machine, and I’d started patching any clothes of his I could reasonably expect to. Usually T-shirt

material is too thin to really repair, but I’d give it a try. At least I never had to ask twice for any supplies—he brought home exactly what I asked for every time. Except bread. He would never bring

back any damn bread.

My hands moved without thought, too. I’ve folded so much laundry that I barely have to pay attention. August used a strange sort of fabric softener; it smelled lemony. “You gonna turn that up? I

can’t hear it.”

“In a bit. This is not a good part for an impressionable young girl.” The last word came out as

“goil.” His lips stretched in a wide, unsettling grin. If I wasn’t so used to him, I might almost have

felt a moment of unease. But that was just Augie. He seemed to delight in squinching up his face in

the weirdest possible ways. Just to keep things limber.

I folded a pair of his jeans. The blood had washed out just fine after some cold-water soaking. Even

the greasy gunk ground into the knees had come out. Of course, it had been fresh when I got to it.

“You want some coffee?” What I meant was, Are you going out tonight? But I didn’t dare ask, in

case he decided to. Then I’d feel like I made him do it, and I’d wander around the tiny apartment

cleaning things up or clearing a place to do some short t’ai chi. Wishing I could get out and run.

Even just a trip to the corner bodega to get a pack of gum would have been fine. But no. August had

stopped taking me anywhere, muttering something about smells. I was pretty sure I didn’t offend,

what with a shower every day. So I didn’t ask any questions, just kept asking him to bring home a

loaf of white so I could have a PBJ. I craved a PBJ like you wouldn’t believe.

I was so fricking tired of omelets.

“No thanks,” he said finally. “Staying in tonight.”

“Oh. Okay.” I found a pair of my jeans and folded them swiftly. Then one of August’s flannel shirts.

I’d offered to iron them, but he got a weird look on his face and told me not to. I did some anyway,

but when he came home and saw them he took the iron and put it somewhere.

Weird. But then, hunters are weird. Even Dad has his tics.

There. I’d thought about Dad. I’d never asked August when he was coming back. Sometimes a job

will take awhile, right? I was sure he’d come back.

Wasn’t I?

I tried not to think about it. He’d always come back before. But . . . I was never sure, way down