A petite sandy-haired woman with glasses perched low on her nose and a sudoku book folded up under one arm answers the door. “Yes? Can I help— Oh my! Oh my goodness,” she says, taking in our beaten drowned-rat appearance.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, but my boyfriend and I were in a car accident, and both our phones were broken. We’ve been walking for”—I turn to Malcolm—“I don’t know how long. Miles maybe?” He starts to open his mouth, but I turn back to her. “Would it be too much trouble if we came in so I could call my mom? We were driving down from college to surprise my little brother for his birthday, and I’m sure my mom is worried sick by now.” I add a well-timed sneeze just to cinch the performance, and suddenly the woman—Mrs. Goodwin, she tells us—is clucking her tongue and ushering us inside to warm up by the fire.
Once we’ve assured her that our injuries are only superficial, she brings us towels to dry off and even offers us some of her kids’ old clothes to wear while she tosses ours in the dryer. (Michael, Anne-Marie, and Kristen—all grown and with families of their own.)
After handing her our wet clothes, Malcolm and I meet in the Jack and Jill bathroom adjoining the separate bedrooms she showed us upstairs.
“Nice lady,” he says.
I agree, already dreaming about the hot tea and food she promised us.
“Can you…?” He gestures at his wet shirt as his mouth tightens. He doesn’t like being so reliant on my help, and I don’t like feeling responsible for him needing it, as least partially.
Instead of lifting his shirt, though, I bend down and open the cabinet under the sink, heart lifting when I find a well-stocked first-aid kit. We’ll be able to tape Malcolm’s ribs this time. That’ll have to help.
I turn us around so our backs are to the mirror before inching his shirt up. I don’t trust my face to remain impassive if he looks worse than before.
I wince as his torso is revealed.
Worse. Much worse. My raging appetite vanishes.
“Nothing’s sticking out.” There’s something about the way Malcolm says it that makes me think he’s surprised.
I worry my lip until he grabs the tape and slaps it in my hand. “Forget it.Weare doing this. Now am I taping myself or not?”
I don’t really know how to tape ribs, but I do my best, and Malcolm takes a testing breath when I’m done and says it feels a little better. But then, we’ve already raided the medicine cabinet and helped ourselves to some leftover painkillers.
“So what now?” Malcolm says after we’re both dressed. “You know you can’t call anyone you’re close to. By now, they’re being watched. Their phones might even be tapped.”
I nod, thinking about Aiden. And Carmel and Regina and everyone else from the café where I work.Worked,I mentally correct myself. I’ve missed enough shifts by now that I’ve definitely been fired, though our neighbor Mr. Guillory probably still has no idea that Mom and I are the reason his car ended up in that Walgreens parking lot. More names and faces push themselves forward in my mind, and each one takes a swipe at my heart.
I have people that I miss, a life that I miss.
And I can’t go back to any of them.
“I’ve got a plan,” I say, hoping Malcolm doesn’t notice that my voice has gone tight.
He doesn’t. He’s too busy fiddling with the collar on the pistachio-green polo shirt Mrs. Goodwin gave him. “What kind of grown man lets his mom still write his name on histag?”
“No way,” I say, glad for the distraction.
Malcolm turns around and squats a little so I can confirm that, yep,MICHAELis written there in dark-blue Sharpie. I smother a laugh.
“Just be glad she didn’t have three daughters.” I didn’t spot any names in the tags of the clothes she gave me—jeans and a chunky cable-knit sweater in ballet pink—but everything is a bit snug.
“Okay up there?” Mrs. Goodwin calls from the stairs.
Darting back to my room, I tell her we’ll be right there.
Tea is steaming invitingly from two matching floral mugs when we get downstairs, alongside two heaping bowls of chili. My mouth instantly floods with saliva, and it’s all I can do not to fall on the food like…like someone who hasn’t eaten anything except a protein bar in the past three days.
“Mrs. Goodwin, that smells delicious.”
She blushes. “It was my husband’s favorite, God rest his soul. I gave you a lot since you both looked hungry. Phone’s right there on the counter.”
I take a step toward the phone, only to stop in the act of lifting the receiver to my ear, making sure Mrs. Goodwin sees me hesitate and bite my lip. “I can’t believe I’m this stupid,” I say. “My mom just got a new number. It was in my phone, but I don’t have it memorized.” I turn my worried gaze to Malcolm. “Do you know anyone’s number?”
His eyes darting to Mrs. Goodwin before returning to me, Malcolm says between bites, “No?” There’s a hint of a question in his voice, but Mrs. Goodwin doesn’t seem to pick up on it.
