The Target

old-fashioned potato chips. The real greasy kind that makes your hands all oily. Do you like potato chips?"

    She nodded again. She eased, just a little bit. The kid liked food. It was a start. "Did you mind the skimmed milk?"

    She shook her head.

    What now? "Do you mind if I eat my toast? It's getting cold." He didn't wait for her to nod again, just smiled at her and began to butter his toast. When he'd slathered strawberry jam on one slice, he held it out to her. "You want to try this?"

    She stared at that piece of toast with a glob of jam about ready to fall over the edge. "Let me put it on a napkin." Thank heaven he'd bought napkins.

    He handed it to her. She took three fast bites, hardly chewing, then sighed and ate more slowly. She licked strawberry jam off her lower lip. For the first time she looked happy.

    "Has it been a long time since you've eaten?"

    She was chewing slowly on a bite of toast. She seemed to think about it. Then she nodded slowly.

    "I see I've got to ask you only yes or no questions. Do you feel better this morning?"

    Fear washed all the color from her face.

    She was looking at her bandaged wrist holding the half slice of toast.

    "I'll put some more medicated cream on your wrists and ankles after you finish your toast." He said nothing more, just ate his own toast. What about the rest of her body? He knew he should examine her again but he didn't want to, not with her awake and terrified.

    When they'd both finished, he rose and said as he walked away from her into the living area, "Would you like to have a bath? I can heat some water over the stove and pour it into the tub. I've got a couple of really big pans just for that purpose." He knew without looking at her that she was probably shaking her head, pressed against the kitchen wall. "You're a big girl. You can bathe yourself, right?" He turned, smiling toward her. Slowly, she rose. She nodded.

    "I've got some shampoo in the bathroom. Can you wash your own hair? Good. Then I can put more cream on your wrists and ankles. There are a couple of other spots that need some medicated cream too. Now we've got a clothing problem. Tell you what. When you're through, just put the undershirt back on. I'll see what I can scrounge up for you." He'd gotten so used to silence over the past two weeks that hearing himself talk on and on felt strange. He felt the echo of his own voice inside himself.

    After he'd heated enough hot water and poured it into the tub, he heated more for her to rinse her hair and set the pots beside the tub. While she was in the bathroom, he sat down at the old Olivetti typewriter that had belonged to his mom. It felt comfortable hammering away at those dinosaur keys. He put on his glasses and began reading what he'd written the day before.

    He didn't know how long he read. But suddenly he looked up to see her standing there beside his desk, making no noise, just standing there, her hair wet and tangled around her face, her wrists and ankles raw and ugly, her face shiny and clean, wearing his undershirt.

    "Hi," he said, taking off his glasses. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you come out. When I work I tend to forget where I am. Why don't you come over and sit on the couch."

    He took his own comb, washed it first, then spent the next ten minutes combing the tangles out of her hair. Then he put more medicated cream on her wrists and ankles and bandaged them again. He knew he had to check her over but he couldn't see himself pulling off that undershirt. No, he'd have to be more devious. He rose. "Now, clothes for you."

    He wasn't about to put her back into what she was wearing when he'd found her. He could only begin to imagine what sorts of memories those clothes would bring her.

    "You're going to be a Ralph Lauren Polo girl. What do you think?" It was a long-sleeved soft wool pullover sweater. At least it would keep her warm. No underwear, no pants, no shoes.

    He handed her the sweater. "Why don't you change in the bathroom?"

    She left him. This time she came back in five minutes. He was gaining ground. The sweater came to her ankles, the sleeves flopping a foot beyond her hands. He rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. She looked ridiculous and endearing.

    What was one to do with a little kid?

    "Do you know the capital of Colorado?"

    She nodded. He pulled out a map then realized he didn't know if she could read. Well, it didn't matter. She pointed to Denver. It had a red star beside it. So she lived in