A lace thong in satiny blue catches my eye. For a brief moment I imagine grabbing it and smuggling it out in a pocket. I feel a little foolish as I turn my back on it and search for more clothes.

I hit pay dirt near the back of the closet. It’s dim in here, with just the open door for light, but it’s obvious Francie was an exercise fashion junkie. I find multiple yoga pants, sports bras, sweatshirts, even some jogging scarves. Tanq’s stepmom was shorter than me, but also fuller of figure. I pick out a set in scarlet and gray—Ohio State colors in honor of Trey—and nothing fits perfectly, but it’s all good enough, and this particular set has pockets deep enough for my gun. I’ve been storing the gun in the floral handbag, mostly. But it’s good to know I can keep it handy if I need to.

I find a stash of pads and tampons beneath one of the sinks. My period is winding down, but I’m glad to refresh my supply; I left all my essentials back at Coach Buckell’s house.

I shove Kenneth Anderson’s driver’s license into the pocket of my new sweatshirt, then I throw away all my old clothes—my dark hoodie, my underwear, bra, and jeans. It’s not like I can toss them in the washing machine. But I can’t help staring at the jeans for a moment, all wadded up in the trash can. Another piece of my life before the coma is gone.

A drawer full of hair accessories provides a hair band, which I use to throw up a quick ponytail. The clatter of claws greets me as I leave the bedroom. Emmaline is ecstatic to see me awake, running circles around my ankles, making it difficult to navigate the stairs.

In the kitchen, Tanq sits on a barstool at the island, noisily munching, her arm deep in a bag of corn chips labeled “nacho cheese-jalapeño.” Trey stands at the counter, cutting a sandwich in half.

They both brighten when they see me. “I’m coming with you,” Tanq blurts around a mouthful of chips.

“That’s great, Tanq.”

“I fed Emmaline,” Trey says.

“Thank you.”

“And we put gas in the car,” Tanq says. “Are those Francie’s clothes?”

“Mine were gross. And I didn’t think she’d mind.”

“I threw some food from the pantry into the back of the SUV,” Trey says. “And more bottled water. Enough for three or four days.” His grin turns sloppy. “Hey, those are Ohio State colors.”

“Go Buckeyes,” I acknowledge half-heartedly. “It should only take a few hours to get to Sandusky. Even using the scenic route.”

“Yeah, sure,” Trey says, but I hear doubt in his voice. “All those supplies are probably overkill.”

“Better too much than too little,” I say. “I’m ready to go whenever you both are.”