Chapter 8: The Loft Over the Shop

I texted Eli Larkin from my own porch at ten past ten.

Are you still at the shop? I need a floor to sleep on that isn't my parents' house.

The answer came before I had put the phone down.

Door's open. There's a bed.

My father drove me across town with my mother quiet in the back seat and the suitcases rattling in the trunk.

The light over the loading door was on.

Eli came out wiping his hands on his apron, and my father got out and shook one of them.

My father looked at the missing nail on his thumb and didn't say a word about it.

"My daughter says you built her kitchen," he said.

"I built what she drew," Eli said. "It's the better half."

My mother made a small, approving sound in the back seat, and I decided not to turn around.

There was a room over the shop with a bed and a hot plate.

It had a window onto the lot and a lock on the inside of the door.

"Nobody's slept up here since my dad," Eli said. "The sheets are clean. I washed them when you texted."

"You washed them in ten minutes."

"They were already in the dryer," he said. "I'm not a hero. I'm just behind on laundry."

I laughed, and it came out wrong, and I covered my mouth.

He pretended not to see.

My father carried the suitcases up, and my mother kissed my forehead.

They drove away in the dark.

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