She reached out and squeezed my hand again. “Your mom was my very best friend,” she said, blinking away the tears that suddenly filled her eyes. “We once promised each other that if anything happened to the other, she’d look out for Em and I’d look out for you. I’ve felt so helpless over the past six years, Tuck, and so I’m grateful you came to see me now, and that I’m able to help you get on the track toward happiness. It will happen. More people than you might think believe in second chances.” She stood, discreetly swiping the moisture from her eyes. “Now come help me with dinner. Phil will be home in an hour or so, and then I insist you stay here until you start working for Emily.”

Later that night, after dinner with the Swansons, I excused myself early and headed to the guest room where Mrs. Swanson had put my duffel bag with the few belongings I owned in the world. The guest room had once been Emily’s. It still held the white, wrought iron twin bed she’d slept in, but now featured a pale gray quilt instead of the pink frills I remembered. That had been so long ago though. Maybe her room decor had changed as she had. I wondered who she was now, and if she would seem like a stranger, or a friend.

The shade clattered as I lowered it, blocking the view that made my gut churn with that old longing. The bedding felt soft beneath my fingers, the sheets crisp and clean, but after a moment of staring down at it uneasily, I pulled the quilt from the bed and laid it on the floor. I grabbed a pillow and then made myself comfortable on the rug, knitting my fingers behind my head.

The whir of the ceiling fan above lulled me into a type of hypnosis, my eyes drooping. I’d been living on the outside for several months now, and yet my body was still programmed to go to sleep early and wake at first light. As I drifted, I swore I could hear the clank of metal and the various conversations happening around me, kept low so as not to catch the attention of the guards. Conversation, laughter, threats, both veiled and outright, personal bodily sounds that I’d never quite grown accustomed to.

I bolted upright, shaking away the slow dip into sleep at the unfamiliar noise that had roused me. My head turned toward the window as a horn blared in the distance once again. My shoulders dropped and I exhaled a slow breath. The ability to awaken quickly, even if it meant I was constantly on edge, had been a necessity for a long time. Now it just kept me from ever feeling truly rested. I wondered if I’d ever sleep deeply again.