“Isn’t that the girl who called 9-1-1?” Patty pointed to Tammy, who stood in front of their apartment building, holding a grey shoebox.
“Yeah,” Phil said, steering their tired Ford Escort wagon into the driveway.
“You going to talk to her?” Patty asked.
“I’m going to try,” Phil said, rubbing his tired eyes. His mother was in ICU after several hours of surgery to stop internal bleeding. Her chances of leaving the hospital were not great.
“She’s looking at you,” Patty said. “She probably won’t run away this time. I’ll go call for pizza. There’s no way I’m cooking tonight.”
“Sounds great,” Phil said and headed to the crosswalk. Theirs was a busy enough street at this time of day with car and bike traffic, that he didn’t want to risk jaywalking. Besides, he thought running toward her, might scare the girl away, and he really wanted to ask her more about what had happened last night.