Текст книги "Naked"

Автор книги: Stacey Trombley

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Thirteen

I open my front door to see Czar, the dog, staring at me. His tail twitches slightly, but mostly I’m just impressed that he’s not barking or growling at me. Guess he knows I’m not a threat now. I mean, I did sort of lose it right in front of him.

My mother stands behind the kitchen counter reading a magazine. Not sure why she’s not sitting down or something. I hear the oven counter go off and realize she must be baking.

“Hey, Mom.”

She looks to the oven first, then to me. “Hey, sweetie. How was your day?”

I take a long breath. Exhausting, but… “I lived.”

She places a baking sheet into the oven and looks up. “Oh! I should have told you. You aren’t supposed to go through the front door. I’m surprised that dog didn’t eat you alive.”

“Yeah, I keep forgetting. He didn’t do anything today though, guess he’s used to me now.”

She looks skeptical. “He doesn’t ‘get used’ to people, sweetie. He’s ferocious. Goodness, he almost bit off my hand just for trying to fill his water yesterday.”

If the dog’s been here for three years, I kind of can’t blame him for being easily agitated. I at least had the chance to run away. Imagine if I’d been chained up in the backyard. A prisoner.

Mom smiles. I’ve seen that look before, but after that glimpse of concern I saw from her the other day, I have to wonder if she’s as naive as I always thought. Maybe she knows something’s wrong but is just trying to make the best of it.

Maybe she’s a prisoner, too.

“Just use the back door, okay?” she says. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I’m not sure that avoiding the dog in general is going to make it any better, but there’s no point in arguing. Besides, I don’t know if I’m willing to push things with my dad just yet.

“I’ll have brownies ready in a few minutes. If you want some.”

I attempt a smile. “Maybe in a little while. I need to get ready for my tutor.”

I head to my room and hide for a few minutes before Jen comes over. I’m kind of eager for the distraction, but she won’t be here for at least a half hour.

I look through my drawers and come across my old diary. It looks untouched, but I have a hard time believing they didn’t read it when I went missing. Did they read about how I had sex for the first time at thirteen? Did they read about how I sneaked out and spent the night with my older boyfriend when they told me I couldn’t go to the movies?

If they’d let me have a life, even just a little bit, maybe I’d never have left. I’d be a completely different person. Looking at colleges, doing my homework, going to choir practice (really, I was pretty good).

But the more I fought for freedom, the more my father came down on me. Sometimes with more than words. I rub my arm, like I can still feel the bruises. And my mom just let it happen. The more I pulled away, the more disappointment I saw on their faces.

Until I couldn’t take it anymore.

I flip to the last diary entry I wrote before I ran away.

Mrs. Brown made me eat lunch in her room today, which I guess is better than eating in the cafeteria when you have no friends, but still, it sucked. She told me she was going to talk to my parents if I didn’t start doing my homework again. Said she’d tell them about the rumors going around school. Like that I was pregnant, and had herpes and slept with the gym teacher. None of them are true, or even close to it, but that won’t stop my dad from freaking out.

He’ll call me a “loose girl” and tell me I’m going to hell. I don’t think I can handle that, even one more time. How he looks at me, talks to me. The way my mom ignores my tears. Pretends she doesn’t see me at all anymore. She doesn’t care so why should I care about them? I swear, the next time he tells me how disgusting and horrible I am, the next bruise... I’m leaving. I’m going to do it. I’m going to hop on a train and go to New York where no one will tell me what to do again.

Pretty clear map to where I was going. They had to have read it. Probably why my poster was all over NYC. Doubt they put it up that many other places; they knew I loved it. I always wanted to go, but it was just another thing that my father thought was “evil.”

One day I should ask him to define it, “evil.” How is everything in the world evil? That doesn’t even make sense. Although I’m not in much of a position to defend my stance anymore. I’m sure New York is even more evil to him now. It corrupted his sweet baby girl.

Yeah, right. I sit down at my desk. I used to have a computer here. That was the one thing I did have—they didn’t really realize how much a computer could do. I remember the moment I opened it up, took out the Visa gift card they gave me for my birthday, and bought a one-way ticket to the city of my dreams.

I left a week later and never looked back. Even after I was raped, even after Luis had me sleeping with his friends for money, I never considered returning home, mostly because I knew that I’d only made myself worse in their eyes. More broken. A worse fit for this family than ever.

