"They went purple," Isaac said. "Saturday they were purple. Now they're going that yellow color. She's been wearing long sleeves. She wore a hoodie to school today and it was sixty-five degrees out." He was quiet a moment. "She asked me last night if she has to go in the package room anymore. I told her no. She doesn't have to go in there ever again."
"I'm sorry," Kurt said. He had not known he was going to say it until it was out, and once it was out it sounded so small that he wanted to take it back and say it again, better, and there was no better. "I'm sorry. I know that doesn't—I'm sorry."
Isaac looked at him for a while. "I believe you are," he said. "I don't know what that's worth yet. I'm not saying it's worth nothing. I'm saying I don't know."
"Can I tell her? Del. Can I tell her I'm sorry?"
"No." Isaac said it without heat. "Not now. Maybe not ever. That's hers to decide, not yours and not mine. If she wants to hear it, she'll let you know. If she doesn't, you're going to have to live in this building and say good morning to her in the stairwell and leave it alone. That's what you get." He paused. "Your sergeant called me. Kalani. She said she'd read your report and she wanted me to know she'd read it. She read me one line out of it." He looked at Kurt. "I wanted her to be. That was the line."
Kurt felt his face go hot. He did not look away.
"I wasn't expecting that," Isaac said. "I don't know if that makes it better or worse. Most days I think worse." He shifted his weight. "Mrs. Dunning asked me to tell you something. I told her I'd tell you exactly how she said it, so this is her, not me. She said, Tell that officer that whoever took my groceries in September was hungry too. Tell him I've thought about that a good deal more than he has. And tell him when he finally catches them, I'd like to know before he puts a hand on anybody."
Kurt stood in his doorway and took that in. Somewhere upstairs a television was playing, and the elevator was groaning between floors, and someone in the courtyard was calling a dog.
"How is she?" he said finally.
"Angry." Isaac almost smiled. "Mostly at me. She made me sit in her kitchen for two hours Thursday night and told me exactly what she thought of a grown man teaching a child to forge a grocery store. Then she made me eat. She roasted that chicken while she was yelling at me. Potatoes, onions. Made Del sit there and eat too and do her math at the table, and Del was crying into her plate, and Mrs. Dunning kept putting more potatoes on it." He shook his head. "We worked it out. Sort of. She's going to let me pick up a few things when I do my own shopping. She's going to pay me back in Sunday dinners. One a week, her kitchen, her rules, and she says she'll know if I bring anything she didn't put on the list. She says it's a trade. It's not a trade, and she knows it's not a trade, and I'm not going to be the one to tell her."