“I smell bleach and cleaning supplies,” I say as I step into the dark room, lit only by the moonlight coming through the window.
“Well, I guess that’s a plus.” She flips a light switch, turning on four floor lamps in the corners of the room.
The space is clean enough and doesn’t smell like mildew. The walls are a drab beige and could use a new coat of paint. There’s a small sofa against the wall, but nothing else.
“I’ll head down and grab?—”
“No, I want to.” She points at the three doors on the far wall. “The room to the left should have a brand-new bed.” She cups her ear. “It’s calling your name. The bed’s new. Queen-size, delivered this morning. They even made it up.”
I smile, relieved she at least has one good surprise waiting for her. “White-glove service?”
Her laugh drifts back, soft and a little self-conscious. “Maybe. Don’t judge me.”
“I’m not,” I say and then yawn.
“Go, sleep. I’m sure she’s an early riser.”
“You just moved in. You sure?”
“Positive.” She glances at the couch, then back at me. “Swear it.”
“You’ve already done enough.”
Her eyes soften. “It’s really not a big deal.”
“Okay. But I’m buying coffee in the morning. Strong coffee.”
“Deal.”
She disappears into another room, and I walk into the bedroom. The bed is brand new, the sheets crisp and white, the white comforter smooth and heavy. Two unopened pillowcases sit on the bed next to a thick, folded lavender blanket.
I take two of the four pillows and the comforter from the bed, which smell clean, faintly floral, probably lavender detergent, back in the living room. I set them on the couch, smoothing the blanket over the worn fabric. I keep the lighter cotton blanket for myself.
Savannah makes a little sound in her sleep, more a sigh than a cry. I kneel beside her carrier, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest. For a heartbeat, I think about taking her out and holding her close, but I stop myself. I know the risks. I’ve read every article, taken every class. She’s safer right where she is.
I brush my fingers over her tiny hand. “Just one night,” I whisper. “Tomorrow we’ll figure out what’s next.”
Her hand twitches, closing around my finger for a second, then loosening. My throat tightens.
I stand and glance toward the hallway. I can hear Nalani somewhere deeper in the apartment, moving boxes or unpacking something. The sound is oddly comforting.
I pick up my phone and sink onto the bed. My fingers move slowly as I type a message to Lydia and Maya.
We landed in New York safely. Savannah’s perfect. Long day, but all’s well.
I stare at the screen for a second, then keep going.
The hotel fell through, but it worked out. I met a woman on the flight—Nalani. Turns out we were in the same sorority, different schools. She just moved here and offered to let us stay the night.
I hesitate, then add,
She’s kind. Feels safe here. No worries.
I hit send and wait for the whoosh. The silence that follows is soft and steady, and I get a return text.
Lydia:
We have your location. Talk tomorrow?