But here I am again.

I hear the dog bark, deep and loud—that dog is seriously scary shit. Then I hear a scream.

I run out into the hall and see Jen pinned up against the wall. The dog is crouched down, growling at her. It’s that scary growl again, not the kind you hear from a friendly dog just defending itself. This dog is terrified. Why wouldn’t it be? You can only get hit so often before you think any raised hand is headed your direction. I would know. It’s a fear I’m no stranger to.

I see my mom frozen in shock, big eyes and a hand over her mouth.

“Martin isn’t home yet…” she says, as if this means anything.

She reaches out her hand, like she wants to help but isn’t sure what to do. I step forward. I’m not sure what I can do, but I figure this dog likes me better than my mom.

My mother’s frightened eyes flicker toward me.

“Czar,” I say calmly. The dog doesn’t react. He probably doesn’t even know his own name.

I take another step forward, and this time I see his eyes flicker to me. I plan on stepping between the girl and the dog. It’s less likely he’ll attack me.

I slowly walk around and take a big side step so that I’m between Jen and the growling dog. I keep my hands up in surrender and pray that this isn’t a huge mistake. But it’s the least I’d want, someone to take a chance and be patient while I figured out they weren’t out to hurt me.

I keep my voice and gaze steady. “It’s okay. It’s all right.”

Czar’s eyes dart around the room, but his stance relaxes enough for me be confident he’s not going to pounce on me. I tell Jen to inch past me, and I wait until she’s past the reach of the chain before following her.

Czar just watches us go.

When I’m about to take another step, my father walks through the front door.

“Martin!” my mother calls.

The dog’s head whips toward him.

My father takes one look, and in a single quick motion he pushes the dog to the ground and hits him with an open hand across his head. My guess is that this isn’t the first time he’s treated the dog this way. Czar doesn’t fight back at all. That beautiful dog falls to the ground and takes the hit with only a wince.

“Dad!” I say as he raises his hand to swing again. “Hitting him isn’t going to help.”

“He needs to know who’s boss!” His hand lands on the dog’s head with a loud smack. I wince and turn away, only listening to the sounds as he drags the dog out the door, nails scratching the hardwood floor on the way, as I take deep breaths to keep calm.

I’m just lucky Jen’s here, or else he might be dragging me down the hall, too.

Once I reach the kitchen, my mother is in the corner, rubbing Jen’s shoulder. I only have a moment of jealousy before my mom sees me and gestures to come closer. When I’m close enough, she takes my hand.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“For what?” I ask, taking a page out of her book and pretending nothing is wrong at all.

“Everything.”

I blink and consider asking her again. Does that mean what I think it means? Is she sorry for letting my father get away with hurting me for so long? Even when he didn’t hit me, it hurt. I’m not sure which pain was worse.

My mother’s calm facade is back in an instant, and I know my moment has passed. She’s covering up her emotions again. “Anything to drink, Jen?” she asks.

I take in a breath and look out the window as my father chains the dog in the backyard.

Can I blame my mother for not doing anything to help the dog? I’m just sitting here, too. Because to stand up to my father would mean asking for him to turn his anger on me.

After an orange soda and a few minutes of small talk, Jen is calmed down and ready to work. I tear my eyes away from the dog in the backyard and focus on the books Jen pulls out.

We work on math first because that’s my biggest problem area. Math seems to come back pretty quickly though, at least the basics. Once I get a chance to work out some of the kinks, I remember the multiplication and even the division just fine. Then it’s a matter of following the equations and doing it right.

My mom is nowhere to be seen now, which kind of surprises me. Usually she’d be standing over my shoulder, making sure I didn’t do something wrong.

I used to think she didn’t want me to embarrass her. But after seeing her with Czar, her attempt to protect the dog by keeping it on the straight and narrow, I wonder if she was really trying to protect me, too.

“That was a good session,” Jen says. “I guess I’ll go now.”

I take my opportunity and ask something I’ve been wondering about.

“You know Jackson well?” She seemed to know him yesterday morning, so I’m hoping she’ll be able to answer my question.

“Sort of. Why?”

I shrug. “Just something someone said this morning. What’s his deal?”

“What did they say? I don’t know what his ‘deal’ is. He’s a nice guy, that’s about it. He’s cute but doesn’t really date much. Not anymore.”

