Page 132 of Trust No One

“I don’t. Only water, coffee creamer, and wine.”

She sipped the water. “Okay.”

“How did you sleep last night?” I asked.

“Okay, I guess. Lots of noises at the hospital. People kept coming in my room.”

“Hospitals are kind of noisy. And the doctors and nurses were checking on you.”

“I guess.”

“You’re here. And it’s very quiet.”

She chewed the sandwich’s middle. “Can I have a TV in my room?”

“I don’t know. The wiring in the house needs an upgrade. We’re lucky that the TV in the living room works at all.”

“Okay.” She yawned.

“Do you want to lie down?”

“Like a nap?”

The word was rarely popular with children. “Maybe just lie down. You don’t have to sleep. And I can show you your room.”

“What about my old room?”

“I’m not sure if we can go there right now. But when we can, I’ll take you.”

She finished her sandwich, and I took her by the hand and led her upstairs. “This house is old,” she said.

“It’s very old.”

“Don’t you want a new house?”

“I’m not sure. I’m hoping I can fix this one first.” Stairs creaked as we climbed. The walls were painted a hunter green, and the old landscape portraits were heavy in their gilded frames. In the small room next to mine, I led her into the best re-creation of her past life.

She walked up to the bed and smoothed her comforter, which was a little small for the mattress. “The bed is tall.”

“It is. There’s a bathroom right here. And I have some of your stuffed animals.”

She inspected the toys. Affection mingled with wariness. I understood. They were hers but, like her, didn’t quite belong in this new life.

“Do you need help in the bathroom?” I asked.

“No.” She hurried into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. After a minute, the toilet flushed and the tap on the sink turned on.

“Can you reach the sink?” I asked.

“Sort of.” She emerged with damp hands.

I helped her climb into the bed and under her comforter. She lay back, testing the mattress. “Would you lie down with me?”

“Of course.”

I lay beside her. I’d never slept in this bed. The mattress was firm and the scent of new sheets relaxing. She didn’t cuddle but hugged her purple dinosaur. I stared at the cracked ceiling, wondering how many problems this house had. It could all be fixed. For a price. But then what? Would I stay in the country with a five-year-old? The child had never been part of the plan, but she changed the entire dynamic.

If the courts gave me permanent custody, my future decisions hinged on her. Schools. Jobs. Dating. The estate, which would go to her one day. The future circled around one little girl.