She noticed my scraped hands.
“I’m so sorry about what happened.”
“I’m all right.”
She handed me the bag.
“There’s more soup inside, some bread, and a little money. Please take it.”
I looked at her.
“Why would you risk getting into trouble for a complete stranger?”
Her expression softened.
“Because I know what it’s like.”
She explained that when she was seventeen, she’d lost her home and spent several months sleeping in her car.
During that difficult period, a waitress at a diner near the bus station gave her breakfast every morning.
“She never made me feel ashamed,” Amber said. “I never forgot what she did.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“Someone helped you, so now you help others?”
She nodded.
“That’s how it should work.”
I held the warm paper bag against my chest.
Then I asked her a question.
“Amber, have you ever noticed Madison doing anything unusual when customers pay with credit cards?”