He’s definitely nice. And hot.

And he doesn’t date much? There’s got to be a reason for that.

“Some girl said something about him being a virgin and that I should just give up on him now or something.”

Jen’s eyebrows shoot up. “Pretty brunette with freckles?”

I nod.

“Well, that’s kind of old news. Her name’s Liz. Jackson and her…used to date.”

“What!?” Okay, not what I was expecting.

“A while back, freshman year I think. It was for a long time though. Once they broke up, Liz got all popular and started dating seniors and stuff, and Jackson, well, didn’t. He never really moved on.”

“Why did they break up?”

“She cheated on him. The rumor is that he was too scared to have sex with her, so she dumped him for a more experienced guy.”

“That’s ridiculous.” And kind of weird. Shouldn’t that go the other way around? Isn’t the guy supposed to be the one to push sex and get mad when the girl holds out on him?

She shrugs. “It was a long time ago.”

“Why wouldn’t he have sex with her?”

Jen blinks. “What?”

“It’s weird, isn’t it? Don’t guys want it all the time?”

Jen doesn’t speak for a second. “Not all of them. I don’t know. I guess he’s being careful.”

I hold back a bitter laugh. This kid just gets better and better. The celibate hot guy who has no idea he’s befriending the whore.

I’m probably going to be the worst thing that ever happened to Jackson Griffin.

“Like I said, it was a long time ago. Jackson’s usually left alone now. I’m surprised she even said something. They don’t talk about it much anymore. I usually try not to give them anything to say. But I guess if you don’t give them something, they’ll make the drama themselves.”

Jen doesn’t look at me now. She’s kinda hard to figure out. She seems so crazy shy on the outside, but she doesn’t seem like it when she talks. And the way she spoke about the “incident” with Marissa’s boyfriend, I wonder if she had as much of a choice as people say. I know all about doing things you don’t want to do just because you can’t see a way out.

Guess the suburbs have some darkness, too. They’re just better at hiding it.

Chapter Fourteen

The worst times are the in-between times. Between classes, when I have to deal with the stares. Between tutoring sessions, the quiet time after Jen leaves and dinner is done and I’m all alone in my bedroom. The silence, the stillness.

Like now. I try reading the book Jen gave me for English—I’m desperate—but give up ten pages in. How do I read about someone else’s messed-up life when mine’s even worse? So tonight I sit on my bed and watch as the shadows shift and change in my room with the setting sun.

I stand and walk over to my desk. There’s a pile of old sketches in the corner, almost all of them of New York, and for a moment I actually miss it. I stepped off the train at Grand Central with a brain full of postcard-perfect images of New York. The Empire State Building. The Statue of Liberty.

It was Luis who showed me the real city—the spice and excitement beyond the tourist-friendly lights. He knew where to score the most realistic knockoff bags, the tastiest cannoli, and the party spots. He knew the city, and he taught me how to know it, too.

When things got hard, I’d close my eyes and pretend I was riding the aboveground train in Brooklyn. Cold brown seats beneath me, but a whole new world around me, flying by. The buildings, the people, the cars.

It feels good to think about that now. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed. New York hasn’t betrayed me. Not the way Luis betrayed me, or the way I’m being pushed to betray him. It wasn’t always Luis that was my escape, it was my city.

How do I feel about him now? I’ve loved him since I was thirteen, and I’m sure that he loved me. He must have. But one day it just changed.

Three years of us, together, perfect, and then all of a sudden…

I don’t know why he gave up on me.

I wonder if this is how my mother felt when I left.

That I just abandoned them suddenly. They didn’t see the signs. I was good at hiding the drinking, the smoking, the boyfriends. Even though they found plenty else to be disappointed about.

I suppose it’s easier to blame all of your problems on someone else instead of owning up to them yourself.

So what were the problems with Luis that I was blind to? Can I really picture him as a monster, after everything he taught me? After he saved me and protected me?

Was Luis ever in love with me? Was I too young to hold his attention long enough? Did he only do it for the money?

All I know is that I loved him.

But he sold me. Not just all those times he sold me to other men for slivers of my life I’ll never get back. He sold me that final time, when he gave me away to someone else for good.

I close my eyes. I don’t want to think about my old life.

