Maya woke to the sound of her phone buzzing on the floor.
She'd fallen asleep on top of the covers, still in her jeans. The room was grey with early morning light. She reached for the phone without sitting up.
A text from Leo: Stakes are on the fire escape. Second floor landing. Didn't want to leave them in the alley.
She looked at the time. 6:47 AM.
She typed back: Thanks. I'll get them later.
Then she lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling crack. Mrs. Patterson would be discharged today. The doctor had said she needed round-the-clock care for at least two weeks. Maya had spent an hour on the phone yesterday afternoon calling assisted living facilities. Three had no openings. One had a waiting list. The fifth said they could take her, but not until next week.
Next week was seven days away.
She sat up and rubbed her face.
---
She went to the hospital at 9 AM.
Mrs. Patterson was dressed in her own clothes – a floral blouse and grey slacks that Maya had brought from her apartment. The old woman sat in a chair by the window, looking at the parking lot.
"You're early," Mrs. Patterson said.
"Discharge is at ten. I wanted to be here."
"Did you find a place?"
Maya sat on the edge of the bed. "There's a facility in Crown Heights. They have a bed available Monday."
"That's five days from now."
"I know."
"So where do I go until Monday?"
Maya had thought about this. She'd turned it over in her head all night. "There's a hotel near the hospital. It's not fancy, but it's clean. I can stay with you."
Mrs. Patterson shook her head. "You can't afford a hotel."
"I have savings."
"You have two hundred dollars in your checking account. I saw the statement on your desk when I brought you soup last month."
Maya's face went warm. "You went through my desk?"
"I was looking for a pen." Mrs. Patterson crossed her arms. The gesture was defiant, but her hands trembled. "I'm not a child, Maya. I don't need you to lie to me."
"Then what do you need?"
The old woman was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, "I need you to call my sister."
"Florida?"
"Yes."
"You said you didn't talk to her."
"I said she had her own problems. I didn't say I didn't talk to her." Mrs. Patterson pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket. A phone number. "Call her. Tell her what happened."
Maya took the paper. "What should I say exactly?"
"Say Eleanor needs help. She'll know what that means."
---
Maya made the call in the hallway.
The sister answered on the third ring. Her voice was older than Maya expected, but sharp.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Maya. I'm Mrs. Patterson's neighbor. She had a heart attack."
A pause. Then: "Is she alive?"
"Yes. She's being discharged today. She asked me to call you."
Another pause. Longer this time. Maya heard typing in the background.
"I can be there tomorrow," the sister said. "I'll take a bus. It's twelve hours. Can she stay in the hospital until then?"
"I don't think so. They need the bed."
"Then put her in a hotel. I'll pay for it. I'll send you the money through Western Union."
Maya wrote down the instructions. The sister's name was Irene. She lived in Tampa. She hadn't seen Mrs. Patterson in three years.
"I'll take care of her," Maya said.
"You're a neighbor," Irene said. "Not family."
"I know."
"Thank you."
The line went dead.
---
Back in the room, Maya told Mrs. Patterson about the call.
"She's coming tomorrow," Maya said.
Mrs. Patterson nodded. Her eyes were wet, but she didn't cry. "She always was the responsible one."
"You're responsible."
"I'm stubborn. There's a difference."
The nurse came with discharge papers. Maya signed where she was supposed to sign. Then she helped Mrs. Patterson into a wheelchair and pushed her down to the lobby.
A taxi was waiting. Maya had called it from the hallway.
They drove to the hotel in silence. The building was beige, three stories, with a small sign that said Welcome. The room on the second floor had two double beds, a television, and a bathroom with a grab bar in the shower.
Maya helped Mrs. Patterson into bed. The old woman fell asleep within minutes.
Maya sat in the other bed and stared at the wall.
---
At 4 PM, she went back to her building.
The fire escape on the side of her building was accessible from the second floor hallway window. She climbed out onto the landing. The metal was hot from the afternoon sun.
