She turns to me fully. “You want all Caroline’s ghosts before supper?”
“Yes.”
“No, you don’t.”
I want to argue.
But August’s laugh comes through the open window then, bright and wild, and every sharp thing in me bends toward it.
He is in the sandbox with three other kids, holding Blue Rex up like a judge passing sentence. The girl with purple boots is dramatically pretending to be a criminal dinosaur. August is laughing so hard his whole body shakes.
I haven’t heard him laugh like that since before Jeremy started watching every joy in the house like it had to justify itself.
My argument dies.
Hot Mama sees it happen.
“Kids eat first,” she says softly. “Truth can wait until after chili.”
The bunkhouse is behind the main building, painted pale green with white trim and a porch full of muddy shoes. Inside, it looks like a summer camp cabin if summer camp had trauma-informed rules and a weapons policy. Bunk beds line the walls,each with a small shelf, a trunk, and curtains that can be pulled for privacy. There are quilts in bright colors, lamps clipped to bed frames, and a row of hooks by the door. A basket near the entrance holds stuffed animals, flashlights, and what appears to be three rubber chickens.
“Why rubber chickens?” I ask.
Lottie says, “You ask too many questions for a woman at a place called Queens of Anarchy.”
Hot Mama points. “Upper bunk or lower?”
“Lower,” I say immediately.
“Good. Mothers always pick lower until they remember kids can fall out of anything, including good intentions.”
There are two women inside when we enter. One is folding clothes on a bunk while a baby sleeps in a portable crib beside her. She looks up and offers a small smile. The other sits cross-legged on a bed, writing in a notebook. Her hair is shaved on one side, and a bruise blooms along her jaw.
“New?” the one with the notebook asks.
I nod.
“Welcome to the circus.”
Hot Mama says, “That’s Tansy. She bites emotionally.”
Tansy shrugs. “I’m in recovery.”
“From what?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Bad taste and vodka.”
The woman with the baby laughs softly. “I’m Maribel. The baby is Joey. If he screams, it’s not personal. He hates air.”
I almost smile. “I’m Amelia.”
“We know,” Tansy says.
I stiffen.
Hot Mama gives her a look.
Tansy grimaces. “Sorry. Not creepy. Lottie told us. Also your kid has already announced Blue Rex presides over court and doesn’t accept bribes unless they are fruit snacks.”