My head spins. Old life.

It’s so strange knowing that life is gone forever. Yes, there are things that I want to leave behind forever. But now that it’s gone, now that New York and Luis and my freedom are all gone, I don’t know what to think about it.

I want to be happy. If you’d asked me a week ago, I wouldn’t have thought I could be.

A week ago my life was full of johns and forced sexual favors.

Now that hole’s filled with controlling parents, sure. But it’s also a nice boy, new friends, a mother who just might care more than I expected her to, and just a tiny little bit of hope that I can finally start over.

I want to think this new life can be something better. Maybe if I can keep my past as far away as possible—so far away no one can ever see it—I can figure out how to make this work.

The sound of slow, careful footsteps outside my window catches my attention, and I freeze. I must have fallen asleep, because I don’t remember it being this dark.

I sit up on my bed and listen for anything out of the ordinary. The muffled sounds of the TV in the living room float through my bedroom wall, but other than that? Nothing. Silence.

That’s what bothers me. In my experience, the only time it gets this quiet is before something terrible happens.

There’s probably nothing out there, but my heart pounds wildly. Like my body knows something is wrong, something’s not right. Sometimes instincts are the only thing between you and death in the city, so I’ve learned to listen to them, and right now they’re blaring like a foghorn.

Someone is outside my window.

I inch off the bed. As carefully and quietly as I can manage, I tiptoe to the window and pull back the blinds just slightly. My bedroom light is still off, so while I can see outside, no one can see in. But the bit of moonlight isn’t enough to see much. I let the blind fall back down and then retreat to the hallway.

I sneak a look down the hall and see my mother rocking in the recliner. My father must have gone back to work. It’s the only reason Mom would be alone in the living room this late.

I want to check out the backyard, but I probably won’t be able to get past the kitchen entrance without being seen. Lucky for me, I grew up in this house. I know there’s another back door out of my parents’ room that leads right to the back deck. I sneak down, the opposite way of the kitchen, walk into their too-perfect bedroom with quilted sheets and satin blinds, and unlock their sneaky little back door as quietly as possible.

The door opens an inch, enough for me to listen.

Nothing.

My body has calmed down a bit now, so I wonder if the danger is over.

I looked to the doghouse and see Czar’s head sticking out just a little. If there were something wrong, someone here, he’d be freaking out, I’m sure of it.

I take a step onto the back deck—

Czar’s head whips up.

Yeah, he’s paying pretty good attention. And the fact that he’s not barking means nothing’s out here.

Poor dog. I hate that they leave him out here all night. I hate how they treat him in general.

I take slow steps into the dewy backyard and then stop and look around.

My parents had such a pretty and perfect backyard before I left. Now all you notice is the black hole of mud that’s the dog’s area.

Honestly, though, I like it better this way. I don’t feel like I’m expected to be as perfect. Maybe they’ve lowered their expectations now that they have a dirty guard dog and a prostitute for a daughter.

“Czar,” I say in a loud whisper. He crawls out of his barely-big-enough doghouse. “Hey, buddy,” I say as calmly as possible. I want him to know I’m a friend.

His ears perk up, but then his head lowers and a scary growl rumbles out of him.

I stop dead in my place and hope I’m far enough that his chain won’t reach me.

Czar steps forward, and I don’t dare move, my heart pounding wildly. Maybe this was a bad idea. He’s only a few feet from me now, enough that he could take one big lunge and have my arm for a snack. The hair on the back of his neck stands up.

“Czar?” I reach out my hand—

He takes that lunge I was dreading, and I close my eyes…but when I don’t feel inch-long teeth sink into my skin, I open them. Czar is next to me, barking into the darkness.

Shit. There really is someone out here, isn’t there?

Another step puts me behind the dog. A few seconds later, he stops barking and starts sniffing around. He walks all around, anywhere his chain will let him, and every few seconds he stops to watch the darkness.

I let him do his weird freak-out dance, avoiding the chain whenever I have to.

I’ll follow his lead. When he thinks the coast is clear, I’ll rush back inside, and not a second sooner. Finally, he returns to the spot where he first barked into the darkness and just stares. I listen and look with him.

Nothing.

Finally, he lifts his head to me, and then he sniffs my feet.

Very slowly, I let my fingers drift across the top of his head. He closes his eyes, and I squat near him.

