And as I lay in my bed, enjoying the comforting weight of his presence near me, I make a silent vow: Shadow can stay. Only Shadow. No one else, not ever.
Threadbare and Broke
There might be a God, and He might not hate me after all. My landlord finally got my thermostat fixed and for two straight days, it hasn’t acted up.
Between the prospect of a normal energy bill and Miguel taking me out for dinners, I suddenly realize I’ve got a little extra change in my pocket.
Showering in ice cold water—God and my landlord aren’t entirely benevolent—I still plan what to do with my day off.
Sometimes I go walk around the lake and watch the ducks in the commons area, but it’s too cold for that. I could go to the library, cozy up and read a book.
As I wash soap out of my hair, I realize I could actually buy a book if I wanted. A laugh bubbles out of me, unexpected. Okay, that would honestly be wasteful since I have a library card. No, I’m going to treat myself to something else.
Turning off the water and rubbing myself down with a threadbare towel as quickly as I can, I think of what I’m going to wear. The image of all my worn out, stained sweaters springs to mind. My favorite top is sporting a hole that is harder to pass off in public each time I wear it.
My heart leaps in my chest. That’s it. I’m going to buy a new sweater. A nice one that is soft with thick knit and long sleeves I can curl my hands up into. Hell, maybe I’ll buy two.
Caution whips up to warn me against that, seeing as there may come a time I need the extra cash in case the thermostat doesn’t hold.
The need to share my wealth has me already planning to buy a cow’s heart to see if I can coax Shadow back.
He never says if he eats enough, but I suspect he doesn’t. Especially while on the run from those who hunt him, seeking to throw him back into some hellish prison.
Yes, a sweater and a heart from the butcher.
Suddenly I feel as light as air, actually excited for my day.
After dressing and pulling on my puffy jacket, I open the door, only to find a woman already standing there, her skeletal fist poised over the door.
"Dana." The name escapes me before I can stop it, surprise and dread crashing together.
Her blonde hair is even more straw-like and brittle than when I lived with her and Mark. Red-rimmed eyes now have sagging bags under them, reminding me of a basset hound’s. It’s the only part of her with extra flesh to share.
My former foster mother smiles apologetically, though I’ve never seen her smile without an apology etched in it. As if she is constantly apologizing that her existence is an unforgivable inconvenience to the world.
My heart sinks and slides down into my stomach. Suddenly, my glorious plans for that new warm sweater are in danger.
"Are you busy?" she asks in that usual airy way she always maintains.
It’s always her voice that gets me first—soft, weightless, like she’s trying not to exist too loudly.
There is a heartbreaking hopefulness in her tone, as if I say no, she will fuck off and quietly die in a corner.
It’s always the same though we pretend it’s not.
I suppress the heavy sigh threatening to break free. "No, it’s my day off," I say with forced lightness.
I know why she’s here. It’s always the same reason she comes around.
Her face almost breaks under another wave of hopefulness. "Have you had breakfast yet?"
"No." Though it looks like she hasn’t had breakfast or any meal for the last several months. "But I was on my way to a diner to get some. Care to join me?" I ask, seamlessly changing gears as I shut the door behind me, locking it.
"Oh," she chimes. "That would be lovely."
Ten minutes later, we’ve slogged our way through ice and slush to the diner around the corner. Seated in a booth, I order an orange juice, and the cinnamon toast pancakes with a side of scrambled eggs and toast.
Dana orders a coffee, black. She pulls out a cigarette that she puts between her lips before taking it out and toying with it, as if she keeps forgetting she can’t light up in here.
