“Noted.” I picked up the brush and dragged it through my hair. “We’ll revise when I get back.”
“Will you bring the book I asked for?” he asked, tilting his head to look at me.
“That depends on whether I pass a bookstore.” The thought of stepping out was already giving me a headache.
He rolled onto his side and pushed himself upright. “Why won’t you take me with you? I’m done with the homework.”
I didn’t answer right away. A month of quiet meant nothing. Just because no one came looking for us didn’t mean we weren’t in danger. And if there was one thing I protected, it was Cole.
“I already told you,” I said, reaching for the black mask and pulling it over my face. It has become a habit since we moved here. Every time I stepped out to buy food, I wore it.
“I’ll bring ice cream. Stay here and read the storybook. And don’t open that door for anyone. Am I clear?”
He exhaled, a sigh far too heavy for a nine-year-old. “No one ever knocks anyway.”
“Cole.” My voice sharpened just enough.
“Fine, fine.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I won’t open the door for anyone. I won’t talk to anyone if they knock. No one’s at home.”
“Good.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and adjusted it. “I’ll come back to make dinner. You can have those cookies later.”
“You didn’t tell me where you’re going,” he said as he traced lazy circles on the page, pretending to care more about that than the question.
“I’m looking for a job, remember?”
In truth, I wasn’t looking for a job. I was looking for a way to stretch the money. Hunting for a job would be a waste of time. A small, affordable spot in a busy market made more sense. I could sell anything there, and Cole and I would survive.
I had the route mapped in my head. Leaving the apartment didn’t mean I would let my guard down. Every interaction was calculated. I was ready to change my name if it came to that.
I remembered going by Grace Anderson back in New York, when Mum was still with us. When we moved from New York to Florida, Dad insisted I go by Inna. Back then, I never understood why, but now it made sense. It was about hiding. Just like Cole and I were doing now.
The sky had turned a bruised gray. Clouds bunched together like a warning, thick and swollen with the promise of rain. The walk from the apartment to the market took twenty minutes. I ducked under a bright awning, adjusted the strap of my bag, and watched people jostle past.
The market throbbed with life. Vendors sold fried dumplings, vegetables, and sweet snacks, while customers navigated crowded paths. The air weighed heavily with heat and the mingling smells of oil, smoke, and spice.
I scanned for a vacant spot, but every corner seemed claimed. One small patch caught my eye, and I walked toward the woman standing by it. I could ask her about renting the space.
“Hello,” I said as I stepped closer.
“Spicy or plain?” She held the tongs over a tray of fried fish balls. I had to buy some, if only to ask about the space.
“Both, and keep them separate. My brother can’t handle spicy food.”
She smiled. “My son, too. How old is your brother?”
“Nine,” I said. “And your son?”
“He’s six, and he loves spicy food just to prove me wrong.”
I laughed, digging through my bag for a bill. “Boys. My brother is always reminding me he’s nine, like it’s a badge of honor.”
“They’re stubborn,” she said, handing over the neatly packed snacks.
“Tell me about it.” I shook my head and waited as she counted my change. “Also…this market looks busy. Can one actually get a space for a stall?”
“Looking for a spot?”
“Yes. I want to sell snacks. Cookies and simple treats,” I said.