Leo had left the stakes in a bundle, tied with twine. There were six of them, each about four feet long. Wooden, sanded smooth at the ends. He'd wrapped a piece of masking tape around the bundle with a note written in pencil:
These should hold the tomatoes. The ones in the back are leaning west. Need more sun.
She untied the bundle and carried the stakes up to the roof.
The garden looked worse than last night. The heat had gotten to the basil – it was brown at the edges. The tomato plants had indeed leaned west, their stems bending toward the sun. She pushed the new stakes into the soil, one next to each plant, and tied the stems loosely with pieces of string she'd saved from old coffee bags.
It took her forty minutes. When she finished, her hands were dirty and her back ached.
She sat on the milk crate and looked at her work. The plants looked less like they were dying. More like they were waiting.
Her phone buzzed.
Leo: Did you find the stakes?
Yes. Thank you. The tomatoes are standing now.
Good. How's Mrs. Patterson?
Her sister is coming tomorrow. She's in a hotel until then.
You look tired.
She frowned at the screen. You can't see me.
I can see your silhouette from the alley. You're sitting on the milk crate. You just wiped your forehead with your sleeve.
She looked down at the alley. Sure enough, Leo stood there, looking up. He was wearing the same grey hoodie. His hands were in his pockets.
"You're creepy," she called down.
He smiled. It was the first time she'd seen him smile. "I told you. Not a creep."
"Debatable."
"Can I come up?"
She thought about it for two seconds. "Fine."
---
He climbed the fire escape to the second floor, then took the stairs to the roof. When he stepped out, he looked at the garden first. At the new stakes. At the tied stems.
"You did it right," he said.
"I had good instructions."
He walked to the tomato plants and touched one of the leaves gently. "They'll make it. The season's not over yet."
Maya stayed on the milk crate. She watched him move through the garden, checking each plant like he'd planted them himself.
"You care about this garden," she said.
"I care about things that grow where they're not supposed to."
She didn't know what to say to that.
He sat on the edge of the roof, his legs dangling over the alley. She stayed on the crate. There were ten feet between them.
"The legal aid lawyer," Maya said. "The one you mentioned. Can she come to the tenant meeting?"
"When is it?"
"Next Tuesday. But Mrs. Patterson might not be there. She's sick."
"You're still having it?"
"I have to."
Leo nodded. "I'll text her. She's busy, but she'll come if she can."
Maya pulled her knees up to her chest. "I don't know what I'm doing."
"No one does. That's not a reason to stop."
She looked at him. The sun was behind his head, turning his hair into a dark halo. She couldn't see his eyes.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked.
"Because you asked."
"That's not an answer."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "When I was fifteen, my mother got sick. The bills piled up. We lost our apartment. I watched her pack boxes into a storage unit while she was still in chemo." He paused. "No one helped us. Not because they didn't want to. Because we didn't ask."
Maya waited.
"I'm not going to watch someone else go through that alone," he said. "Not if I can do something."
She wanted to say something back. Something that matched the weight of what he'd told her. But the words didn't come.
So she just said, "The basement. Is it really that bad?"
"It's dry. It's warm in the winter. It's free." He shrugged. "I've lived in worse."
"What could be worse than a basement?"
"A car. A shelter. The street." He looked at her. "You don't want to know."
She didn't ask more.
---
The sun went down. The sky turned orange, then purple, then dark.
Maya stood. "I should check on Mrs. Patterson."
"I'll walk you."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
They went down the stairs together. The hallway was quiet. The flickering bulb on the fifth floor landing had been replaced. New light. Steady.
Outside the building, the street was busy with evening traffic. The bodega's fluorescent light spilled onto the sidewalk. A group of teenagers laughed on the corner.
Leo walked beside her, hands in his pockets.
At the hotel, she stopped.
"I can go up alone," she said.
"I know."
He waited.
"I'll text you," she said.
"I'll be there."
She walked into the lobby. When she looked back through the glass door, he was still standing there.
Then he turned and walked away.