"They'll be dry by morning. " She did as she was told, draping the expensive ruined wool over the chipped white paint of the heater. She walked back to the couch and sat down, pulling her knees to her chest. Abalardo pulled a heavy woolen blanket from the hall closet and tossed it to her. "It gets drafty in here. Keep that tight.
Where will you sleep? " she asked. "I have a bed in my room," Abalardo lied. He wasn't about to tell a stranger he slept on a mattress on the floor while his daughter got the only actual bedroom. "I'm fine. Lock the dead bolt if you leave early.
Don't touch the stove. It leaks gas if you don't turn it off just right. " He turned to leave, but a small noise stopped him. Melissa was standing in the hallway, clutching a stuffed rabbit. She was rubbing her eyes, her hair a tangled mess. "Daddy, water. " Abalardo softened instantly.
"Right here, bug. " He walked to the sink, filled a plastic cup, and handed it to her. Melissa drank it slowly, her eyes drifting over the rim of the cup to the woman on the couch. Chia froze. She looked at the little girl and for the first time all night, her face broke. A look of profound, devastating sadness washed over her features.
She looked away, staring hard at the floorboards. "Who's that? " Melissa whispered loudly. "This that's Chia. She's just resting here tonight because it's raining. " Abalardo whispered back. "Say good night. " "Night, Chia. " Melissa chirped.
Chia swallowed hard. Good night, Melissa. Abelardo ushered his daughter back to bed. When he closed the door, he looked back out into the living room. Chia was lying down, pulled into a tight fetal position beneath the heavy blanket facing the back of the sofa.
Abalardo turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness, saved for the orange glow of the street lights filtering through the blinds. He walked into his room, lay down on his mattress on the floor, and stared at the ceiling. He wondered if he was an idiot. He wondered if his wallet was safe on the kitchen counter. He closed his eyes and the exhaustion finally pulled him under.
Morning arrived, not with sunlight, but with a dull, flat gray that pressed against the windows. Abalardo woke up with a sharp ache in his lower back. The floor was unforgiving. He checked his phone. 6:15 a.m.
It was Saturday. He didn't have to be at Kinsley Bates until Monday, which meant today was laundry, grocery shopping on a razor thin budget and trying to fix the leaking pipe under the bathroom sink. He threw on a hoodie and walked out of his room, expecting to find the couch empty and the front door unlocked. The ghosts usually left before dawn, but Chia was still there. She wasn't on the couch, though.
She was standing by the small kitchen table holding his Kinsley Bates employee lanyard in her hand. She wore his oversized sweatpants and t-shirt, but her posture had entirely transformed. The fragile, shivering woman from the night before was gone. She stood tall, her shoulders squared, her chin level, even with her hair unbrushed and barefoot on lenolium. She exuded an air of absolute authority.