His house doesn’t look very comfortable, probably barely even fits him inside it. He’s so damn big. That hardly seems fair, even if he did almost bite my kind-of sort-of friend/tutor.

He was just doing his job, right? It’s not his fault they didn’t teach him to learn the difference between good people and bad. It’s not his fault they taught him he can’t trust anyone at all.

I look back to the door leading to my parents’ room, and I look through the glass door leading to the kitchen. The light is still off, but there’s no telling if my mom is still watching TV. If I do this, I guess I’ll have to take a gamble.

I unclip his chain and let it fall to the ground. “Wanna have a sleepover?” I ask him.

He follows me up the steps of the deck, into the house, and through my parents’ room.

I tiptoe, still holding on to the collar of the big guard dog who could probably pull me down the street if he wanted, enter my room, and close the door behind me with just a soft click.

He stands there, watching me curiously as I take a few steps away from him and sit on the bed.

Now what?

I wish I had a bone or something for him to chew.

Please don’t pee.

He starts sniffing around the room and throws glances my way every few seconds, as if to make sure I’m not doing anything sneaky. He must like me more than some other people, but he still doesn’t trust me. Poor dog, I don’t blame him.

I pat on the bed, and immediately he jumps up next to me. Now his head is higher than mine. Yikes. If something sets him off, I could end up without a face.

He gets close, but he just looks at me with those big brown eyes, then he lies down and lays his head on my arm. I gently stroke behind his ear. The hair is so soft, I find myself rubbing my hand against it absently. Not only for the dog, but also for me. It feels comforting.

When I look back down at him, I realize his eyes are closed.

Why can’t a dog be both a friend and a guard dog? I don’t understand why my parents treat him the way they do. He means nothing to them, just a little extra security. Imagine if they were actually nice to him.

I lie there and close my eyes, but I open them quickly when I hear a knock on my door.

I open the door a sliver and see my mother standing there with a plate of food and a can of soda.

For a moment, I don’t move. The last time I was at home, she’d have never been so bold as to bring me something to eat. Father’s rules. No food after dinner. And if you missed dinner? You’d better show up for breakfast.

But here she is.

What else has changed since I’ve been gone?

“Hey, sweetie,” she says. “Hope I’m not bothering you.”

Why would she think she was bothering me? Part of me wants to rush forward and hug her, but I manage to restrain myself. I’d have to be crazy to let down my guard just because she brought me some food. Still, I feel a small smile spread across my face. I guess I’m not as good at hiding my feelings as my mother.

She must see my smile, because she pauses, tilts her head to the side, and after a moment, she smiles, too.

“Anyway, I brought you some leftover dinner.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking the plate from her.

She starts away from me, but then turns back around and says, “I’ll have apple pie a little later if you want to come out and get some.”

Those feelings I want to keep hidden are about to burst out of me, and I can’t let her see me when they do. I want her to love me, but can I ever give that love back after everything?

“Probably not,” I say. “But thanks.”

She drops her gaze to the ground, and her smile looks like it’s fading.

“Mom,” I say.

She lifts her head back up. “Yes, sweetie?”

“Rain check?”

Her smile comes back. She nods and leaves me to be by myself, and I don’t feel quite so bad about turning her down anymore.

I close the door and sit on the bed with the plate in my hand. It’s pork chops and mashed potatoes. I take one bite of the chop and a few of the mashed potatoes and look behind me to see a salivating dog.

I put the plate onto the floor. He jumps down and scarfs the whole dinner down in a few seconds. And I thought I was hungry.

I sip my soda and sit back on the bed. Czar licks the plate clean, and then he walks over and sets his head on my knee and looks up into my eyes. He’s so weird. I pet him for a moment, but my mind is off in other places.

What just happened with my mom? Not that I don’t want her to be kind to me. To show me she loves me. But it doesn’t make sense why she would do this. Why now? Why not years ago?

And why does it matter so much to me? Luis came for me at the station and suddenly I was ready to do anything to make him love me. And now my mom brings me a little food and I’m ready to go eat apple pie?

I guess the difference, though, is that she never sold me. She never left me.

I left her.

I crawl into bed and get under the covers like a little kid. Czar jumps up and lies next to me, his back just barely resting against my leg. I close my eyes and try to stop myself from crying.

