“…Do try not to be late.”
My throat tightens. “I will be on time.”
The line goes dead before I can say anything else.
I stay there for a second, the silence pressing into my ear, then slowly place the receiver back in its cradle.
When I turn around, Dasha is already watching me.
She leans back in the booth with a cigarette resting between her fingers, a thin trail of smoke curling up toward the ceiling.Her other hand wraps around a chipped coffee cup. She looks like she’s been here forever.
I walk back slowly and slide into the seat across from her, setting the newspaper down in front of me. My eyes scan around the diner. No one is paying attention.
Still, I check again.
Then I tear the last page from the newspaper, and fold it into a smaller piece before slipping it into my pocket. I smooth the rest of the paper out and push it aside.
Dasha raises a brow, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “I guess you found a job.”
Of course she figured it out.
“Yes.” I let out a smile. “But it’s in California.” I clear my throat. “Tomorrow. Seven in the morning.”
Her gaze sharpens slightly. “Did you ask for details?”
“No,” I admit. “But… I know it’s the best I can do.”
“1Davai.“ She sets her cup down and holds her hand out toward me. “Paper,2malyshka.“ A quiet sigh leaves her. “I need to read that before I send you somewhere no one knows you exist.”
I pull the folded page from my pocket and hand it to her.
She scans it, then reads out loud. Her accent gets thick, words rounding at the edges.
“Large coastal residence seeking responsible individual to oversee private property. Duties include general upkeep, mail collection, and maintaining a presence on-site. Prior experience preferred. Call this number between 9 a.m. and 6 p.m. Interviews held at 917 Cypress Drive, Mendocino, California.”
She lowers the paper and looks at me, one brow lifting again.
“If it sounds too good to be true, it usually is.”
“The woman sounded serious on the phone.”
“They all do.” She hands the paper back and picks up her coffee again.
“Dasha, I’ll need your help finding a bus to California.” I tuck the paper into my pocket and reach for the small plastic bag instead. “And I need to sell the ring…”
I open it and place the contents on the table between us. The necklace first, then the ring.
I pick up the necklace and lift it toward my neck. A sharp breath slips out of me and pain shoots through my arms. I freeze halfway through the motion.
Dasha stands and steps in front of me, her fingers brushing lightly against my neck as she fastens the necklace.
“Let’s eat first,” she says, settling back into her seat. “Then we’ll find a pawn shop and a bus station.” Her eyes move to the clock before she nudges the plate of pancakes closer to me.
My stomach twists, unsure, but my eyes linger on the plate.
I pick up the fork.
The first bite is soft. The dough gives way easily, soaked in honey that sticks to my tongue. I close my eyes for a second. It’s the first proper meal since I woke up, and I’m glad it’s pancakes. The hospital food had been bland, all vegetables and thin soups that never tasted this good.
