Free A Tinfoil Sky by Cyndi Sand-Eveland

when it arrived.
    The winding bus route followed along the river, and Mel watched the usual mix of nicely dressed people, their coffees in hand, move promptly toward their shops andoffices. The bus made stops at the courthouse and the community center. Mel saw a few people asleep on benches; others pushed loaded shopping carts filled with their belongings. The driver pulled up to the stop by the soup kitchen and waved to a few regulars as they dismounted. The library was just ahead. The excitement of checking out the books she’d been yearning for was becoming difficult to contain.
    Mel didn’t think about not getting a library card. She didn’t think about anything stopping her from having one. But she quickly realized that she had never thought about how she would actually get the card. At least until her eyes met those of the librarian. “Hi, I’m Mel …” she said, her voice quivering with anticipation.
    “Ah, so
you’re
Miss Tulley,” the librarian said. “Well, how about that. I’ve seen you in here recently, right?”
    Mel was caught off guard. She hadn’t realized that anyone had noticed her daily visits. She read the name on the tag of the woman’s vest: Marilyn.
    “Great! Let’s get started,” Marilyn continued. “Most of the paperwork is already filled out. I need one thing, though: an address and phone number for your grandmother. Did you bring that with you?”
    “No … I didn’t.” Mel lifted one foot and ran the tip of her flip-flop down the back of her other leg to the floor.She curled her toes into the soles of her feet and drew in a deep breath. The embarrassment was drowning her; she was going to have to divulge that a judge had granted her the card. “Your Honor, the judge …,” Mel started to explain.
    “Oh yes, I know. Judge Pullman is a friend of mine. He’s already had someone come in to sign for your card. I just need a phone number and an address to fill in the forms properly. Can you remember any part of it?”
    The librarian’s voice was kind, but in that moment, Mel couldn’t even remember the street name, let alone the number.
    “Okay, so how about you go ahead and pick out the books you want, and I’ll put them on hold for you.”
    “No, thanks. I’ll come back.”
    “Are you sure? It’s not a problem for me to do this.”
    “I’m sure.”
    Mel left the library empty-handed and began the long walk back to Gladys’s apartment. The return trip took an hour, partially because she walked so slowly. Mel did the math: thirty-nine dollars would give her at least thirty trips from Gladys’s to the library. If Cecily was in jail for thirty days, and if it took them a month to find a place to live, the money wouldn’t last. If Mel walked one way every trip, and didn’t go every day, thirty-nine dollarscould last two months. And maybe there’d be a bit left over to spend on things they’d need for their apartment. And there was no use rushing; Gladys wasn’t home, the door was locked, and Mel no longer had a key.
    Mr. Frohberger was standing behind the counter when Mel walked by the store. He waved and smiled. She couldn’t help but wave and smile back.
    Mel continued to Gladys’s. She made a mental note of the building number, relieved to have at least one piece of information for the librarian. She climbed the stairs, walked down the hallway, turned the corner, and sat down across from the apartment door. The apartment number, an old-fashioned 2, had been removed, but a clear outline of it remained just below the brass peephole on the varnished wooden door.
    Mel leaned her head back against the wall; her stomach reminded her that she was hungry. “I should have gone by the soup kitchen first,” she whispered into the vacant hallway. But with the sun shining through the window and onto her face, she drifted into a place halfway between wakefulness and sleep.
    “What?” Gladys asked when she saw Mel sitting outside the apartment door. “Didn’t like