She knew she was running out of time. She stepped over to the fridge, her breathing loud to her own ears. Yogurt, eggs, butter—things Juno missed. Her stomach grumbled. She searched the vegetable bin and found two wrinkled apples and a green pepper long forgotten, stuffing those into the bag, too, as she reached for the freezer door. The freezer was stocked to overflowing. Juno found a bag of frozen peas and tossed that in. She stopped by the silverware drawer and took a butter knife to unscrew the latches on the trapdoor more easily. That would have to do for now. Her heart was pelting in rabbit time against her ribs. Was she really doing this? She was. Fear and adrenaline were racing at a breakneck pace; she’d spent her first year in prison with the same jacked-up awareness. And your first year on the street, she reminded herself. But nerves eventually went away as you adapted to a new norm.

Back in the laundry room, she grabbed her still-damp clothes from the dryer, snatching a single toilet paper roll from the shelf. Her head jerked toward the direction of the back door—men’s voices. Before they’d even picked up their tools, Juno was inching through the crawl space with the first of her supplies.

Part Three

14

WINNIE

Winnie had pins and needles in her limbs; she’d been sitting for too long on the sofa, staring at the blank TV, her legs curled underneath her. When she stood up, her heart felt heavy, like it wanted to be left on the couch. Heart down, Winnie thought. Sometimes she felt ashamed of her own thoughts because she knew what Nigel would say about them: “So dramatic!”

Nigel was in his den; that’s where he always was nowadays. Lying on his precious Lovesac couch, looking quite happy with himself and his situation. She hobbled over toward the bookshelves, not intending to read a book but to walk out the prickly feeling in her legs and feet. She made it all the way to the computer before the ticklish feeling set in. Winnie hated that feeling. One of her busts was crooked—the orange one. She stared at it until her pins and needles dissipated and then got up to straighten it. She saw the door that led to her husband’s prized den. It was a barn door, and it created a large deal of hassle and noise to pull to the side. He’d done that on purpose so he’d always know she was coming. Always thinking the worst, said the Nigel voice in her head. He’d been sleeping down there for days, sleeping like a log while Winnie tossed and turned in their marriage bed. Tossed so much that she’d told herself to go downstairs to make herself a mug of Sleepytime tea, but that’s not what Winnie wanted now. She was too anxious to eat or drink anything.