The Year's Best Dark Fantasy and Horror by Paula Guran

drink and feels a little better. “I’ll be back,” she says. She walks to the shelter where the bathrooms are.
    “You don’t want to go in there,” a black man says to her. The whites of his eyes are yellow.
    She ignores him and pushes in the door. Inside, the smell is excruciating, and the sinks are all stopped and full of trash. There is some light from windows up near the ceiling. She looks at herself in the dim mirror. She pours a little water into her hand and scrubs at her face. There is a little bit of paper towel left on a roll, and she peels it off and cleans her face and her hands, using every bit of the scrap of paper towel. She wets her hair and combs her fingers through it, working the tangles for a long time until it is still curly but not the rat’s nest it was. She is so careful with the water. Even so, she uses every bit of it on her face and arms and hair. She would kill for a little lipstick. For a comb. Anything. At least she has water.
    She is cute. The sun hasn’t been too hard on her. She practices smiling.
    When she comes out of the bathroom, the air is so sweet. The sunlight is blinding.
    She walks over to the soldiers and smiles. “Can I get some more water, please?”
    There are three of them at the water truck. One of them is a blond-haired boy with a brick-red complexion. “You sure can,” he says, smiling back at her.
    She stands, one foot thrust out in front of her like a ballerina, back a little arched. “You’re sweet,” she says. “Where are you from?”
    “We’re all stationed at Fort Hood,” he says. “Down in Texas. But we’ve been up north for a couple of months.”
    “How are things up north?” she asks.
    “Crazy,” he says. “But not as crazy as they are in Texas, I guess.”
    She has no plan. She is just moving with the moment. Drawn like a moth.
    He gets her water. All three of them are smiling at her.
    “How long are you here?” she asks. “Are you like a way station or something?”
    One of the others, a skinny Chicano, laughs. “Oh, no. We’re here tonight and then headed west.”
    “I used to live in California,” she says. “In Pasadena. Where the Rose Parade is. I used to walk down that street where the cameras are every day.”
    The blond glances around. “Look, we aren’t supposed to be talking too much right now. But later on, when it gets dark, you should come back over here and talk to us some more.”
    “Mom!” Franny says when she gets back to the fence, “You’re all cleaned up!”
    “Nice, Babe,” Nate says. He’s frowning a little.
    “Can I get cleaned up?” Franny asks.
    “The bathroom smells really bad,” Jane says. “I don’t think you want to go in there.” But she digs her other T-shirt out of her backpack and wets it and washes Franny’s face. The girl is never going to be pretty, but now that she’s not chubby, she’s got a cute thing going on. She’s got the sense to work it, or will learn it. “You’re a girl that the boys are going to look at,” Jane says to her.
    Franny smiles, delighted.
    “Don’t you think?” Jane says to Nate. “She’s got that thing, that sparkle, doesn’t she?”
    “She sure does,” Nate says.
    They nap in the grass until the sun starts to go down, and then the soldiers line everyone up and hand out MREs. Nate gets Beef Ravioli, and Jane gets Sloppy Joe. Franny gets Lemon Pepper Tuna and looks ready to cry, but Jane offers to trade with her. The meals are positive cornucopias—a side dish, a little packet of candy, peanut butter and crackers, fruit punch powder. Everybody has different things, and Jane makes everybody give everyone else a taste.
    Nate keeps looking at her oddly. “You’re in a great mood.”
    “It’s like a party,” she says.
    Jane and Franny are really pleased by the moist towelette. Franny carefully saves her plastic fork, knife, and spoon. “Was your tuna okay?” she asks. She is feeling guilty now that the food is gone.
    “It was good,” Jane