Arthur leaned heavily against her.
They passed a closed bodega.
A dark laundromat.
Every business was sealed against the storm.
"I'm sorry," Arthur said. "I'm slowing you down."
"Don't be sorry. Just keep moving."
Her teeth were chattering so badly that speaking was becoming difficult.
Ten minutes felt like an hour.
Arthur looked toward her.
"Tell me about yourself."
Lashonda almost laughed.
"Not much to tell. I work at the diner. Volunteer Sundays. That's about it."
"The coat. You said it belonged to your mother?"
"Yeah."
Lashonda kept walking.
"She died two years ago. Cancer."
"I'm sorry."
"She was a nurse. Jefferson Memorial. Twenty-three years."
Lashonda did not know why she was telling him these things.
Maybe conversation distracted her from the cold.
Maybe she needed to remember why she had made this choice.
Arthur nodded slowly.
"She sounds remarkable."
"She was."
They turned a corner.
The wind hit them directly.
Lashonda's knees almost buckled.
She grabbed a lamppost to steady herself.
Arthur held onto her.
"How much farther?"
Lashonda squinted through the snow.
"I think two blocks."
Two blocks.
She could survive two blocks.
They continued.
Lashonda's entire body was shaking.
She could no longer feel her fingertips.
Her toes had gone numb.
The cold felt as if it had moved past her clothes and into her bones.
But Arthur was still walking.
Still breathing.
And Diane's coat was keeping him warm.
Then Lashonda finally saw the brownstones.
Beautiful historic homes.
Pristine steps.
Ornate iron railings.
Even through the snow, the difference between this neighborhood and hers was obvious.
Old money.
Real wealth.
"Which one?"
Arthur pointed halfway down the block.
"Red door."
There it was.
Iron gate.
Red door.
Exactly as he had remembered.
They stumbled toward the entrance.
Arthur tried to use the security panel, but his hands were still too cold.
Lashonda helped press the buttons he indicated.
The gate buzzed.
Then clicked open.
Warm light glowed through the windows beyond it.
Lashonda could see expensive furniture inside.
Artwork.
A home worth more than she would likely earn in ten lifetimes.
Arthur exhaled.
"I can get in from here."
He immediately began removing the coat.
"Please. Take this back."
"No."
Lashonda stepped away.
"Keep it. Get inside. Get warm."
"Miss Hayes..."
"Promise me you'll stay inside."
Arthur stared at her.
"I promise."
"Good."
"How can I repay you? At least let me call a car for you."
"No need."
"Please."
Lashonda shook her head.
"Pay it forward someday. Help somebody else."
Arthur stared at her as if trying to memorize her face.
"Wait. I don't even know your full name. How will I find you?"
"Lashonda Hayes."
She hesitated.
Then smiled faintly.
"But you don't need to find me. Just be safe."
She turned and started walking before he could argue.
Before she could reconsider the coat.
Before she could ask for anything.
The walk home became the longest three miles of Lashonda's life.
Without the wool coat, the cold was merciless.
She ran when her body allowed it.
When the wind became unbearable, she pressed herself into doorways for a few seconds before continuing.
Her arms stayed wrapped tightly around her torso.
She thought about Diane.
You did right, baby.
Her mother's voice sounded almost real.
You did right.
By the time Lashonda reached her apartment, it was after midnight.
She was shaking uncontrollably.
Her lips had turned pale blue.
She struggled to fit the key into the lock because she could barely control her fingers.
Once inside, she went straight to the bathroom and began warming herself gradually beneath the shower until the worst of the trembling finally eased.
Then she made the final packet of hot cocoa in the apartment.
Wrapped herself beneath every blanket she owned.
And climbed into bed.
Her last thought before sleep was not about the rent.
Not the missing bus.
Not the coat.
I hope he's okay.
I hope Mama's coat kept him warm.
Lashonda truly believed she would never see Arthur again.
She was wrong.
But first, nearly everything else in her life had to fall apart.
Saturday morning, Lashonda woke to three missed calls and a text message.
Emergency. Need you at diner now. Dmitri.
Her head throbbed.
Her throat felt raw.
Every muscle hurt.
When Lashonda tried sitting upright, a deep cough shook through her chest.
She touched her forehead.
Hot.
She had a fever.
Her phone showed eight degrees outside.
The snow had stopped.
The cold had not.
Lashonda dragged herself into the bathroom.
Her reflection looked terrible.
Pale skin.
Dark circles beneath her eyes.
She opened the medicine cabinet.
Two pain relievers remained.
She swallowed them with water and held onto the sink until the dizziness passed.
Her phone buzzed again.
Please hurry. Important.
Dmitri.
Lashonda looked toward the empty hook where the burgundy coat should have been.
Her apartment somehow felt colder without it.
She went downstairs to the donation area inside the building and found a threadbare gray hoodie somebody had left behind.
It smelled faintly of mothballs.
Still, it was better than nothing.
The bus ride felt endless.
Lashonda sat with her eyes closed most of the way, trying to control her nausea and alternating between chills and sweating.
She should have remained home.
But Dmitri had sounded desperate.
When she walked into Riverside Cafe at 7:15, Dmitri was sitting inside a corner booth with documents spread across the table.
His head rested in his hands.
Maria was there too.
Her eyes were red.
Lashonda's stomach dropped.
"What's going on?"
Dmitri looked up.
He seemed to have aged ten years overnight.
"Sit down."
Lashonda slid into the booth.
Maria squeezed her hand.
Dmitri pushed one of the documents toward her.
Official letterhead.
Legal language.
"The building's been sold," he said.
Lashonda looked up sharply.