9 The shadows in Johnson’s were not as dense as they had been earlier in the evening. Laura was alone as she returned from a walk to Dani’s. She stood in the doorway, closing the door behind her by leaning against it. She blew on her cold hands as she studied the wilting shadows, hoping she knew one of them, wanting to talk to someone. She was feeling abandoned and alone again. Silently, she wished that she didn’t mind being alone. She wished she could become accustomed to it. “Hi, Sammy.” “Hi, Laura.” Sammy was behind the bar drying glasses. “How’re you doin’?” “All right.” Her words were snappy, monosyllabic. She feared saying anything too long, involved, or loud, afraid someone might hit her, or make fun of her, or in some way make her feel foolish. “Rita or Jeannie come back?” “Naw. They were here with two cats before—you know, you were with them. But I haven’t seen them since they split about an hour ago.” “Ohh, … Thanks.” She sank even further into her feeling of being abandoned.
