Shaking my head, as if it were that easy to rid myself of the intrusive thoughts, I finally crawl into bed where I silently sing my own lullaby.

You’re safe here.

You’re safer alone than with anyone else.

You’re—

“Out of your mind.” I groan before I get out of bed and head into what is the living room space of my studio.

I turn the TV on again. It’s after one in the morning, far past the time for Golden Girls reruns, which leaves me flipping between infomercials and the news. I can’t afford whatever they’re selling, so I leave a local station on and fold my hands against a pillow, lying on them to avoid the scratchy fabric.

“And we’re looking at the New England Rebels coming after a 16-1 regular season, ready to take that trophy…”

A box beside the anchor appears, filled with footage of previous games.

When the camera pans in on Fitz’s face, I lose my breath. It goes somewhere else, back to a time and place with my favorite people.

“Oh, Parker,” I hear Honey say. “What on earth are you doing? Look how messy your hair is.”

I don’t bother stopping what I’m doing, even though I’m standing on a kitchen chair I pushed over to the pantry so I could reach the box of cookies. “Getting supplies.” I take down the tin box.

Honey isn’t like typical grandmothers. She never baked cookies. But she also never tells us we can’t have them either. I shake the metal container and groan, lifting the lid. The outside is a lie. The inside is filled with Honey’s matchbooks.

“Supplies?” She produces another metal tin. I can tell by the weight this one actually has cookies.

I jump down off the chair. “We’re running away.”

“Who is we?”

“Fitz and me⁠—”

“Fitz and I,” she corrects, grabbing an ashtray.

“Fitz and I,” I restate. “We’re running away.”

“You’re running away to the clubhouse with Fitz?”

I nod.

“In that case, go grab my comb and let me fix your hair. It’s all ratty”—Honey pauses—“and is that a stick in your braid?”

I frown. “Why does my hair have to be neat?”

“Oh, honey,” she says, pausing to light her cigarette. “Always look your best around men.” She lets out a long exhale.

I tilt my head to the side. We’re only eight. “Isn’t Fitz a boy?”

“One day, you both will grow up. Let him remember you without a twig in your hair.”