And I realize I am alone with her.
It’s up to me.
“Come on,” I say, as Wendy unfolds a brightly colored fleece blanket and wraps it over her arm. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”
I grab a bag that seems to have clothes in it and carry it down the hall to the spare room.
Pan’s right. I yank the chain on the bare bulb overhead, which snaps on, revealing the whole room—although it’s really barely a room. Even the little window shows mostly brick wall across the alley, just a tiny strip of velvet blue at the top. But itdoes have a door, and an old futon—one that I think came from the trash at one point, but an eyeball check makes it look clean enough.
I glance at Wendy, and wince at the look on her face before I can stop myself.
“Uh, I know it’s not fancy, but—” I push around in the Valu-Mart bag, hoping there’s something cozy in there. A basic sheet set—the cheapest brand, but it’ll work—and a set of pajamas. A green T-shirt top with black lace on the edge of the bottom, and green and black checkered pants. They look way too big for her. I frown, glance at the tag: no size, just the brand name.Wyld-n-Tru.I know that one. It’s teen girl line at Valu-Mart. Distinct from the girls’ line, the kids’ line, which is calledEverything Nice.
I guess Wendy picked these herself.
“Uh, here.” I hand over the pajamas, pick up the sheets. “I’ll get this set up for you. You can…” I look down at the bag she’s holding, all the little bottles that must be toiletries of some kind. “Bathroom’s down the hall,” I finish. “You can get in your PJs and brush your teeth or whatever, and I’ll get the bed set up, okay?”
I try to sound like a guy would. Like a big brother would. And it must work well enough because Wendy gives me two quick nods.
“‘Kay,” she says.
Once she’s gone, I rip open the sheets. Do my best to tuck the weak elastic edges around the corners of the futon, which, once I lay it flat, spans basically the whole room. The pillowcase is weird on the square pillow that’s in here, but it’ll work, and at least it’s clean.
Then I take the blanket and spread it out on top.
The blanket’s soft. Fuzzy. A light purple color and covered in cartoon animals—puffy blue puppy dogs, big-eyed yellow kitty cats.
A kid’s blanket.
I shake away the shiver that runs down my side, straighten up, and look down.
It’s…sad. It’s giving foster care. Too many pastels in a space that’s otherwise pretty goddamn dingy.
But I think about what Fox and Kit said. Or didn’t say, really. Didn’t have to. Maybe it is better. I trust us more than I trust anyone else out there in London Valley.
And that kid…
“Can I come in?” Wendy’s voice behind me.
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” I step back, really out of the room because there isn’t room for two of us in here, and open the door wider so she can see. “I did my best,” I say—sheepish, clumsy, boy. And then add for good measure, “I don’t know what girls like, but…”
That gets a smile out of Wendy. Then she rolls her eyes. “You sound like my brothers,” she says, arms folded.
The pajamas are huge on her. She’s got the waist of the pants cinched so tight that the fabric is almost buckling on itself trying to bunch, and the T-shirt sleeves hang past her elbows, the hem almost at her knees.
This is not a Wyld-n-Tru teenager. This is a kid, whether she wants to be or not.
I swallow.
“It’s all yours,” I say. “Girl it up however you want.”
Wendy scoffs but sidles into the room and climbs onto the bed to sit. She shrugs. “It’ll work, I guess.”
From down the hall, Nana trit-trots in and instantly plops her little head on Wendy’s knee. She’s still shaking a little, and for the first time it occurs to me that maybe she’s, I don’t know, hurt or something.
“Is…Nana okay?” I ask. I don’t know if dogs can get smoke inhalation or what. Or whether it’s supposed to be shaking like that.
There’s a long pause.
