I stare at the question.
Through the wall, the cabin is silent.
Cleared by paramedic. Sleeping.
Three dots appear, disappear, then return.
Good.
I set the phone facedown on the table.
The couch is wide enough for me if I angle one leg over the edge. I lie back and close my eyes.
Sleep does not come.
Every time the cabin settles, I hear it. Every time wind moves through the pines outside, I think of fire finding another wall. Every time I breathe, I smell smoke that is no longer there.
Then I think of Kaia in my bed.
That does not help.
I roll onto my side and picture my shirt against her skin, bare legs beneath my sheets.
“Enough.”
The word sounds too loud in the dark.
I close my eyes again, and at some point exhaustion finally drags me under.
I do not know how long I sleep before a sound wakes me.
Soft and broken.
I sit up before I understand what I heard.
The cabin is dark except for the faint glow of the clock near the kitchen.
I listen.
Nothing.
Then it comes again.
“No.”
Kaia.
I am off the couch before the thought finishes.
Another sound reaches me before I make it to the hallway.
“Please.”
Something cold moves through my chest.
I open the bedroom door.
Moonlight falls across the bed in a pale strip. Kaia is tangled in the sheets, one hand clenched near her face and the other gripping the blanket. Her breathing is too fast.
