"You went quiet."
"Everyone needs something."
I stopped beside the dresser.
Abby's shoes flashed in my mind. Micah's cough. The empty milk carton. The rent notice folded under my toaster.
I touched the bracelet.
"Melanie?" Mrs. Hanley called. "You still there?"
"Yes," I said, my voice too sharp. "I'm here."
"Everyone needs something."
I should have walked away.
Instead, I slipped the bracelet into my coat pocket and filled her glass with shaking hands.
I set the water down. "I'll lock the door behind me, okay?"
"You have the key, dear."
"I know."
And that somehow made it worse.
"You have the key, dear."
***
Thirty minutes later, I stood under the buzzing lights at Miller's Loan while Jerry, the owner, turned the bracelet over in his hand.
"This yours?"
My mouth dried. "It was my mother's."
Jerry looked over his glasses. "$60."
"Can you do $70?"
"Sorry, $60."
"It was my mother's."
I thought of milk, eggs, gas, cough syrup, and shoes that wouldn't split in the rain.
"I'll take it."
He pushed the slip toward me. "Sign here."
"Thanks," I whispered.
That night, Micah got real cough syrup. Abby got cheap sneakers with pink laces. I bought eggs, milk, bread, and gas.
And I couldn't swallow a single bite.
"Sign here."
***
Two weeks later, I went back.
"This thing hates me," Mrs. Hanley snapped.
"It doesn't hate you," I said, taking it gently. "You keep pressing input."
"I press what I want. It should obey."
I carried her laundry basket down the hall.
That's when I saw the pearl earrings on her dresser.
I stopped.
"It should obey."
"Don't, Mel," I whispered to myself.
Then I thought of Abby's lunch account sitting at negative $12.
"Melanie?" Mrs. Hanley called. "Did the remote defeat you too?"
"No," I said, slipping the earrings into my pocket. "I'm coming."
***
The next time, it was a brooch with a broken clasp.
After that, it was a silver chain tucked under handkerchiefs that smelled like lavender.
"Did the remote defeat you too?"
Lunch account. Electric bill. Micah's inhaler refill. Half the rent.
One afternoon, she watched me wipe down her kitchen counter for the third time.
"You're going to rub the pattern off that counter."
"It's sticky."
"It's clean."
"I'm helping."
"You're hiding."
"I'm helping."
My hand froze around the dishcloth.
She sat at the table with her tea, her eyes sharp over the rim of the cup.
"I'm tired," I said.
"That's not what I said."
"You sound like a judge."
"No," she said. "I sound like an old woman who's watched plenty of people lose arguments with themselves."
I picked up her mug before she could see my hands shake.
My hand froze around the dishcloth.
"Melanie. People aren't just good or bad."
I looked at the floor.
"I know."
"Do you?"
I set the mug down too hard. Tea jumped over the rim.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly, grabbing a towel.
Mrs. Hanley didn't move.
"Melanie. People aren't just good or bad."
