Aunt Helen comes at night.
Slicked hair pulled back into pins, stabbing a knot behind her neck.
She says, How you getting along?
The Holmes children know she means if they’re hungry, if they’re feeling all right, any new scars. Squirrel for dinner, a plastic bag of rice—they did fine for the day—Aunt Helen tells them so. But still she brings them cans of soda, MoonPies in their wrappers, hardboiled eggs.