“Trailer?” I ask, voice rough.
Her eyes darken.
Then she looks toward Widowmaker.
“Trailer,” she says.
The ride back is short and too damn long.
When we reach her trailer, Janie gives me one look and announces August is asleep and she suddenly remembered she has somewhere to be.
“Subtle,” Amelia says.
Janie kisses her cheek. “I’m a romantic.”
“You threatened my gas tank,” I say.
“I’m flexable.”
She leaves laughing.
Inside, the trailer is dim and quiet. August’s door is cracked. His little snores drift out with the soft glow of the dinosaur night-light Sophie brought over.
Amelia looks at me.
I look at the door.
“You want to check him?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Go.”
She disappears down the hall, and I stay by the front door because this is her home and I’m still learning how to stand inside it without acting like I own the air. She comes back a minute later, eyes soft.
“He’s out.”
“Good.”
She walks toward me.
Slow.
No running from the moment. No rushing to keep from thinking. She stops in front of me and takes my cut between her fingers.
“You can put this on the chair,” she says.
That is an invitation.
Small.
Huge.
I take off my cut and place it over the chair by the door.
Then I wait.
She notices.