I rub Czar’s side absently. After a moment, he rolls onto his back so I’ll rub his stomach. He must be getting more comfortable with me.

It was probably the food. They say a way to a man’s heart is his stomach. Must be the same for dogs.

I scratch his tummy, and his paws go up in the air goofily. I mostly stay up toward his chest, ’cause it’s a little creepy to go any lower, but that doesn’t stop me from noticing something.

Czar, supposedly a boy, doesn’t have…well, boy parts.

My parents named a girl dog Czar. I can’t help but laugh. As if the name wasn’t bad enough. Her paws are pushing in on me now, but I just shift a little and it’s fine.

“I think you need a new name.” I pause and think. “How about…Zara?”

Her ears perk up a little, and I take this as a yes. It’s pretty and close enough to her old name that she’ll know we’re talking to her.

My stomach growls. Even if I don’t really want to face my mom, I probably need to eat something else. And apple pie sounds amazing. Czar—excuse me, Zara—watches as I move across the room and sneak a peek out the door.

I listen and hear only some clinking dishes in the kitchen. I’m not sure I really want to expose myself just for apple pie, but I take a deep breath and venture out into the hall.

I see my mother alone, doing the dishes.

“Is that offer still up for the apple pie?”

She looks up. I almost gasp. Her face is red, like she’s exhausted from crying, but she smiles when she sees me.

I walk up and sit at the counter. It’s a small one, with two stools that barely ever get used. But it allows to me to watch as my mom pulls out the half-eaten pie from the fridge. She cuts a slice and puts it in the microwave. She looks at me, as though considering something, then pulls out the vanilla ice cream.

If I were in New York, ice cream on top would cost extra. I don’t know what this gesture costs her, but I can’t help but be grateful for anything I can get.

She cuts out a piece of pie, carves out two perfect circles of ice cream, and places them all on the plate.

She hands me the plate, then goes back to her dishes. She scrubs and rinses each dish by hand. They have an expensive dishwasher; I don’t know why she doesn’t use it. Guess she likes the work or something.

She doesn’t say anything, and she’s doing the same thing I did when she brought dinner to my bedroom. She’s hiding her face. Is it just me or is that a smirk I see on her face?

I take one bite—

And the taste hits me hard. It’s so good there are no words. I haven’t had real apple pie in so long.

It’s perfect, exactly what I need. So satisfying that the question’s out of me before I can stop it.

“Why did you bring me back here, really?”

She drops whatever dish she was working on into the murky water, but she doesn’t look up. Maybe now’s a bad time. She really does seem exhausted.

“A lot of reasons, Anna.” She still doesn’t look up. She’s staring down into the water like she’ll find something she’s been looking for there. Or maybe so she doesn’t find what she dreads, something she’ll see if she looks at me.

Will she see the daughter she lost? Or worse, will she see a whore where the daughter she always wanted is supposed to stand?

I could leave the room before she answers. But I hesitate, and that gives her enough time to respond.

“Because you’re our baby,” she says. “You’re supposed to be here.” Now she looks me in the eyes. Only a moment, but long enough for me to see that her eyes are full with tears. Then she turns around and leans on the counter. “Because we want to help you.”

“Don’t you mean fix me?”

Now she turns back. “Not fix you. Just help you be better.”

Those are the words I was afraid of. “Because I’m not good enough like I am?”

Her eyes go wide. “No. No, that’s not…” She takes a deep breath. “I just want to help. That’s all.”

I shrug. Maybe I do need help. I’m just not sure yet what that means.

“Good night, Mom.”

I stand up to leave but pause and actually consider reaching out to touch her. My hand twitches, but I pull it back. I’m not sure what I want, or what to do. I don’t know how to be a good daughter.

Finally, I give up and turn away from my mom, hoping she can see that I don’t hate her. Hoping that maybe things might be getting better, after all.

When I open my bedroom door, the dog lifts her head, on alert. Then she sees me and her tail twitches, almost a wag. Does she like me?

I sit beside her and stare at the door. She stretches over, almost taking up the whole bed now, and licks my hand.

Maybe she does like me.

Or maybe she tastes the apple pie and ice cream.

I pet her again, then get undressed, flick off the light, and slip under the covers. She curls up next to me, and before long I’m almost hanging off the bed. I need a bigger one with her here. But at least I’m not alone.