Jack walks by with the sheets that he’s removed, and without saying anything, he puts one of them over my head playfully.

“What’s this weird package?” he says, laughing. “Eh, Penny, what do we have here?”

I’m giggling, too, but then I stop. I stick my head out. I wonder why he’s changing the sheets. I’ve only slept in them twice. “You’re washing the sheets?” I ask.

“What?”

“My sheets. Do you think they need to be changed already?”

“We like to keep them clean,” he says. “Ruth hates dirty sheets.”

He takes one backward step, still looking at me, then, arms full of sheets, he turns and walks out of the room.

The four of us eat in silence. We’re savoring yet eating ferociously. A full table again.

I must have worked up such an appetite from painting all afternoon. I was famished by the time our plates were brought out. Famished, and still thinking about Jack’s last comment to me.

Why would he tell me that Ruth hates dirty sheets? What does that have to do with me?

Meat and rice in a sweet, sticky sauce. We have warm bread with extra butter on the side. All through the meal, I can’t stop peering over at Ruth.

Ruth hates dirty sheets.

Ruth, the language expert. The translator. Jack said she translates for hours at a time. Whenever I’ve seen her she’s been talkative, outgoing, laughing. But tonight she is focused on her meal, like the rest of us.

I try not to make it obvious, but I keep peeking toward her. How she’s sitting. The way her short hair is styled. Her smooth complexion. How she holds her fork and the way her lips curl up when she grins. She’s so pretty, almost youthful. She looks much younger than me. I wonder how old she is.

When our plates have been cleared, and Jack’s back in the kitchen, it’s Ruth who reaches over and touches my leg under the table.

“Do you want to go somewhere and talk?” she asks, as if she knows I’d been thinking about her.

“Okay,” I say.

Ruth leads us to the chairs in the hallway seating cove. She waits for me to sit before she does, too.

“How long have you been here?” I ask.

Ruth laughs as if it’s a silly question.

“Hard to say. Old Pete was the first of us. Then Hilbert. Then you. Now us.”

“Us?”

“Here, us. We’re all here. We’re home now. Finally. For good.”

“For good?”

Ruth puts a hand over her mouth as to muffle a laugh and then quickly stands up. She starts walking away. She turns back and motions for me to follow, still chuckling. I get up and follow a few steps behind, watching how her hips sway. When I catch up, she surprises me by taking my arm in hers.

It’s like when I used to go dancing with my friend. This is how we’d walk from dance club to dance club. Moving this way, together, I can feel the ease of her steps, me following her lead. She’s not as stiff as me.