I read the sign on the door of the building. It was an Urgent Care. It wasn’t the emergency room. Love wouldn’t be here; Nancy had taken me somewhere else.
“Urgent Care?” I asked.
“They’ll take us in sooner than the hospital,” Nancy said. “Answer my question.”
I answered her question in the moments between getting out of the car and walking through the parking lot. I don’t know exactly how I worded it, but it made her cry.
The receptionist handed Nancy tissues while she filled out the paperwork. We were the only ones in the waiting room. They didn’t ask why my clothes were so bloody, and I was thankful for it.
“I’ll move out,” Nancy whispered.
“I’ve already filled out the applications.”
Nancy shook her head. “I’m not living in the house with just Scott. That doesn’t even make sense, Lou. You two shared it in the first place.”
“I wanted to go in with Love when we dropped her off,” I whispered. “I wish you had been there when we found her.”
Nancy chuckled wetly. “Right.”
“You would have been better. You would’ve known what to do.”
“I don’t think I want to talk to you right now, Louise.”
“Yeah.” I leaned my head against the wall. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”
“Who? The girl?”
The doctor called my name. Nancy got up with me, and we followed the doctor into the exam room.
“Don’t worry about the girl, Louise. She’s not your problem anymore,” she whispered.
The doctor asked questions about what happened, and I lied about most of them. Then he left and the only sound in the room came from Nancy’s sniffling.
“I thought you wanted to go back and help her,” I said. “The girl.”
Nancy glared at me. “We have other things to worry about now.”
I wondered what would have happened if I’d gone in with Love and called Nancy from there. Maybe she would have thought I was crazy, but not selfish. She would have driven to meet me, and we would have been there for Love whether it was until her parents got there or until a social worker took her away. We could have taken her home, cared for her.
The doctor returned and bandaged my hand. He asked if I wanted a painkiller and wrote out a paper prescription before I even answered. On our way out, Nancy looked over the prescription and tore it in half.
“You don’t need Vicodin for a broken hand,” she said. “Take ibuprofen.”
In the months after Nancy moved out, I checked the newspapers for Love’s face or name to see if she was a runaway or if she was missing, but I never saw anything. One time I chased someone down the block because I thought it was her, but it wasn’t and when I tried to explain, Scott just called me crazy.
Abby Stinar is currently a sophomore at SUNY Purchase where she studies literature and creative writing. She always seems to sneak a detail about the backs of eyelids into her stories, whatever that’s about. In her free time, she reads, writes, and goes on long drives in search of used bookstores.