Chapter 26: With Zoe

At 5:30 p. m., Roger met Zoe on Third Avenue.

The first thing he saw was the swell beneath her sleeveless white cotton T-shirt, then her light blue jacket and tied-back hair.

"Long time no see," Roger greeted first.

"We haven't even been apart for days," Zoe raised an eyebrow, thinking the man was exaggerating.

"Really? I feel like it's been ages." Because Roger's recent experiences had been turbulent, he always felt as if his earlier days of homelessness were a lifetime ago.

Hearing this, Zoe instinctively studied the man's distant expression and asked: "Did you smoke?"

"Huh? What are you talking about!" Roger stared at her in shock.

Zoe looked perfectly reasonable: "It's normal—if you did, just admit it. All homeless people do."

"No, I didn't," Roger denied outright.

Zoe still wasn't convinced: "Then have you found a job?"

"I got a part-time one," Roger said, shifting the topic: "Are we really going to keep chatting on the sidewalk?"

"Let's find a place to sit."

Soon, the two sat down inside a pizza shop.

"So where are you living now?" Roger asked, flipping through the desserts she'd brought.

Zoe replied: "I'm staying at a friend's place."

"Then why didn't you live with her before?" Roger asked, puzzled.

Zoe: "It's my own business—I can't burden her. Plus, I had no job then; staying with her would've made her resent me."

"Alright, I thought your friend was the type who wouldn't care about your situation, like they say on TV—girls helping girls."

"Please," Zoe rolled her eyes, disgusted by such slogans: "Only people living in ivory towers, who think the world should revolve around them, believe female friendship is so wonderful."

"Enough about me—what about you? You said you found a place to live?"

"Yeah. A free garage." Roger answered.

"Free? How's that possible?"

"If you hear about my recent experiences, you won't be surprised."

"If you heard what I've been through recently, you wouldn't be surprised."

Twenty minutes later, Zoe's cherry lips parted slightly as she listened, astonished, to Roger's recent story.

"This isn't a made-up story, right?"

"Of course not!" Roger pulled out his phone, opened the Seattle Times app, and showed her the front-page headline.

"'Drug-Fueled Serial Murders: Two African-American Families Massacred.'"

Zoe took the phone and read down the article's headline.

"'When they tried to destroy their third target family at dawn, they were stopped by Mr. L and his companions with force.' Is that you?"

"Yes. I don't want to reveal my real name," Roger nodded.

"Wow, God, I didn't think you had the guts to fight killers," Zoe exclaimed: "No wonder Fiona let you live in the garage for free—you saved her whole family."

"Wow, God, I didn't expect you'd have the guts to stand up to a murderer." Zoe sighed again and again: "No wonder Fiona let you stay in the garage for free — you saved her family's lives."

"So if something happens to me, will you come rescue me if I text you?" Zoe asked curiously.

"Of course. For these desserts," Roger picked up a donut and bit into it: "This isn't as sweet as store-bought ones."

"Because many elderly people need to watch their sugar, so they can't eat too sweet things," Zoe explained.

"By the way, where do you work now?"

"Didn't I say?"

"You didn't."

Zoe rubbed her forehead: "Alright, I work at Margaret Nursing Home."

"How's it working there?" Roger asked.

Zoe answered without hesitation: "Great. No—better than great."

"The supervisors there respect us nurses immensely, and even the elderly are polite—clearly highly educated. The few I care for are all wonderful: no groping, no temper tantrums. Especially Mrs. Stanis—she always notices my mood. God, she's even more considerate than my mother."

"The supervisor there really respected us caregivers, and even those old folks were very polite — clearly well-educated. The few elderly I was in charge of were all great too, no groping hands, no bad tempers. Especially Ms. Stanis — she always took care of my feelings. God, more thoughtful than my own mother."

"Of course there are," Zoe grimaced: "The other nurses are jealous of me because Mrs. Stanis is generous with tips. So they gossip about me behind my back. Like that Pierce with his Florida accent—he's more gossipy than any woman, just like the worst bitch I hated in school."

"He's even been trying to get his brother hired here. I can't imagine how disgusting it'd be if both of them gossiped about me together."

Zoe rambled on about her troubles; Roger listened quietly.

At 7 p. m., the two parted ways.

Roger returned to Fiona's garage with a bag of desserts.

As he stood before the garage, he saw Natasha waving at him through the window.

The moment he stood in front of the garage, he saw Natasha inside the window waving at him.

The girl wore a skimpy strap top; as she waved, the strap slipped, exposing everything below her collarbone.

The girl was wearing a cool, strappy top, and because she was waving her arm, the strap had slipped, exposing the area below her collarbone.

Seeing this, Natasha seemed to realize, quickly pulled up her strap, and yanked the curtain shut.

After putting down his things, Roger knocked on Fiona's front door and gave her some of the desserts.

"Oh! Thank you! I was just craving a donut," Fiona said happily.

"You're welcome. But these aren't very sweet—you'll need to add sugar yourself."

"You're welcome, but these donuts might not be very sweet — you'll have to add sugar yourself."

Fiona nodded.

Mrs. Fiona nodded.

"One more request—may I take a bath?"

"Of course, you may come bathe whenever and wherever you wish," said Mrs. Fiona without the slightest hesitation.

"Thank you very much."

Roger took his toiletries and went into the bathroom.

Fiona's bathroom was not large, but it had both a tub and a shower, and he was free to choose.

It had been a very long time since Roger had soaked in a bath; now that he finally had the chance, naturally he wasn't going to let it slip by.

After letting the hot water fill, he lay down in the tub and let the warmth envelop his whole body.

"Comfortable."

Roger sniffed the orange fragrance in the air, thought it rather nice, and decided he should buy one for the garage, so he wouldn't have to smell that damned rust all day long.

Then he tilted his head against the edge of the tub and suddenly noticed, in the basin beneath the washstand, a few pieces of thin fabric.

"And they even have little bear patterns."

Roger clicked his tongue—clearly this couldn't be Mrs. Fiona's quirk, so it could only be Natasha's.

Who would have thought that a girl who looks so cool on the outside still has a bit of a child's heart.

"So how am I going to develop them all into Anchor Points?"

The man pondered for a moment, but still could not come up with any workable plan.

Just then, however, the phone beside the tub suddenly rang—it was a call from Vanessa.