She set her McDouble and small vanilla milkshake down at her usual place, the long counter that ran along the restaurant’s back wall, the customary seating for solitary diners. With her back towards the restaurant’s interior, her view was of the parking lot, nearly empty at 9:30 in the evening, and the dark windows of a now-defunct furniture store. 

When the car pulled into the diagonal parking space, she was immediately captivated. That, in itself, was unusual; she had never been that interested in cars. Occasionally, while riding with someone through a parking lot or garage, the lines of a particular car would catch her attention, and she would ask, ‘”What’s that?” only to learn invariably it was some luxury car. “Well, I have good taste,” she would note smugly. 

This car was not in that category. A mid-sized model in a shade of green, reminiscent of the bottles of beer her husband had favored, it wore its age gracefully. Somebody loved that car. The door swung open and a young man emerged wearing a tye-dyed t-shirt. “Heavens, didn’t those go out years ago?” she wondered. Apparently, the young man agreed, reaching into the back seat and pulling a hoodie over the rainbow colors as he made his way towards the entrance. 

He wore the ubiquitous tattered jeans and those shoes they had called sneakers when she was growing up. These, she noted, did not carry any of the well-known sports logos as did the ones her grandsons wore. 

Half-nodding to her, he sat down two seats away facing forward, his tray almost as meager as hers in its contents. 

With a final slurp of her milkshake, she stood taking her time to let bones stiffened by arthritis to adjust to an upright position. As she passed his table, she hesitated. “I’m going to get an apple pie for dessert and a coffee,” she told him. “I could get one for you too.” Eyes suddenly wary, he studied her. “Okay, I guess, “Thanks.” 

“Mine’s decaf,” she explained, handing him one of the coffees before she set the tray down and settled into the chair next to his. “My name’s Anna.” 

He saluted her with the coffee, not yet risking a sip. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Anna? Or are you in the habit of picking up strange men in fast food places?” 

“Your car,” she answered honestly. “I saw your car.” 

His face softened; she had heard that expression but never actually witnessed it before. “I Inherited it from my granddad when he died,” he told her. “It was his pride and joy. That’s why I try and keep it like he did.” 

“My husband died too,” she looked down at her lap where her fingers twisted the napkin. “Thirteen months ago come June 24. I inherited a house, too big for me that I don’t want to leave and that I can’t maintain. Lawns that need mowed, gutters that need cleaned, spigots that leak, and light bulbs that need changing.” 

“Rough.” For the first time, he looked at her directly. His eyes were brown, shadowed somehow. “What are your options?” 

“As far as I can see, I have two: moving into senior living accommodations, ” the words were italicized as she spoke them, “or moving into my son’s home.” 

“Not welcome there, I take it,” he sympathized, but she shook her head. 

“No, they want me to move in and I’ve stayed with them before, once when I was recuperating from an operation and once with a broken arm. They always made me feel comfortable being there.”

“Then why…? 

She interrupted him. “I won’t do that to them. They have a life, a good life, they don’t need me. What about you? Are you traveling toward something or away from something? I saw your out-of-state license,” she added. 

“Both,” he said, his eyes meeting hers squarely. “I’m an addict, some drugs but booze is my drug of choice. In and out of rehab since I was 15; my parents gave up on me a couple years ago. Now I’m in AA. Twenty-five days, but who’s counting? My options are limited too. Do I sleep in my car tonight or find a shelter?” They sipped their coffee. “Have you ever thought of suicide?” he broke the silence. 

“I’m a lapsed Catholic,” she retorted. “Lapsed but not quite that lapsed. You?” 

“Every time I take a hit, every time I pick up a bottle.” His grin was wry; she hadn’t noticed the dimple in his left cheek before. “I can mow lawns, replace light bulbs, all those things you mentioned before.”

“We’d have to change the sheets in one of the extra bedrooms, ” she thought out loud. 

“Hell–” this time his grin was sheepish and the dimple flashed again,”sorry, clean sheets are not one of my present priorities.” 

He held the knife to her throat. “Sorry, Anna,” he whispered. “I wasn’t completely honest. I have a third option, this one, killing old women and stealing whatever I can get my hands on.” She had already told him where she kept her mad money, in the cuff of her blood pressure monitor, a little over $100 was hidden there. She had debated telling him about the other cache, the one with more than $2,000 in it between the cookie sheets stored in the stove’s broiler. Her daughters-in-law knew about it though, and blood was thicker than water when all was said and done. 

And she hadn’t been completely honest with him either. She was in the habit of picking up strangers at McDonald’s or Burger Kings or Wendys. Two had robbed her, two had helped her with her chores and left amicably with the money she paid them. 

Five had always been her lucky number.