Still. He couldn’t get Uma’s haunted, hunted eyes out of his head.
“Somethin’s happened to her,” said Ive. “I can tell.”
“Maybe we can help her.”
“Yeah!” Gabe chimed in. “We’ll fix her!”
Ive looked at them both and couldn’t help but feel warm. He didn’t have many friends, didn’t trust many people, but these two—his family—he would trust with his life. They’d do anything for him, and vice versa.
“Not sure she’s got the kind of trouble you can just fix,” he said, giving Jessie a look.
“No,” she agreed. “But maybe you can be there when she’s ready to fix herself.”
He nodded, staring out the window and wondering, for the millionth time, what had been done to Uma to make her so damn scared.
5
“Piggy, piggy, you’re a pig, pig, pig.” Ms. Lloyd snorted in Uma’s face, proving yet again that she wasn’t so much an old hag as a twelve-year-old. Especially when it came to playing games. The Black Widow did not like to lose.
“Why am I only a pig when I’m winning?” Uma asked.
“Because I’m your boss.” The woman managed to sound simultaneously reasonable and demented. “When I win, you’re just a dumb-ass.”
Uma threw down her last card, again victorious.
“Ohhell. Another hundred for me.”
Playing for stakes had been Ms. Lloyd’s idea, but playing for time off was Uma’s. “That’s two half days off,” she said as nonchalantly as she could. Best not to get her boss worked up. The woman was a sore, sore loser, and Uma really needed time away if she ever wanted to get inside that clinic—her whole reason for being here.
“Oh, no, you little cheater. I want a rematch.” The woman was insatiable. It made sense. What the hell else did she have to look forward to? They played again and again, but Uma still finished a couple days up. Ms. Lloyd was not happy.
After lunch, Uma waited until the older woman had settled in front of the TV before springing it on her. “Can I get you anything from town?”
“You’re not going anywhere, missy.”
“If you’ll recall, I earned a full day away from here.”
“You can’t just—”
“I’m cashing in a half day as of right now.”
“You can’t go. The grout needs cleaning.”
“The grout? Are you kidding me?”
“Don’t sass me, missy. That tub’s been—”
“The grout’ll hold another twenty-four hours, Ms. Lloyd. I’m going.”
“No, you—”
“Care to join me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Irma. What would I do out there?” Indeed. What could a person possibly need outside these four walls? “Well, just know, if you’re too late, you’re not getting in here.”
“What’s too late?”
“This door doesn’t open after dark. Ever.”
