Ruth Danner kept them at the gate until they stopped telling her what the station ought to contain.
There should be a register, Tessa had said. There should be a service entrance. There should be a place to inspect the motor.
“There is,” Ruth answered. “And people trying to sleep behind it.”
Mara put her own register back in its bag.
“We’re not here to move them.”
“People usually say that before they tell us where we ought to go.”
Beyond the woman’s shoulder, the boy with the blanket watched through the open door. He could see the vehicle and Gideon’s hands on its steering wheel. Mara could not see anyone else, but a voice inside asked him whether the kettle had been filled.
“The water’s losing pressure,” Tessa said. “We have brown water at the motel. The civic shelter’s running low too.”
