Page 14 of Unsuitable

Jesse.

The reminder that he’s not here with us slices through me.

I know the pain shows on my face because Cece comes over and puts her arm around my shoulders. “Come on, let’s go see your bedroom.”

I follow her out of the living room and down the hallway.

“Bathroom’s there.” She points to a closed door. “And the kitchen’s through here.”

I poke my head through the open door to find a modest-sized kitchen with white gloss cabinets and a small white breakfast table with four black leather chairs.

“Nice,” I say.

“Only the best for us,” she informs me. “And this one is your room.”

I follow Cece into a medium-sized bedroom, complete with a double bed, pale pink duvet cover, nightstand, wardrobe, white walls, and a dressing table in the corner.

“I didn’t do much to it. Thought you’d want to put your own stamp on it.”

“It’s perfect,” I say.

That’s when I spy a gift box sitting on the nightstand. I walk over and pick it up. I turn back to Cece.

“It’s your welcome-home present. It’s not much.”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I pull the lid off the gift box. Inside is a mobile phone.

I lift my eyes to hers. “You didn’t have to…”

She sits on the bed beside me. “You need a phone, so you can ring Jesse. It’s only a prepaid. I put some credit on it for you—”

“Cece…it’s too much. The apartment…the phone.”

“Bullshit.” The harsh tone in her voice brings my eyes to hers. “It’s the least I can do. You’ve had the worst time, and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do to help you. The apartment and the phone, I can do, so let me do them.”

My eyes water. I bite my lip and give her a silent nod.

“Good.” She gets to her feet and crosses the room. “I brought all your things from storage. Your clothes and shoes are in here.” She taps the wardrobe that she’s standing beside. “The other stuff, I wasn’t sure what to do with, so I left it boxed. It’s in here, up on the shelf.”

“Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me.” She gives me a soft smile. “Now, do you wanna order in, or I can cook?”

“Pancakes?”

Cece makes the best pancakes ever.

Her smile widens. “Pancakes, it is.”

Stuffed from the mound of pancakes that Cece made for me, I head to bed early. My body clock is still on prison time. It will be for a while, I imagine.

But, now that I’m in bed, I can’t sleep. My eyes are wide open, and I’m staring at the shadows on the ceiling.

I keep expecting to hear the clanging of turning locks and the endless sounds of crying and wailing that echoed throughout the prison at night.

I turn the lamp on and sit on the edge of my bed. Pushing to my feet, I walk over to the wardrobe, open the door, and stare at my clothes hanging in there.

Cece washed and ironed them, and then she hung them up, all ready for me.