Laura Collins awoke when a small hand poked her in the nose. She opened one eye, then the other. Hannah stood at the side of the bed, her head at an angle, her long curly blond hair in even more disarray than usual. Likely from having it wadded up and stuffed underneath her small baseball cap for too many hours the day before.
“Wake up,” said the four-year-old.
Laura smiled. She felt as if she could sleep for weeks. But Hannah was likely not having any of that. She’d gotten regular naps snug in her car seat in the back of the white Mustang while Laura had driven for seventeen hours, her tense fingers clenching the steering wheel.
“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” They had some food left but Laura knew that she’d need to make a trip to the grocery store soon. There had to be one somewhere.
Hannah nodded, her big blue eyes solemn.
She was too serious. Maybe she understood more than Laura thought she did. She hoped not. One day she’d tell her the truth. But not now. She was too young. There was too much at risk. “Peanut butter toast and an orange?” she asked.
“Pancakes,” Hannah said.
Laura shook her head. Not without eggs or milk. It was what she’d offered or nothing. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. The floor was so cold. She immediately looked down to see if Hannah had socks on. She did not. She reached down and scooped her up, then pretended to toss the little girl over her shoulder.
Hannah squealed in fun.
“You need slippers, little one.”
“Cold piggies,” Hannah said.
“Yes, you have cold piggies,” Laura said, rubbing the child’s soft feet. She carried her into the smaller bedroom and gently dumped her onto the bed. Then she opened the sack containing Hannah’s new clothes. She yanked at the thin plastic connecting the two slippers and once it broke, she put one on each foot. They were a little loose but it had been a pretty good guess.
She hoped she’d done as well with the rest of the clothes. She tore the tags off everything. It wasn’t as if she was able to take any of them back if they didn’t fit. They would have to do. “Here, sweetheart. Put this sweater on over your pajamas.”
The cabin was colder than it had been last night when they’d arrived. Laura had considered lighting the fireplace that took up almost one wall in the living room but had ultimately been too tired. It had been a struggle just to make the two beds with the linens that had been waiting in totes left at the footboards of both. There had been thick comforters and she’d been confident that Hannah would be warm enough.
But now she was going to have to get her act together. She needed to cut and darken Hannah’s hair and lighten her own.
“I want to watch TV,” Hannah said.
In her bedroom, there was a DVD player and about a thousand different titles, but she didn’t want Hannah to get used to the big screen. She’d be disappointed when they had to leave it behind. “You can watch my computer,” she said. She’d downloaded some movies that would keep the little girl entertained for a while.
The child nodded. Laura sighed. There would be so many compromises in the future. If only she could be assured that Hannah would be as accepting of all of them. But she couldn’t worry about it now. One day at a time.
When her good friend Melissa Trane had said Colorado mountain cabin, Laura had imagined a small space, probably a little rundown, maybe not primitive but certainly rugged. All the way from Tennessee, she prayed that the place wouldn’t be overrun with rodents. She’d thrown her dad’s old rifle in the trunk but had worried that she might have been better prepared if she’d included mousetraps.
Once she arrived, she realized that if there were mice here, they likely lived better than most people. The place was luxurious.
A little rested now, she was ready to explore.
The living room and kitchen was all one big space, but the furniture was