August considers that. “No.”
Amelia makes a small strangled sound, and I press my lips together so I don’t laugh.
Derby points at August. “Tomorrow, I’m getting the ugly dinosaur.”
“No,” August says sleepily. “Blue Rex needs a friend.”
“Mean dinosaur, then.”
August smiles with his eyes closed. “Okay.”
There.
There it is.
The first tiny thread.
Derby feels it too because he turns toward the door like the room has gotten too hot.
“Lock it behind me,” he says.
Then he leaves.
Amelia waits until he is in the hall, then crosses the room and turns the lock. The click is small.
Her breath after it is not.
I pretend not to notice how deeply she inhales.
I take the clothes from the dresser and carry them to the bed. “These should work for tonight.”
She touches the fabric as if it might disappear. “They’re nice.”
“They’re comfortable.”
“I can return them washed.”
“You can keep them until you have your own.”
“I have my own.”
There is pride again. Quick and sharp.
“I know,” I say. “I mean until your boxes are sorted and you can get to what you need. You deserve to sleep with something clean against your skin tonight.”
Her cheeks color. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize every time you remind the world you exist.”
The words land hard.
Too hard.
Her eyes fill, and she turns away, pretending to look at August.
“I do that?” she asks.
“Yes.”