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Miss Lulah harrumphs. “Don’t you think I would know if my own little Connor had crossed to the other side? Have a little faith, dear.”
I don’t think faith is my problem right now. It’s the knowledge that he was left in a room with four men who wanted him dead. Maybe Miss Lulah can believe in her woo-woo stuff, but I know the facts. And the odds aren’t good.
“We’re here,” she says, pulling behind the brownstone that Connor and I visited what seems like forever ago.
She parks the car, and I let out a sigh of relief. I was beginning to doubt we would even make it in one piece.
“Now, listen to me. You are going to rest for a little bit and get some food, but you can’t stay here. Whoever you’re running from—and I have an idea who it is—will look here first.”
“Why? Who would suspect you of harboring a fugitive?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Trust me, the Leonis will come looking.”
“How did you know—”
“I’ve been around, dear. Come on. Get inside and let Miss Lulah know what’s going on.”
“Seems like you already know,” I mumble as I follow her in the back door and up to her sitting room on the second level, where we were last time.
“Come in here. I’ve got something you can change into,” she says as she bustles into a room, and I follow her.
She pulls some long pants and a large shirt out of a drawer and hands them to me. I don’t ask whose they are. I’m just glad to get out of this dress.
“There’s a shower right in there. I suggest you use it.”
I do as she said, unable to contain my glee as I step underneath the warm spray of water. I start to rub shampoo into my scalp. I shimmy a little. It’s the small things sometimes. I take as much time as I want in the shower, and then after getting out and drying off, I put the pants and T-shirt on. I roll the waist of the sweatpants-type material, and it’s so cozy. I don’t know how I lasted as long as I did in that dress.
I hold it up one last time, looking at the red that was once so vibrant. It now reminds me of death and captivity. I open my fist, letting it fall into the trash can next to the toilet. Then, I walk out.
Miss Lulah is busy working in the kitchen that’s in the room next to the sitting room, where Connor and I sat when we first visited. I walk into it, looking around at all the books and the little table. It looks the same, and it makes my lips quiver. I reach up and press two fingers to my mouth, trying to still it. Then, Miss Lulah is there beside me with a glass of water, cookies, and sandwiches sitting on a tray. My mouth waters.
“Sit, sit,” she says, setting everything down, and I do, reaching for a sandwich immediately. “Slowly. Don’t overload your stomach.”
I take tiny bites as she sinks into the seat across from me. Then, she folds her hands in front of her, watching me. It’s not uncomfortable, but I know she has questions even though it almost seems like she knows more than I do at this point.
I realize that I really took her earlier words about Connor being alive to heart. I am holding on to that with everything in me. And I’m holding on to the hope that we can be salvaged. That he can learn to trust me again. That I can return home, back where I belong. On the right side of this war.
“Tell me everything, starting with after you visited me last time,” Miss Lulah prompts.
Between bites of sandwiches and cookies and gulps of water, I do. I tell her everything, even what I did to get me to where I am now. I don’t look her in the eye as I relay that bit of information, ashamed of myself. But she doesn’t comment on it or on any part of it until I’m done.
Once I finish my entire spiel, I’m exhausted, as if I ran a marathon. Half the plate of food is gone, and my water is drained. Along with my body. I want to crash now, but I don’t think I can stay here and put Miss Lulah in more danger than I already have. If she’s right and there are eyes all over the place, even on her, they will know soon.
“Well, you have gotten yourself into quite the pickle,” she says, reaching for a quarter of a sandwich I haven’t touched yet and delicately biting into it.
I wait her out. I know she has more to say.
“I always told Connor he was too good for the life he was living.”
I nod.
Miss Lulah stares out the window for a moment. “After all that, you need to get some rest. I think we can think better with clearer minds.”
“I can’t stay here and put you in danger any longer than necessary,” I say, shaking my head.
“You can’t tell me what to do in my own house,” Miss Lulah says with a snort. “You are going to get some sleep. Do you want me to give Connor a call?”
“No. I don’t know that he will even want to hear from me.”
