The double doors to the master bedroom are thrown wide, the room lit from the soft blue digits of a battery powered alarm clock. The king-sized bed is without a comforter, but the heavy blankets should suffice. My eyes are hot and dry with exhaustion, and I’m winded from going up the stairs—a reminder that I’m still not well. My shoulder seems okay, but my heel is aching again; my body needs sleep as badly as it needs oxygen if I’m going to heal up for good.

I fall onto the bed and sink into the plush mattress. I’m drifting away when a small bulk on the nightstand catches my eye. Curious, I reach for it.

A wallet. I flip it open, revealing a library card and a driver’s license. Tanq’s dad grins up at me.

Kenneth Anderson, it says. It’s too dark to read his height and weight and other details. He must have taken his passport to Europe. Apparently, he didn’t plan to do any driving. I guess a guy like him can afford to have people drive for him.

I slip out the driver’s license. “Thanks for the peanut-butter sandwiches, Mr. Anderson,” I whisper. “And the house. And the gas. You might have been a terrible person, but I’ll still take the help.”

I shove the license into my pocket and lower my head to the pillow. I’m vaguely aware of Emmaline’s weight as she jumps onto the bed and curls up at my back.

I wake shivering. The alarm clock reads one p.m. Even with the plantation shutters closed, I can tell it’s going to be a gray day with thick, low clouds.

The scent of unwashed skin pricks at my nose, and I realize it’s me. After splashing water on my face in the marble-and-quartz master bathroom and finger brushing my teeth with some toothpaste, I raid the giant walk-in closet for a fresh set of clothes, especially fresh underwear.

A week or so ago, I would have never considered wearing another person’s underwear, even if it had just come out of the wash. But then I also would never have considered going more than a day without a shower or eating peanut butter sandwiches for almost every meal.

Francie had a lot of underwear, and most of it is lacy and vibrant and not meant to be worn for very long. I finally find bikini briefs in shiny, stretchy black. After putting them on, I stare at myself in the full-length mirror.

My knees seem too knobby in my emaciated legs, but my cheeks are a little fuller, my hair not quite so limp. I’ve already gained weight since waking up, though I’m sure it’s mostly water weight. I don’t look like me yet, but I’m getting there.